Melting (Blog #446)

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

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

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

I’ll say it again.

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

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

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

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

This is a bunch of shit.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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My Inner Drive (Blog #438)

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

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

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

No wonder it won’t relax.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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Sunshine and Rain (Blog #434)

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Shit. It’s three in the morning. I always say this like it’s a surprise. Where DID the time go? But let’s face it, this happens constantly. For over a year now I’ve been sitting down last-minute, exhausted, to write. I tell myself I’ll write earlier, that I won’t write as many words this time, but I don’t. Please don’t think I’m playing the martyr here. These are the facts–these are my choices. But clearly I haven’t quite made peace with them yet.

I’m working on it, dear reader, I’m working on it.

Today has been a wonderful day. I spent most of it doing what I love–reading, learning. I picked up two new books yesterday, and they’ve cut to the front of the line. One is about how facial structure relates to personality (who knew?), and the other is about how writing with your non-dominant hand can help you tap into your inner child and healer (that is, the other side of your brain). So far both books are fascinating, but I’m completely taken by the one called The Power of Your Other Hand. A terrible title for a single person like me, to be sure, but the book itself is solid gold.

(That was a sex joke, Mom.)

Since it’s late and I’m only two chapters in, I’ll be more detailed about the book later. But I will say the theory is that using your non-dominant (normally left) hand directly accesses your right brain, and so far my right brain (creativity, playfulness, spirituality) has told my left brain (logic, order, control)–“You’re too serious,” “Give it a rest,” and “I’m important too.” These messages alone are enough for me to reconsider my general approach to life and myself. How long have these opinions been waiting to be heard? How long have I been silencing or ignoring–even partially–half of who I am?

I spent this evening decorating at my aunt’s house–well–her dining room, since she just bought a new dining room table and china cabinet. I love doing stuff like this. First I thought, I have no idea where to start. But then I began grouping her knickknacks and pictures by color, size, “feel,” figuring out what went with what. Eventually a plan came together. I arranged one cubby in the china cabinet, then two, and so on. After that, I began hanging pictures on the wall. All night long I was back and forth to the other rooms, the garage, searching for other items that went with our theme.

“Do you have any books?” I asked my aunt.

“Yes, over there,” my aunt said.

“Okay, but I’m real picky–I only want hardback ones in certain colors.”

After four hours, it had all come together. Sure, there’s still work to do, but the china cabinet is done, and a several large photos or prints are on the wall (not pictured). I can’t tell you how good it feels. I love seeing a decorating project coalesce. Much like writing, there are so many surprises along the way. My aunt had bought a wooden tray with three clear Mason jars that set inside it. Originally I’d planned to use it “as it,” but my aunt has a lot of colored vases, and I thought, What if I put the glassware collection inside the tray instead and used the Mason jars elsewhere? Eeek, I just love the way it turned out. So much better (I think.)

Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

I’ve never really thought about it before, but decorating really uses both sides of my brain. Most certainly, it uses the creative side, the side that’s more wild and not contained, the side where’s anything’s possible. But then it also uses the more logical, structured side, the perfectionist side, the side that has limits. One of the exercises in the book today asked that I draw both sides of my brain as I intuitively sensed them. Oddly enough, I drew my left side as “sunny” and my right side as “stormy.” I’m still fleshing out what this means, but I know that most of the time, I present a shiny face. I extend my right hand (which connects to my left brain), smile, and put on a good show. The other side of me, my left side, my “darker,” stormier side, I keep hidden. But that side is me too (and, like a storm, it’s powerful), and I’m learning that both sides are not only useful but necessary, that both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

"

On Receiving (Blog #421)

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It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I’ve been acting like a twenty-one-year-old all day–eating, drinking, and partying as if I’d never heard of a calorie before in my life. Bonnie and I just got home from Nashville’s Five Points area. Bonnie’s husband, Todd, and their two sons and their respective significant others were with us until one, but then they couldn’t hang (they have jobs). So since it’s Bonnie’s birthday weekend, she and I stayed out for one more drink, one more plate of brisket nachos. (Yum.) Now back at the house, a few minutes ago I slipped on some sweatpants and am in such an insulin-laden stated that I could pass out any minute.

This whole blogging-at-night thing is really getting ridiculous, even for me.

This afternoon Bonnie and I walked around an area of town with hipster stores, yoga studios, and taco bars. It was super cute, but I honestly don’t remember where it was. Still, we took a lot of pictures. Here’s one of my favorites, me with the “Rolling Stones” lips and tongue. I’m sad to say it’s the most action I’ve had in a seriously long time. (I live with my parents.)

Here’s another picture that I love that turned out exactly how I wanted it. It’s me beneath a “receiving” sign, my arms outstretched toward the heavens. My idea was that I was signaling God or the universe that I was open to accepting good things. Like, bring it on the best.

Later in the day while I was looking at my photos, I found another “receiving” picture Bonnie had apparently taken and not told me about. Take a look, y’all. It’s not exactly what I had in mind and–I think–sends a completely different message.

This evening our crew went to a stand-up comedy/karaoke club. It sounds fun, I know, but it was a rough night for the comedians. (They weren’t funny.) Still, our group had a good time–we ate, drank, and caught up with each other. (That’s Bonnie, Mallory, and me below. Mallory is Bonnie’s daughter-in-law.) Then we drove around to a couple other places until we settled into the Five Points area and hit two or three different bars/clubs/pizza joints. Y’all, I ate a lot of carbs. But what can I say? Decisions were made.

Now it’s 4:00 in the morning, and I guess we’re doing all this again tomorrow. How I’ll survive, I don’t know, but maybe I can knock out another blog tomorrow afternoon so I can just pass out when it’s all over. We’ll see. Anyway, all day I’ve been thinking about the receiving thing. Bonnie and I turned it into an inside joke. Like, when we saw some eye candy walking down the street in our direction this afternoon, one of us would say, “Receiving.” But internally I’ve been using the phrase as a reminder to accept whatever it is that comes my way–tacos, pizza, and beer, for sure–but also this headache that’s lasted all evening and my body that’s been out of whack for a while now.

I’ll explain.

You can’t pick and choose.

This last year it’s often felt like I’ve only been receiving “bad” things from God or the universe. That picture of me bent over under the receiving sign is really how I’ve felt, like I’m getting screwed here. So when I posed for the picture with my arms outstretched, I was thinking, I’m ready for something different. But as I’ve gone about the day, I think it’s less a matter of new things coming into my life, and more a matter of me recognizing all the good things that have already come into my life, even recognizing the benefits that are coming out of the challenges I’m facing. For example, my health issues are giving me an opportunity to rest, and I’m MUCH more patient and compassionate with myself than I used to be because I’m finally recognizing the stress I’ve been under for so long. What’s more, I have compassion for others who struggle and search and can’t immediately find answers. I get it now. So what I’m learning is that you can’t pick and choose what you receive from life, and you can’t always accurately label something as bad. After all, if good things–things you really like–come out of challenging things, then why would you push the challenging things away? Why wouldn’t you receive all it–the good and the so-called bad–with open arms?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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A Little of This, a Little of That (Blog #419)

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This afternoon I saw my therapist, and whereas our last couple of sessions have been emotional (I cried), today’s was light-hearted. We did a lot of laughing. Honestly, I think my therapist could be a professional comedian. Here’s an example. Today I mentioned my recent post about being scared of everything (which my therapist said was “maybe a little hyperbole”) and how I’d come to the conclusion that nervousness or fear was often my body’s way of saying “run to,” not “run from.” Then my therapist, making reference to a phrase she introduced me to a long time ago, said, “Nervousness is just excitement turned upside down?” I said, “I hate to admit it, but you might be right. But when when you first told me that, I thought, That’s absolute horse shit. I’m NOT excited–I’m scared. Screw you.”

She said, “I know you did. I could tell you wanted to punch me in the ass.” Punch me in the ass! I nearly fell on the floor. Who says that? Who DOES that?

My therapist actually gets off on verbal assaults like these–Screw you, I’m gonna punch you in the ass, whatever. Recently, on a Wednesday, she broke out in a grin and said, “Six people have told me to go fuck myself this week!” In the past she’s said she gets excited about this sort of thing because it shows that people are owning their emotions and feelings. Like, maybe they hold it all in at work or home, then they finally learn to let it all out. Today she explained further, “I just think ALL of the emotions are useful.”

I really like this idea, that there aren’t good emotions or bad emotions. Today we talked about how sometimes I’m “solid as a rock” emotionally, and other times I’m all twitter-pated with anxiety. I said, “There’s part of me that KNOWS things are going to be okay, but I STILL get worked up sometimes.” My therapist said, “UH–BECAUSE YOU’RE HUMAN.” This is something that I often forget, not that I’m human, but that it’s HUMAN to drift from one emotional state to another. I forget I’m not going to be nervous for the rest of my life, nor will I be calm the rest of my life, since these states of being were MEANT to come and go.

I don’t know why I keep CAPITALIZING so many words. (DON’T WORRY, THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

While discussing other (hopefully) transitory things, we talked about my health. I told my therapist that sometimes I’m really scared that my body is going to “fail me,” that this is it. I said, “What if I’m thirty-seven, and it’s all downhill from here?”

“EXCUSE ME,” my therapist said. “I thought you were twenty-seven.” (She says this a lot. You can see why I keep going back to her.)

“Oh yes, my mistake,” I said.

Things aren’t always one way or another.

Anyway, back to my sometimes-sickly body. “But other times I really do believe that there’s wisdom here, that my body and my doctors can get whatever this is figured out,” I said. My therapist said, “I KNOW that you have physical problems going on, but I just see this as your body’s way of balancing. You worked SO hard for SO long and didn’t give yourself a break. I think this is your body’s way of saying, ‘You HAVE to rest now.'” (Okay, fine, I will.) So there’s that idea of balance again. It seems things aren’t always one way or other (I hate that). Emotions comes and go. You’re not completely sick or completely healthy your whole life. Rather, it seems life is a little of this, a little of that, and all of this and all of that forever changing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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Carbohydrates and Bald Eagles (Blog #379)

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Y’all, today was another great day. Well, except for the fact that I had to wake up at six-fifteen. In the morning. But really–and I wouldn’t want this information to get around–I can actually function at early hours. Who knew? The sunrise doesn’t kill me. Like, I didn’t turn to stone, melt, or anything. I just dragged my luggage downstairs, hopped in a car, and off we went–out of Memphis and into the heart of Western Tennessee. (This press tour is all over the map.) Our first stop, about an hour outside of Memphis, was Brownsville, the home of the Delta Heritage Center and Tina Turner Museum. (Tina was born nearby.) It was great. Again, this is such a cool gig–they had donuts and coffee waiting for us.

I’m getting so fat.

Leaving Brownsville, we drove another hour or so to Union City, home to Discovery Park of America, basically a hands-on science museum for kids, but so much more. There’s a collection of arrow heads and old cars, a Japanese garden, and even an earthquake simulator. The park was started by the founder of Kirkland’s, the home goods store. (He was born in Union City and donated a hundred million dollars to the museum in order to give back to his community.) After eating lunch at the museum, we only had an hour or so to look around, but it really was a treat. A new friend of mine took the above photo of me with the Buddha, and later we both went down the world’s second-fastest slide, which was cleverly disguised as a giant metal man. (See the picture below. You enter just below his neck on the third floor and exit out his left leg on the second.)

Whoosh!

When we left Discovery Park, we went to Reelfoot Lake–uh–somewhere not too far away from Union City. (I wasn’t driving.) Reelfoot used to be only swamplands, but turned into a fourteen-thousand-acre lake about two hundred years ago after a series of earthquakes changed the topography of the land and the flow of the Mississippi River. Anyway, we spent the rest of the afternoon there, riding around on a pontoon boat, checking out the cypress trees and various birds. Notice in the picture below that the cypress tress spread out at the bottom and even grow their roots ABOVE the water in order to survive in such wet conditions.

We even got to see a few bald eagles, which the park rangers had in captivity because they were injured. Here’s a picture of one. Notice that it only has one foot. (That’s how they found it.) Another fun fact–bald eagles have a pretty wimpy, squeaky-toy-like screech. Not scary at all. For this reason, many movies that feature bald eagles dub over the cry of a red-tailed hawk, since it’s much more bitchin’ and intimidating.

For dinner we drove into Jackson, Tennessee, and ate at Rock N Dough Pizza and Brewery. It was awesome–cool atmosphere, a great staff. But OMG, I had so many carbs–salad, bread sticks, pizza, some donut thing for dessert, and beer. (I’ve got to get a grip.) Still, it was FRICKIN’ delicious. Plus, I DID have the flu for three weeks, so I figure this is all about balance. I can afford to indulge for a week.

Now we’re all settled into our respective hotel rooms (in Jackson), and I for one am ready to pass out. This trip is amazing, but it’s go-go-go, and tomorrow will be another full day. In other words, Daddy needs to wrap this up and get a solid-night’s rest. But seriously–it’s ten at night and I’m getting ready to go to bed? What has happened to me? (The sunrise–that’s what has happened to me.) Okay, I’m off to brush my teeth. May all your best memories involve carbohydrates and bald eagles.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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Any of Us Can Stumble (Blog #373)

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Last night I went out dancing in Dallas with my friend Bonnie to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the blog. The evening culminated about two-thirty in the morning at an all-night diner where the above picture was taken. I hesitated to post it because I think I look “clearly drunk,” but then again, I was. Not that I was falling down or anything, but I was certainly feeling good and loving life. Bonnie and I joked that the multi-colored squares on the wall behind me were reminiscent of The Partridge Family. I kept thinking, Come on get happy. Oh wait–I already am.

Honestly, the reason behind my happy expression wasn’t just the alcohol. Bonnie and I spent the evening dancing with some of God’s most mysterious and precious creatures–gay cowboys. The bar we went to is called The Roundup, and if you’ve never been there, it’s like stumbling into a roomful of unicorns–that is, two-stepping, line-dancing homosexuals. It really is a happy thing to see, a dance hall full of not only homos (which I can say because I am one), but also lesbians, heterosexuals, and even the occasional drag queen–or, as I like to call them all, people.

Last week when my mom asked me what I would be doing in Dallas, I said, “Dancing with gay cowboys.” I said it in passing as I was walking out of the living room and down the hall, but I could hear my dad say, “Judy, one day you’ll learn to not ask so many questions.” I tell this story because I almost didn’t write about my time at The Roundup on tonight’s blog, thinking people might prefer not to know that dancing, homosexual herdsman even exist. But Bonnie referred to gay clubs as “a sacred space,” a safe space where everyone is welcome and encouraged to dance with and show affection for anyone they want who’s mutually interested, and I think it’s important for people to know that happy places like this can be found.

In the south, even.

It really was a great night. There was two-stepping and line dancing until twelve-thirty or one in the morning, then “club” music until two. Everyone I met was really kind, and even the two people who turned me down for dances were nice about it. I say that, but I’ve been a little hung up on the rejections today. It’s always challenging to put yourself out there, ask a stranger to dance, then get turned down. But what a great thing to put yourself out there, ask a stranger to dance, and have them say yes. And that was definitely what happened more often than not last night, dancing with enthusiastic partners who said, “Let’s dance again later.” Like, people seemed to like me. Hell, I even had one lesbian hold me so close while I was following her that I can safely say I got more boob action last night than I ever have before. (Also, it didn’t change a thing.)

Here’s a picture of Bonnie and me just before we left the hotel to hit the dance floor.

For as “up” as I was last night, today I’ve been coming down. Mostly I’ve been tired, since we were awake until five in the morning and were supposed to check out of the hotel by noon. Plus, although I haven’t had a hangover today, I’m sure my system is still “processing” all the beer (and late-night chicken and waffles). You know how it is when you overdo EVERYTHING. My liver’s probably thinking, Who left this guy in charge of intake? Lastly, I’ve been reminded this evening (now that I’m back home) that despite the fact that I danced with multiple unicorns last night, all of my problems still exist. Within two hours of walking in the door, I had bills to deal with, an Amazon order gone wrong, and a website backup issue that took an hour to correct.

You can regain your balance.

While working on this blog, I’ve been looking through last night’s photos, trying to reclaim the joy I felt when I took them. I keep thinking, Come on get happy. But I realize you can’t make yourself feel any differently than you do. What goes up must come down. Last night as I was dancing with a guy named Fred, he was spinning-spinning-spinning me. After a few beers, it was honestly a challenge, but I was able to keep my feet under me. Still, when I finished spinning, Fred had to steady me just so. “I saw your eyes start to wobble,” he laughed. I guess this is what today and life lately have felt like–disorienting. But I’m reminded that, especially with a little help from my friends, I can regain my balance. I can stumble, any of us can stumble, and still continue this dance.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Being scared isn’t always an invitation to run away. More often than not, it’s an invitation to grow a pair and run toward.

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Moving toward The Middle (Blog #350)

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It’s two in the morning, and I’m in Houston at Lindyfest, the swing dance event I’ve been working with for the last two months. I left Arkansas this afternoon around twelve-thirty, and it took nine hours to get here. On the way I listened to several lectures (on the internet as well as in my head), then music, music, music. For the last week I’ve had a song called “The Middle” in my earphones on repeat, so today was a lot of that. I don’t know, something about it makes me happy. Plus, something about being on the road with Tom Collins. It was a great drive.

If you’re new here, Tom Collins is my car. (Try to keep up.)

But going back to The Middle. One of the lectures I listened to was by Joseph Campbell and was about King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and the Grail Legends. Since I was focused on driving, several of the details Campbell spoke about went in one ear and out the other, but what stuck was a story about one of the knights, Percival. Google says that the name Percival means “to pierce the valley,” but Campbell says it means, “through the middle.” To me, both interpretations are close enough to the same thing, but I’m going to stick with Campbell’s (mostly) from here on out.

Another lecture I listened to (by a different speaker) was about changing tribal beliefs. Tribal beliefs reside in your first chakra (at the base of your spine), are often related to safety or being “grounded,” and are inherited. Usually unconscious, they are the beliefs we have that were taught to us as children that we don’t question, things like “You have to work hard to get ahead in this world” or “People won’t accept me for who I really am.” And here’s where we get back to Campbell, Percival, and The Middle. The speaker said that we usually think of our beliefs as being in black and white. The world is either this way or that way. However, when we think of our beliefs in black and white, they are difficult to change. But the speaker said, “What if you just changed one of your beliefs by ten percent? What if you asked yourself, ‘Isn’t it reasonable to think that someone–anyone–could accept me for who I am?'”

Isn’t that reasonable?

Since I have a strong tendency to think in black and white, I love this suggestion about making slight changes in my beliefs because it introduces an element of gray. It sounds like a more gentle way of being. It invites me to walk down The Middle instead of staying on one side all the time. I don’t know, it sounds more–balanced.

Leading up to this dance event, I’ve had a thousand thoughts running around my head. I haven’t been to Lindyfest in five years, and you know how you imagine how things will go. If they say this, I’m going to say this. Of course, it never happens the way you think it will, but I still do it. Since I’m the marketing director for this year’s event, I’ve mostly imagined myself being “super friendly” with people–talking to as many folks as possible. How are you, where are you from, what do you like or dislike about the event? You know, excited, like a damn puppy. I’m just so happy to be here!

I quickly remembered that I’m not Guy Smiley.

Never mind that even though I love talking to people, it can wear me out. I mean, in conversation there has to be a give and take, which obviously can’t happen with five hundred people at a dance event. (Dancers are weird and awkward–like most humans.) Maybe some people can talk to a wall, but I’m not one of them. Anyway, I quickly remembered that I’m simply not Guy Smiley. After getting checked into my room, I went to the ballroom and said hello to a few folks, but I immediately felt outside my comfort zone. I thought, I’m here all by myself. Where are my friends? What if I don’t make it into the upper-level classes?

Apparently I forgot to leave my insecurities back in Arkansas. Shit. I thought my suitcase felt a little heavy.

For a moment, I thought about completely withdrawing, spending the weekend in my room or “just watching.” But then I decided to Get a damn grip, Nancy. So instead of jumping right into dancing, instead of forcing myself to be social when I didn’t feel like it, I took myself to the bar and ordered a beer and something for dinner. Like, Let’s eat something first, Alice. (Gay guys sometimes call each other, or themselves, by girls’ names, Mom.) This ended up being the best thing. Not only did it give me a minute to get acclimated and meet the event on my terms, but also the food was great and I ended up chatting with both a bartender and the lady next to me (who was here for the dance).

When I finished eating, I went back to the ballroom. I found a friend, then found a couple more. I danced a few dances, but my lung capacity is seriously down lately. So I introduced myself to a few strangers (but not the whole room), then ended up in two really long, lovely conversations with people I knew, but didn’t know that well. And here’s what I’m proud about–I didn’t go all Walmart Greeter on everyone’s ass, but I also didn’t hide out in a corner all evening. I found The Middle. In the process, I got out of my comfort zone–enough–and also challenged some of my tribal beliefs, things like “I can’t strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know.”

Isn’t it reasonable to think that others feel insecure too, that it’s not just me? Isn’t it reasonable to think that someone would respond well to a friendly face, my friendly face?

My hope is that I’ll start hanging out in The Middle more often, challenging my limiting tribal beliefs a little at a time. With any luck, I too will be able to pierce the valley, where I imagine there is a lot more gray.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Somewhere In Between (Blog #324)

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Last night I slept for twelve hours straight. When I woke up I had beans, rice, and cornbread for breakfast, then went back to sleep for four additional hours. (I imagine this must be terribly interesting to read about.) I understand that I’m sick, but I’m not sure where all my energy has gone. After breakfast, before my nap, I read ten pages in a book, and it felt like running a marathon. Now I’m propped up in a chair in the living room, proud of myself for being semi-vertical. In terms of flu symptoms, my throat is significantly less sore today.

So that’s something.

Almost three months ago I started practicing chi kung every day, for anywhere from fifteen to forty-five minutes a day. When the flu hit, I think I was at eighty days in a row. In order to “not quit,” I’ve been doing a two-minute chi kung routine this week. It’s an actual thing, basically a “when all else fails” option. I’ve been thinking of it like a placeholder, like, Don’t worry–I’ll be back. Well, I’m pretty sure there was a day earlier this week when I didn’t do chi kung at all. This week is kind of a blur, but I’ve been practicing at night, and I think there was an evening when I simply passed out after dinner without practicing.

This may sound silly, and I realize nobody else gives a shit, but the missed routine was a letdown. Just like blogging every day, I’ve worked hard to do chi kung every day. I’ve been really dedicated. It means something to me. I plan to get back with it, but now there’s a certain enthusiasm that’s been lost. I’m sure it’s my all-or-nothing thinking, but I’m not quite as proud to say, “I do this ALMOST every day.”

When I forgot about chi kung a couple days ago, I thought, What if I forgot to blog too? That thought really scared me. Of all the habits and routines I’ve had in my life, this is the one to which I’m most faithful. At least until I get to the one-year mark (and I don’t know what I’ll do once I get there), I can’t imagine skipping. If I did, talk about a letdown. Why I’ve attached so much meaning and importance to this project, I can’t exactly say. It’s certainly not about money. More than likely, it has to do with character, with making a promise to myself and keeping it. That’s probably it. Almost to the one-year mark, I can tell you that something happens when you keep showing up for yourself day after day, even when you don’t feel well. It’s like you start to trust yourself in a different way. It’s like, no matter what, you know you’re going to be there for you.

I hope I don’t miss a day with the blog, but speaking from my experience with chi kung, I know there’s grace available if I do fall off the wagon. I can just get back on again. Plus I’m learning that there’s value in doing some things “almost” every day. Not everything in life has to be all-or-nothing. Most things, in fact, are somewhere in between. That does seem to be where I keep finding myself, somewhere in between all and nothing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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My Damn Opinion (Blog #316)

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This afternoon I dragged myself out of the house and went to a local bookstore/coffee shop, to work. For about three hours I poured caffeine down my throat (my heart is still pounding) and worked on marketing strategy for the swing dance event I’m now associated with. This project could take up every spare minute of my time if I let it, so I’m trying to set limits–boundaries!–for myself. To this end, after making a dozen social media posts, writing a promotional piece about one of the staff, and outlining the details for an upcoming email campaign, I thought, That’s enough for today and shut my laptop.

Leaving my man bag in the room where I was working, I explored the rest of the shop. Y’all, I could spend days in almost any bookstore–perusing, smelling–even if I don’t buy anything. Anyway, after forty-five minutes of looking around, I returned empty-handed to grab my bag and head out–like a caveman–in search of dinner. (Me hungry. Where buffalo?) Well, I started talking to a stranger. More accurately, a stranger started talking to me. At first it was a pleasant back-and-forth, like, “Here’s what I enjoy reading. What do YOU enjoy reading?” But then things quickly became one-sided. They were talking my ear off.

Perhaps this has happened to you.

Hold it right there.

Praise God and all the saints, their phone rang. Now’s my chance, I thought. I said, “Have a wonderful evening,” and started walking. But wouldn’t you know it, they got off their phone quicker than a frog gets off its lily pad. The next thing I knew they’d called me back over–reeled me in like some sort of fish–by asking my name. (Damn vanity gets me every time.) Of course, they began chatting again. As it turned out, we actually had several things in common, and I thought, I like this person. Maybe God brought us together. Fifteen minutes later, the shop owner was locking doors and turning off lights, and the person was still talking. They later admitted that their blood sugar was dropping, that they were getting “loopy.” My internal response: “Drink your juice, Shelby!” (That’s a quote from Steel Magnolias, Mom.) I kept thinking, How would my therapist get out of this?

I intend to ask her.

Situations like these really do stump me. For all the progress I’ve made on good boundaries, I still have a tough time drawing a line in the sand with “conversation hijackers.” It’s really difficult for me to interrupt someone and say, “Hold it right there. You’re wearing me out.” I have so much practice being “nice.” If you have any suggestions for being both kind and firm with “ramblers,” please leave them in the comments below. (The suggestions, not the ramblers.) In tonight’s situation, I did find an opportunity to say, “I have to go,” to which the person replied, “I’m so sorry.” This was actually their second apology for taking up my time, which tells me that they realized as much as I did that the conversation had become one-sided and unbalanced. Apparently neither of us knew how to stop it.

God bless.

This evening I finished reading two books. The first, Hug Your Customer by Jack Mitchell, I can’t recommend enough, especially if you’re at all interested in customer service and business marketing. The second, The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr, I can’t recommend (period). I didn’t think it was bad–I found a lot of jewels inside–but it didn’t grip me the way I hoped it would. (Damn expectations.) Karr teaches writing, and mostly I felt as if I were in one of her university classes. She used dozens of dozens of examples from famous memoirs, all of which I’ve never read or heard of before and therefore didn’t connect with. Also, she spoke a lot of poetry, which would’ve been fine had the book been called The Art of Poetry instead of The Art of Memoir. These criticisms aside, I loved the parts of the book in which Karr spoke of her own life, her own experiences and memories. I’ve never read any of her other works, but I adore her authentic voice and think we’d hit it off were we to ever have brunch together.

Gay guys like brunch, Mom. (I don’t know if Mary Karr likes brunch or not. You’d have to ask her.)

Okay, one more beef about The Art of Memoir. At the back of the book, Karr lists some of her favorite memoirs, which, I guess, is both normal and to be expected. But Karr’s list of memoirs boggles the mind at–approximately–200 books. (200!) Maybe you don’t see this as a problem, but Karr labels the list, “Required Reading.” REQUIRED! As in, “You have to–or else.” Y’all, required is not the right adjective to use with a rule-follower. I looked at that list and thought, I’ve only read five of these books. Talk about stressful. Seriously, how I’ve managed to make it this far in life without having read the other 195, I don’t know.

Required reading. Please. Why not just say, “If you’re getting your PhD in memoir writing or have ten lifetimes to spare and nothing better to do, consider reading these 200 books”?

I hope this post doesn’t come off as overly bitchy. A little bitchy–fine. I’m sure that on more than one occasion I’ve been the person to talk someone else’s ear off. Hell, I write a blog every day (every damn day) about myself. By anyone’s standards, this is a pretty one-sided conversation. Additionally, I’m sure another writer could come in and take me to task on a number of things I do here. For starters, I use the words okay, anyway, whatever, and realize way too often. (I realize this. Whatever.) I have my reasons for doing what I do and imagine Karr has her reasons for doing what she does.

This is major progress.

All this to say that I’m not saying, “I’m right.” What I am saying, however, is, “I’m right–for me.” What I mean is that five years ago I would have let a complete stranger talk to me for hours on end and not have thought a thing about it. I wouldn’t have seen a problem. Likewise, I would have read a book cover-to-cover and assumed every word was gospel because it was printed on nice paper. But now I can recognize when things are out of balance (for me) and when information resonates (with me) and when it doesn’t. This is major progress. As I told my therapist recently, “I’m beginning to have a damn opinion about things.”

Her response: “As well you should. As. Well. You. Should.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

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