Finding the Middle Path (Blog #306)

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Last night, despite trying, I couldn’t fall asleep until six in the morning. About four I realized it was a 98-percent-full moon, so I’m blaming that. This sort of thing has happened before. I’m guess I’m “sensitive.” That’s fine. But if I have to be up in the middle of the night, exhausted, at least I could turn into a werewolf or something cool, like Michael Jackson in Thriller. No such luck. No dancing with the dead for me. Nope–I only got four hours of sleep–and have absolutely nothing to show for it.

Let’s talk about my outfit.

Today I’m wearing a hat I got from my ninety-five-year-old friend Marina. She says she found it in a bar in Hawaii several years ago–on the head of a Greek sailor. (Swoon.) She apparently asked this guy for it, and he actually gave it to her! You’d just have to know Marina. Anyway, she passed it on to me last year. I’m not sure what the official style of the hat is, but it’s made my Cavanagh, originally cost eighteen dollars (according to the tag inside the brim), and fits my head perfectly. I saw my therapist today, and she said I looked like Elvis–“before he got fat and started singing in Las Vegas.” Talk about a compliment. “That was worth getting out bed for,” I said. “What do I owe you?”

Today we talked about the book I’m reading on Reichian Therapy. My therapist had heard of it, or at least its creator, but didn’t know much about it, so I explained the basic premise and what my experience with it has been thus far. This is something I appreciate about my therapist–like, she never acts territorial or suggests that her way is the only way. She almost never “directs” my therapy. Rather, she encourages me to explore different methods and find what’s right for me.

I told her the book I’m reading says over and over again to go slow. Again, she encouraged me to trust myself. She said, “Remember that those books are always written as if the reader knows absolutely nothing. They’re written for people who are just starting school. You’re at graduate level, so you can pace yourself how you think best. And if you ever get in over your head–just call me and make an appointment.”

Now that I’m processing it, this conversation went along with another one we’ve been having off and on lately, about trusting others and being able to ask them for help. Admittedly, I’m extremely self-sufficient. I hate asking for help. This, my therapist and I agree, is the result of being “let down” by the world on a number of occasions in my childhood. I’ll spare you the details, but I basically grew up thinking, Fuck all y’all. I’ll take care of this myself. (I don’t recommend this attitude, but if you got it, you got it.) My therapist said, “It’s okay to be able to take care of everything from A to Z, but–again–it’s about striking a balance and finding the middle path. You don’t have to do EVERYTHING all the time.”

I realized on the drive to therapy that I’m pretty overloaded lately. I’m working my ass off in therapy and on this blog, I’m reading all the time, and I’ve recently taken on this project for the swing dancing event. I told my therapist today that I’ve been listening to people solid for the last week and sharing their stories online, sometimes to critical reception. I said, “I don’t know how you do this every day and don’t drink yourself to sleep at night.” She said, “It’s hard.” So we discussed boundaries I can set with the projects, as well as other ways I can take care of myself. With this is mind, after therapy I went out for beer and pizza. Granted, this wasn’t one of my therapist’s specific suggestions, but I decided to improvise.

And it worked. I’ve had a delightful afternoon filled with carbs, self-nurturing, and more carbs.

Now it’s seven in the evening, and I’m at the library. I’m meeting a friend soon to see a movie, so I need to wrap this up. Like quick. I see both these acts–the movie and the shorter blog–as acts of further self-care and finding the middle path. No more work for the day, Marcus. It will be there tomorrow. Just enjoy your life. Just enjoy your damn life. So no more go-go-go. At least for now, it’s stop-stop-stop.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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These Things Happen to Humans (Blog #305)

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Whoops. I just realized my camera is still set on “beautiful skin” mode from last night, so tonight’s picture is once again highly airbrushed, and that’s why I look like a cartoon. Oh well, there are worse things in life. Currently I’m propped up in bed, where I’ve spent most the day, either working or reading. Since it’s a heated waterbed, it’s the warmest seat in the house, and I’ll probably just stay here until springtime. Of course, I’ll get out of bed to eat meals and use the bathroom.

I’m not a complete animal.

I recently started working with a large swing-dancing event, and in an effort to enhance the event’s “sense of community,” I’ve started a series of social media posts in which we profile individual dancers, competitors, instructors, and organizers associated with the event. (Not profile like something a police detective would do, but profile like tell their stories and let people get to know them.) So far I’ve interviewed about a dozen people and written about three of them. I can’t tell you how rewarding this has been. Having attended this event, which often boasts over five hundred dancers, I’ve often felt–um–disconnected–because it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. Sure, maybe you spend the whole night dancing, but you can still walk away feeling like you don’t really know anyone and no one really knows you.

I’m hoping this project will, in some way, change all that. I know it’s changing it for me, since I’ve already fallen in love with twelve people I wasn’t in love with before. Maybe “fallen in love” isn’t the right phrase to use. What I mean is that with each person I interview, I begin to care about them. The more I learn about who they are, where they came from, and what’s important to them, the more compassion I have for where they soar and where they stumble. Earlier today someone whom I have always seen as completely confident and a total badass told me they spent most their developmental years feeling inadequate, that they “wanted desperately to be cool.” This evening another badass dancer told me they started dancing as a way to cope with their parents’ divorce. They said they grew up in a conservative home, and three-minute dances were a way to practice small talk, something they didn’t learn as a homeschooler.

There isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

What I’m taking away from all this is the simple reminder that everyone has a story, and every story matters, at the very least to the person who tells it. I know that often when I’m in large crowds, I start comparing myself. It’s easy to do at dance weekends. You look around and find one reason or another to feel more than or less than. But story by story, person by person, I’m learning that we really are all equal. People are just people. Just because you can dance like a motherfucker doesn’t mean you’re not struggling at home. Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

As much as I’m enjoying this project, it’s also taking a lot of my energy. It’s not easy to truly listen to another person, to intentionally pry into their lives then try to be okay with whatever you find there. Someone told me they had three people in one hour walk away from them because they weren’t wearing a certain-color wristband and, therefore, weren’t “good enough.” This happened several years ago, but they haven’t forgotten it. When I asked someone else what dance did for them, they started crying. They said, “I’m an introvert. Words are hard for me. Dancing lets me express myself in a way that I simply can’t verbally.”

This is an emotional roller coaster to go on, really getting to know people and asking them to unload on you. And, honestly, it’s a strange thing to do. I get on the phone with total strangers and start asking about their childhoods. Usually I say, “My name is Marcus, and here’s what I’m doing. Okay, let’s dive right in.” The average conversation lasts anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, and before it’s over, in most cases, I’m asking questions I’ve never asked most my friends. All of a sudden I’m elbow-deep in someone’s else’s life. Earlier tonight I sent an email to someone I’ve only met a few times and asked, “What do you worry about at night?” and “Has dance saved you from anything, and–if so–from what?”

It’s a lot to keep your heart open for another person.

I’m finding that I have to pace myself through conversations like these. My original (and overly ambitious) intent was to write a story a day from now until the event, which would be about fifty stories. Now I’m thinking maybe five a week will suffice. As much as I enjoy getting to know everyone, it’s a lot. It’s a lot to keep your heart open for another person. Plus, most the conversations, by design, are one-sided. That’s okay, but the pacing part means that I need to take time for me–read a book or watch a movie, find somebody who’s willing to listen to my story as much as I’m willing to listen to someone else’s. I mean, I do have a good therapist and intend to use her. This, I think, is simply about balance, about recognizing my strengths alongside my limitations, about realizing that I’m a human too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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Come to the Middle of the Seesaw (Blog #299)

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Today Mom had a bilateral mastectomy. The surgery lasted a few hours, and she had a hot doctor. (A hot, hot doctor.) Like, a very hot, hot doctor who went to and graduated from medical school, probably knows the difference between “your” and “you’re,” and didn’t have a ring on his finger. (I’m just sayin’.) In other important news, the surgery itself went well. The cancer had NOT spread to Mom’s lymph nodes. The anesthesia seemed to wear off fine, and when I last saw Mom this evening, she was being given “the good” pain medication. One of my aunts is staying with her tonight, and she should be home tomorrow. So, thank you, Jesus.

One of the good things about having a family member who has cancer, or who used to have cancer, is that people bring you food, and not a little of it. (If there’s a silver lining, I’m going to find it.) This afternoon my friend Bonnie brought my entire extended family chicken nuggets (and fruit and cookies AND coffee), with a variety of dipping sauces. I mean, if there’s any way to make sitting on your butt in a hospital waiting room for five or six hours any better, this is it. Oh, and she brought even more food to the house for dinner, the most important item being homemade cinnamon rolls. And whereas Mom is the one who actually has (or had) cancer and can’t have any solid food until tomorrow, I personally have been quite comforted by all the calories.

In addition to eating delicious food and visiting with family and friends, I spent most the day in the waiting room sending emails and Facebook messages. I’ve recently been brought on board as the marketing director for a large dance event, and my first goal is to get feedback about the event from those who have attended it in the past. So far it’s going well, but at some point today, my eyes started to glaze over. Like, I can only reach out to so many strangers and say, “Hello, I’m Marcus. Here’s what’s going on. Would you be willing to talk to me?” before it doesn’t feel genuine anymore (even though it is). I told Bonnie I felt like a door-to-door salesman, saying the same thing over and over again–

Unlike everyone else on Facebook, I’d actually like to hear your opinion!

This is something I never had the courage to do when I owned a business or ran my own dance event. Being so involved, I would have taken any negative or constructive feedback as purely destructive feedback. I would have taken everything too personally. But I don’t have that hangup with someone else’s event. I can listen to people’s stories–the good, the bad, and the ugly–as a neutral party. So far I’ve talked to about a dozen people, and it’s been fascinating. I’ll spare you the details, but as much as some people have been over-the-moon satisfied, others have, well, not been. Having professional distance from their personal experiences, I’m able to sort their feedback into two basic piles–This Problem Needs Fixing, and This Person Needs Fixing.

I think this is what a good therapist, even a good doctor, is able to do–step back and see what’s really going on. Once my therapist told me, “I’m basically just an observer of your life.” I can’t tell you what a difference this has made, having someone who’s not attached to my outcomes. As much as I love my friends and family, they weren’t “getting the job” done when it came to my mental and emotional health. First of all, it’s not their job to help me grow in that way. Second, most of them haven’t been trained with the proper skills to do so. Lastly, they’re simply too close to me, the way I’d be too close to them if we were talking about their personal growth. You know how it is when you’re too close–you interrupt each other, boss each other around, don’t believe each other’s compliments. You think, “I’m not beautiful. You’re just saying that because you’re my mother.”

This neutral party has been on my mind lately. (I recently blogged more about it here.) Obviously, that’s what mom’s hot doctor was today–a neutral party. Not that he doesn’t care about his patients, but he’s not so wrapped up in their personal stories that it affects his job. And whereas a patient or a family member might sweep a health problem under the rug or ignore a problem, a doctor would (ideally) be the last person to do that. Like my therapist or me in my role as marketing director, not being wrapped up in personal stories allows him to see clearly where the problems are and what can be done about them.

Even storms pass away.

I’m currently thinking of a seesaw. If you’re on either end of a situation, one minute you’ll be up and the next minute you’ll be down. But the neutral position is where you’re unmoved by whatever life throws at you. It’s steady even when the world isn’t. Additionally, if you stand in the middle of a seesaw, you realize that what’s up for one person is down for the next and that nobody stays up or down for very long. You see that life is always changing and everything circles ’round. I think this is the lesson of Jesus walking on the water. (Don’t try this at home, kids–it’s symbolic.) The storms of life raged all around him, but he wasn’t affected by them. Not that he didn’t see them, but he knew that “this too shall pass.” Even storms pass away. And because he’d found that neutral, steady, centered point within himself, then–and only then–was he able to reach out his hand and help another. “Keep your eyes on me,” he told Peter. In other words, “Come to the middle of the seesaw. Don’t be distracted by things that are always changing. Give your full attention to that which cannot and will not be moved.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Anything and everything is possible.

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Neutral Mind and Cup of Prayer (Blog #289)

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It’s late in the day, even for me, and I’m just starting to blog. I’ve spent most the day in bed cuddled up with my Kindle, feeling generally–meh. I think that’s a technical term. In addition to having little energy, I’ve felt light-headed and shaky. I keep telling myself it could be worse–it could be a lot worse. Whenever I stand up and the room spins ever so slightly, I think, Enjoy the trip, Marcus. People spend money on drugs to experience the world this way.

Lucky me–I get the experience for free.

Yesterday when I went to Walmart to pick up my prescriptions (plural), the pharmacy only had one of them. “I think the doctor was supposed to call in two,” I said. The girl at the cash register checked with the pharmacist, and he said–nope–they only had one listed. “That’s okay,” I said, “I’ll just take the one and call the doctor’s office to see what’s up.” Well, I guess basic human kindness and understanding are in short supply these days, since the girl looked me right in the eyes and said, “Thank you for being pleasant.”

Assuming she was having a bad day, I said, “Are most people not?”

“No,” she said. “So thank you for being pleasant and good-looking.”

Talk about making my day. Two compliments at the same time, from a total stranger. I laughed and said, “You’re welcome.” Still, I thought, I only have control over one of those things, you know.

The book I started reading this afternoon is called Learning to Breathe Again: My Yearlong Quest to Bring Calm to My Life by Priscilla Warner. I’m halfway through, and so far it’s about meditation and other peace-of-mind and trauma-healing techniques the author explored in her effort to stop or minimize her panic attacks. In the beginning of the book, she says that everything started when a lady in a new age bookstore held her hands and told her was a calm person. Her friend that was with her laughed, but she realized the lady was right. Despite her panic attacks, she knew she was capable of stillness.

This part of the book touched me, since I think sometimes someone else has to see something in us before we can see it in ourselves. (Look, Ma, I’m pleasant and good-looking!) Once my massage therapist Rod told me that according to tantric numerology, my soul number is 4, which means I have a “neutral mind.” In tantric numerology, a person’s soul number is the day of the month they were born reduced to a single digit, meaning anyone born on the 4th, 13th (like me), 22nd, or 31st would also have a neutral mind. Whether this theory is true or not, I do think it’s true for me. I didn’t realize it until Rod pointed it out and I’m not always in touch with it, but now I absolutely know I have a neutral mind. I have the ability to be detached from things, other people, and results. I can take life as it comes.

(If you’re curious about what your soul number is and what it means, click here.)

The key phrase for someone with a neutral mind is “cup of prayer.” This means that if life hands you a cup, you don’t argue about whether it’s too full or not full enough–you’re simply glad that it exists and has been given to you. This can be difficult to do, of course, especially when life kicks you in the nuts and your body feels like crap. Like, Can I give this cup back? Is there an exchange policy? I’d really prefer something different.

A couple days ago I had dinner with my friend Marla, and during a conversation about difficult childhoods, I said that I often compared myself to friends who grew up “better off,” that sometimes I felt “less than.” Marla said, “Consider how deep and kind your childhood has made you, Marcus. It turned you into who you are, in a good way. Not everyone can say that. I think you were given a gift.” I said, “I like thinking of it that way–a gift.” Since then, I’ve been trying to see the gifts in my current circumstances, like all the time I’ve been given to finally get myself sorted out and heal on the inside. Sure, my body’s been sick lately, but I’m getting good help, most of it’s being paid for, and I don’t have other demands on me, so I can give this problem my full attention. This is the cup of prayer thing, being grateful for whatever your circumstances are, knowing that even if the cup you’ve been given is full of sour lemons, it can still be turned into something sweet to drink.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

This Hazy, Gray Fog (#272)

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Last night I took two Benadryl to calm down my allergies and slept like a dream. Now it’s one-thirty in the afternoon, and I think the pills are still in my system. It’s like I’m in a fog, the world is kind of hazy. I actually like it. First, my sinuses are dryer, and my skin is less itchy. Second, although I’m sure there are a number of physical and emotional problems I could currently worry about, I can’t focus enough to remember what they are. I keep thinking, Eff allergies. Life is good. Que sera, sera. Y’all, those little pink pills are great–they’re like alcohol without the calories.

Of course, the fact that I can’t focus isn’t doing much for today’s blog, but you can’t win them all.

Yesterday I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house. One of their sons is getting married. (Thus the dance lesson.) Anyway, when the dancing ended, we all sat around, visited, and were generally entertained by their two younger boys. I guess for Christmas the kids got a bunch of stilts, the bucket kind where you basically stand on upside-down plastic cups that stay pressed against your feet by virtue of long strings you hold in your hands. Well, there may have been whiskey involved, and before long I and some of the other adults were running around the living room with the kids, except we were hunched over because the strings were sized for toddlers and young children and not for those of us old enough to have our chiropractor on speed dial.

“This isn’t good for my lower back,” I said.

Later the boys put all the cups together and hid candy under them. Then the adults had to guess where the candy was. Y’all, I’m terrible at this sort of thing. After ten rounds, I think I walked away with two peppermints, one of which was a sympathy win. No wonder I always end up in the slow line at the grocery store and pick the wrong people to date. Whatever you do, don’t let me go to Las Vegas. Stick to blogging, Marcus. Stick to blogging.

This morning my older nephew led me in a game of treasure hunt in which he left notes or clues that led me from one location in the house to another. First I was at the refrigerator, then under one of the beds, then on the couch, and so on. This is really creative, I thought. Well, the final destination was my mom’s bathroom, where my nephew was waiting. And get this–the “treasure” I received was getting squirted in the face with a water bottle. I was dripping. My nephew couldn’t stop laughing. “He’s been reading a lot about practical jokes,” my sister said.

“Lucky me,” I replied.

Last night I started to get wrapped up in my current histamine reaction, falling down the rabbit hole of worrying and thinking, What am I going to do? But then I took a deep breath and spent a few minutes remembering all the longstanding problems my body has solved over the years, most of which it did without my help. Well, in short order, I had an entire list–warts that lasted a year, body odor that lasted at least six months, skin rashes, infections, flu viruses that dragged on and on–all things that are currently over. This is something I plan to do for at least the next week or two, make an effort to recognize the times my body has come through and won the day. Since God knows I’ve spent plenty of time pointing out my body’s failures lately, I think it’s only fair to balance the scales.

My therapist says that life isn’t black and white, but rather “a lot of gray.” My this-or-that, all-or-nothing brain doesn’t love this idea, but it seems to be correct. The truth is that just as I don’t win games all the time, I don’t lose games ALL the time either. Sure, sometimes I end up with water on my face, but, more often than not, I’m perfectly dry, nothing to complain about. Likewise, I’ve had my share of health problems, but probably no more than average. What’s more, my body has proved itself capable of restoring order on more than one occasion. I guess this is another way of talking about balance, being able to see that you win some and you lose some and that life isn’t one thing or the other. Instead, like my world on antihistamines, life itself seems to be a fog, this hazy, gray thing that creeps along, touches everything, and leaves nothing out.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house—it takes time.

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Letting Go of the Last Three Pounds (Blog #251)

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Well here we are again, writing during the day. Last night I took my therapist-assigned nap, then I couldn’t fall asleep until four in the morning. More than the napping, I think the reason I couldn’t sleep is because my body hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re doing things differently now, that there’s a new sheriff in town. This morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, partly because I’m tired, partly because I noticed last night that the body odor that I worked so hard to get rid of has returned. I’m assuming this is because of the medications I was on recently for my sinus infection, but I’m not a biologist. Either way, part of me thinks that I got this figured out once before and can do it again, and another part of me thinks, Oh, for fuck’s sake, I quit.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ring-ring-ringing and the microwave beep-beep-beeping. As if that weren’t annoying enough, my parents’ phone actually announces, rather loudly, the number that’s calling. You have a call from 479-867-5309. Maybe it would be better if the announcer had an Australian accent. Better yet, I’d be more than happy to wake up to the sound of Morgan Freeman’s voice. He could read the phone book to me any day. As it is, today I woke up to the voice of a robot. (Not sexy.) Anyway, now the sun is shining, I’m drinking coffee, and Dad and I are talking about the hot gay guys on Days of Our Lives. (They’re weaving a tangled web.) Additionally, as I’m writing, the soundtrack to the musical Kinky Boots is playing in my ears. So I’m slowly–slowly–working my way out of my bad mood.

Life, it would appear, doesn’t completely suck.

Last week my therapist suggested I watch the television series The Deuce, starring the oh-so-handsome and sexually flexible James Franco, so last night I watched the first two episodes. To be clear, I don’t think my therapist recommended the show for mental health reasons, but rather for entertainment, relaxation, and visual stimulation (James Franco). For all these reasons, I thank her. Y’all, I was completely engrossed. The show is set in New York City in the seventies, and James plays a bartender who works with the mob and serves up a number of colorful hookers. Also, he plays his twin brother, a former baseball star who’s up to his neck in gambling debts. I can’t tell you how delightful this is. Honestly, it reminds me a lot of Hayley Mills in the The Parent Trap or Patty Duke in The Patty Duke Show. You know, except with pimps and prostitutes.

Recently I’ve been toying with the idea of lowing my standards of perfection. For example, for the last twenty years I’ve had it in my head that my ideal weight is 175. Never mind the fact that the only time I weigh that much is after a week-long stomach flu. Honestly, 180 is a better goal. Well, in the last month I’ve gone from 190 to a consistent 183. Since this isn’t my first diet and exercise rodeo, I know I could spend the next three months working on those three pounds, like really putting myself through hell. But as things stand, I’m thirty-seven years old, my stomach is flat, and I wear the same sized jeans I did when I was in high school, so why am I making such a big damn deal about this and everything like it?

You can quit trying so hard and still get there.

Clearly I spend a lot of time working on “just a little bit more,” reaching for that thing that’s slightly out of reach. I’m not saying that I couldn’t lose another three pounds (I could), or that I can’t continue to write a thousand words a day (I can). But what would my life be like if I didn’t try so hard, if I recognized that I’ve already come a long way and that things are pretty great at 183 pounds and six-hundred words a day, give or take? Just the thought of that, of taking my foot off the throttle, is a relief. Phew, I can quit trying so hard and still get there, still be happy. I’m not saying I’m going to completely let myself go and start eating cheesecake for breakfast, but I am going to stop pushing so much and try to let life work itself out. It seems it always does, after all. Given enough time, answers come, healings happen, and even bad moods go away.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Anything and everything is possible.

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Strange Bedfellows (Blog #173)

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A couple nights ago, Jesse, the neighbors, and I were on the porch drinking. At one point Jesse and I went inside, and Jesse swore he saw “a critter scamper across the kitchen” and into my room. Well, we looked around, even picked up the air mattress, but didn’t find anything. Later when I went to bed, I thought my room smelled funny, but you know how your nose gets used to smells after a few minutes. I thought, Jesse was just drunk, but figured if he did see something “bigger than a mouse but smaller than a raccoon,” whatever it was would be in the closet. (Been there, done that.)

So I shut the closet door and went to bed.

Yesterday Jesse continued to stand by his story, but neither Ray or I saw anything. “The house does have a funk about it,” Ray said. “It has a certain patine.” Last night after blogging, I looked in the closet, didn’t find anything, and shut the door again. When I didn’t see anything in the room either, I turned down the lights, crawled in bed, grabbed the extra pillow off the floor, and settled in to look at Facebook. That’s funny, I thought. I think the pillow moved by my head. Like, I could have sworn something shifted by the right side of my face.

Calm down, I thought. It’s just the air mattress settling. So I put my phone away, closed my eyes, and–holy shit–the pillow moved again. Y’all, I said every curse word I know, immediately levitated out of bed, and threw on the lights. By this time I was thinking the mystery critter was under my pillow, but when I looked at the bed and saw the pillow moving like a Jim Henson puppet, I realized it was IN my pillow.

I wish I were kidding.

I kept thinking, Just pick up the pillowcase and take it outside. Come on. You can do it. But then I imagined something from a Stephen King novel and pictured myself bleeding, so I did what any self-respecting person would do–I threw another pillow on top of the critter pillow, screamed for Jesse, and asked, “Do you feel like being a man?” Well, fortunately he did. Grabbing the pillow, he walked out of the room and woke up Ray for the big reveal, then we all headed to the porch–at one-thirty in the morning.

Having blogged every day for nearly six months now, I’m starting to recognize a story when I see one, so I grabbed my phone and recorded Jesse coaxing the animal out of the pillow case. Ray and I were backed up against one side of the porch, and Jesse and the pillow creature were in the middle. It took a moment, but eventually a head popped out–a baby possum head. Oh my god, I was in bed with that. It could have bitten my face off. As Jesse pulled back the pillow case more, the entire possum lay there on the porch, I guess playing dead like a–well–possum. Meanwhile, Ray named it Beauregard and said they should keep it as a pet.

Did anyone miss the part where I was in bed with a real, live possum? I’m still shuddering just thinking about it. (Here’s a link to the video–UNedited for language.)

Just after I stopped filming, Beauregard scurried off the porch and into the bushes, but Jesse–who likes animals and clearly has different standards for bravery than I do–put on a pair of gloves, picked him up, and brought him back to the porch. Then Jesse and Ray started looking up information on Google. They found out possums “have a bad rap” and aren’t as scary as everyone thinks they are. Like, it’s really rare for them to get rabies, and some people keep them as pets, even though it’s illegal in many places or at least requires special permission. But none of that swayed me–I kept thinking, Oh hell no. I told Ray, “I’ve been saying I wanted someone to sleep with, but I can see I should have been more specific.”

Still, I guess Jesse is some sort of Florence Nightingale for rodents because he made Beauregard a home out of a box and gave him food and water. (I keep calling Beauregard a he, but he may have been a she. Gender is so confusing these days.)

About this time I went inside to look around my room and put things back in order. My sheets were completely off the bed, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think I’d been ejected off the mattress. So I made my bed again, checked all the other pillows for possums, and–thank god–didn’t find any. What I did find, however, was the reason the room smelled so funny. Beauregard had shit on the curtains. (Reason number 27 why NOT to pool your curtains on the ground.)

Taking down the curtains, I found Ray in the kitchen and asked him what to do with them. “Throw them away,” he said. Then he gave me a Glade candle to help with the odor, so I left it burning in the room while I headed back outside. I guess no one sleeps in Ray’s neighborhood, since when I got to the porch, the girl and boy from next door were there. Y’ALL, SHE WAS PETTING THE POSSUM LIKE A KITTY CAT. Maybe I would have thought this was cute–even wanted to try it–if Beauregard hadn’t caused me to jump out of my skin, but all I could think was, I just can’t–I just can’t even with the pillow possum petting.

About the time Jesse put Beauregard in the pocket of his sweat shirt, I went to bed. Before I crawled under the sheets, I checked the pillows once more, blew out the candle, and thanked the good lord my face was still in tact. Eventually, I fell asleep.

This morning Beauregard was gone. Jesse said he figured he crawled out through the handle holes on the side of the box. Ray said Beauregard stayed long enough to shit all over the box just like he had the curtains. We all decided all the yard work probably shook up the little guy and that he came in under the back door, since it’s currently missing a threshold and there’s a nice-sized gap at the bottom.

Follow for a change.

When I looked up the spiritual meaning of possums online, it said they represent the path of least resistance and being able to lay low while the universe works “behind the scenes to fulfill your dreams.” They also remind us that it’s okay to be passive. And whereas I’ve spent plenty of time being passive in my relationships over the years (and am working on it), I tend to be anything but passive in the rest of my life. Rather, I prefer being active. Often I describe myself as a “get shit done” kind of person. I mean, my last three blogs have been about literally bleeding to transform Ray’s yard, and whether it’s transforming a yard, opening a dance studio, or starting a blog, my primary thought is usually, “I’m going to make this happen.” But I’m reminded tonight–by a passive pillowcase possum of all things–that life requires balance. I don’t have to make everything happen. What’s more, I can’t. As much as I hate to admit it, there are things beyond my control, things like who reads this blog or–apparently–who ends up in my bed. So perhaps, thanks to Beauregard, I’m being encouraged once again to surrender, to let go even more, and, after all these years of leading, follow for a change.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance is a lot like gravity--it's everywhere.

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Something Shifted (Blog #81)

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Today my friend Bonnie and I drove to Austin, Texas, to visit her daughter Annie. Well, okay, Bonnie drove while I slept and drooled on a pink pillow strapped around my neck. (I only woke up every couple of hours to eat lunch, use the bathroom, or freak out in big-city traffic.) I really think sleeping on road trips is the best thing ever. It’s like time traveling, or at least teleporting. Close your eyes in one city–open them in another.

Beam me up, Bonnie.

Somewhere–I couldn’t tell you–we stopped for a bathroom and coffee break at a Buc-ee’s, which is basically a warehouse-sized gas station/grocery store/Hobby Lobby with a beaver for a mascot. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous and mesmerizing in all my life. I’m pretty sure I could have gotten an oil change and a pedicure if I’d wanted to. The place was so big (everything’s bigger in Texas), I think I met my cardio requirements for the day just walking to the bathroom, which had 34 freaking urinals. (I don’t think anyone minded me tapping him on his shoulder as I counted.) I mean, there were so many toilets, I could only assume they hosted competitions.

Just look at the mouth on that beaver. (I guess the positive side to only having two teeth is that flossing would be super easy. Then again, you wouldn’t make much money off the Tooth Fairy, so there’s that.)

Here’s a picture of what our car ride looked like after I woke up and took the neck pillow off. I’m reading a book called The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning of Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettleheim. It was written by a child psychologist and is a pretty fascinating read about the positive things fairy tales do for both children and adults. Anyway, I think Bonnie was listening to Tracy Chapman about this time, but it might have been STYX or Cat Stevens.

When we got to Austin, Bonnie and I stopped by Annie’s work, a chiropractor’s office where she teaches pilates. After a short reunion and a discussion about whether the bathroom door was green or blue (we still don’t know), Bonnie and I got a key to Annie’s apartment and left to unload our things while Annie finished working.

Like any good nosy houseguest, one of the first things I did when we got to Annie’s apartment was look through her books. One of them had to do with astrology, and although I don’t make a big fuss about horoscopes, I am interested in the zodiac from a personality perspective. Since I’m a Virgo, that was the section I flipped to. The information was mostly familiar, but it said one thing I hadn’t heard before, that Virgos are focused on functionality. Basically, they cut through the crap and get down to what’s useful. Whereas a sign like Gemini seeks out all information (knowledge for the sake of knowledge), a Virgo seeks out only useful information (knowledge for the sake of transformation).

This evening the three of us walked to a local restaurant and sat on the patio for dinner. (That’s us at the top of the blog.) We spent most of our time talking about decorating ideas, since Annie’s about to move her pilates business to a space of her own (!). I’m sure we’ll dance and do other things this week, but Annie’s new space is really the reason for the trip. (Get excited. Tomorrow we look at flooring and paint samples.)

Back at the apartment, as we were all talking about pilates and the new studio, I told Annie that I’ve been to a number of body workers over the years, but there were still things about my body that I wanted to change, like the fact that my right hip always feels like it’s in my rib cage, or the fact that my shoulders are rounded, or the fact that my head constantly turns to the left. Annie said she’d be glad to talk to me about it, and I said, “Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now.”

So Annie had me kick my shoes off and stand in front of her mirror. Then she bent down and started measuring my body with her fingers. It felt like going to the seamstress. Well, within a few minutes, Annie had a plan, explaining that the muscles around my rib cage are tight on the right side (and weak on the left), so they pull my rib cage down into my right hip.

Of course, it’s never just one thing. I have other muscles (in my butt) that are stronger on one side than the other, and all of it contributes to my imbalances. But Annie said we’d start with stretching, so she had me lie on a foam roller for ten or fifteen minutes. At first I was like the Y in YMCA, but then my arms fell asleep, so I ended up like this.

After a few minutes, I could feel some of the muscles across my chest start to relax. Ever so slightly, something shifted. And then Annie gave me some exercises to work on, things to lengthen and strengthen my abdominal wall and help stabilize my hips. Usually my hips feel pretty tight, rigid, like a door that’s rusted shut. But as Annie walked me through the exercise, I actually felt them move–no, I felt them slide. And get this shit. When I got up, I was visibly better. Like a wilted flower that’s been watered, I stood taller, more level, less slumped.

I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings.

Since last year when I decided to close my dance studio, I’ve been telling myself and everyone else that I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings. Like, I think I want to move to Austin, but I’m open to other ideas, other possibilities. I mean, I’ve been at my parents’ for a few months, and although that wasn’t my original plan, I’ve tried to be open to the fact that good can and is coming from that situation (this blog, for example). So since earlier this week when Bonnie invited me to Austin for a few days, I’ve been trying to not make a big deal of it. I knew that I could get down here and absolutely love it, but I also knew that I could get down here and feel like it wasn’t the place for me.

But I’ll say this. Two hours outside of the city today, ever so slightly, something shifted. I can’t say more about it than that. My therapist says when she moved from her hometown, it felt like a lightening bolt up her spine. My experience today wasn’t that dramatic. But my body did feel different, and it felt–good. Now that I’m here in Austin, it just feels good. There are hot people–hot guys–jogging the streets. There was a lady in Annie’s office today–a lady with gray hair–who had a cut off t-shirt with a picture of an old dude on a bicycle that said, “Put the fun in between your legs.” Tonight our waitress (who grew up in Kenya) had a tattoo that said, “The journey is the destination.” She was just cool. Annie told us one day she was at a park and stumbled upon a naked yoga class for pregnant women. Imagine that!

Honestly, I love all of that. I can’t tell you how much I would love to call this place–or a place like it–my home.

One day–just like that–you find something that works.

And then there’s Annie and the little pilates miracle that happened tonight on her living room floor. Talk about finally finding some information that’s functional, information that’s transformational. One of my best friends is always saying, “It’ll change your life,” as in, “This cheesecake will change your life,” or “This hairspray will change your life.” But really, folks, if I could get my body more in balance, get this hip back to where it’s supposed to be, that really could change my life. It could make it better.

I realize there’s a lot of work left to do here. By that I mean, I’m probably a long way from standing taller, holding my shoulders back, sticking my chest out proud. I’m probably also a long way from realizing my dream of being a full-time writer and living in Austin, fun in between my legs, naked yoga in the park, whatever. But maybe not. I’m finding that you can spend years sorting through crap, all kinds of information and possibilities. And then one day–just like that–you find something that works, something that clicks, something that’s useful. Maybe you can’t put your finger on it, but you know for certain–something has shifted ever so slightly, and it feels–good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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An Enchanted Slumber (Blog #67)

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This morning I woke up in Nashville, but now I’m back in Van Buren. Whenever I return from an out-of-state trip, I always feel a bit unsettled. I know the technology to travel long distances in short amounts of time has been around since before I was born, but I still feel odd whenever it happens to me. Maybe it’s not traveling the physical distance that bothers me, but traveling the emotional distance.

Last night before I blogged, Bonnie and I sat in the kitchen and ate cold pizza and did shots of whiskey. At least I think it was whiskey. It could have been rum. I’m not an expert. Anyway, somehow we got on the topic of fairy tales, which fascinate me. As the conversation went on, I brought up Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and talked about the fact that she goes on this amazing journey, but when she gets back, her family thinks it was a dream. Like everyone I’ve ever dated, they don’t get it. (In their defense, of course they don’t get it–they didn’t go on the journey and they weren’t the ones transformed by it.)

So that’s what I mean by the emotional distance, the transformation. I think any journey, even a week in Nashville, can change a person. Personally I had a week that was full of excitement, inspiration, and contemplation. That’s a lot to digest, and it’s hard to bring it all back to the place you came from, since it often feels like the people there don’t get it either. But again, why should they? They’ve been living their own lives, their own adventures.

I guess it just takes time to adjust after a big trip. On the drive back today, Todd and Bonnie and I didn’t talk much. I think all of us were tired, each looking back and looking forward, trying to figure out where to put the last eight days, maybe disappointed there weren’t more of them.

While Todd drove, I sat in the back and read one of the books I bought yesterday, Be Your Own Fairy Tale by Alison Davies. There’s a section in the book about Enchanted Slumber, the type of sleep that came over both Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. (And will come over me as soon as this blog is over.) The author explains that sleep represents not only periods of rest in our lives, but also periods of transformation. In the case of Sleeping Beauty, she fell asleep a girl, but woke up a woman.

For lunch this afternoon I had a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake from Dairy Queen, so this evening I went for an incredibly long walk/jog. (Since I started the hour before midnight, my stupid fitness app split my results into two days, so it looks like I barely met my goal, when the truth is that I FAR exceeded it.) Anyway, God willing and the creek don’t rise, I’m about to enter a period of transformation myself. Exercise is about to become a regular thing around here, and that means no more beer and tacos for a while. (Don’t worry, beer and tacos, I’ll come back for you, I just really need my pants to fit right now.)

Rest gives us time to dream.

As I walked/jogged tonight, I thought a lot about the fairy tale book, about how this time in my life is a lot like an Enchanted Slumber. (Obviously, I sleep past noon. Plus, I’m waiting for Prince Charming.) But really, it’s a big time of rest, a time of waiting, a time of transforming not only my waistline, but almost everything about me. Granted, I’m not exactly sure what things will look when it’s all over, but Sleeping Beauty didn’t either, and it worked out nicely for her.

As the book suggested, looking at things this way is already helping. I know that a lot of times I get frustrated because I’m not over there–now–but thinking of Sleeping Beauty reminds me that rest (and patience) is necessary for all of us. Rest gives us the energy for the adventure to come. What’s more, rest gives us time to dream.

So I’m reminded to give myself time to rest, whether it’s coming off closing a business of eleven years and selling most my possessions, or coming back from a weeklong trip to Nashville. After all, a lot of emotional ground has been covered, and it takes time to assimilate. Of course, when you’re resting, there’s no hurry. (Ask any Sleeping Beauty.) One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"That love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self."

Learning to Follow (Blog #43)

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This evening I attended a swing dance in Northwest Arkansas, and my friend Matt was there. Matt’s a dance instructor in Springfield, and we danced together several times. One time I was the leader, but the other times I was the follower, and I was pretty much in heaven because I love to follow and don’t get a chance to do it very often. Right before the dance ended, Matt even lifted me up in the air a couple of times, and I felt like my little nephew because I kept saying, “Again, Again!”

I can’t exactly say when my fascination with following started. For the longest time, I taught followers at my studio, but wasn’t actually on the floor following on a consistent basis. But over the last few years, I’ve made it more of a priority, something to work on, something to actively seek out.

Having spent most of my time on the dance floor as a leader, I can say it’s often exhausting. Of course, everyone has a job to do, but the leaders have a lot of responsibilities, and they make a LOT of decisions—where to go, how to get there, what to do WHEN we get there. It’s like being a tourist guide, really. There’s always this low to high level of stress that sounds like, What’s next? What’s next? What’s next? Like I said—exhausting.

As the name implies, leading is a rather active thing. Following, however, is more passive. Followers have their responsibilities of course, but since the bulk of the decisions belong to the leader, followers often get to enjoy the ride a little bit more. There’s more listening on the follower’s side, and that means there’s more anticipation, a certain type of wonder about what’s going to happen. I think followers are also thinking, What’s next? What’s next? What’s next?, but rather than coming from a place of stress, their question comes from a place of excitement.

I admit I’m not the best follower. (However, a nice Australian woman with a delightful accent told me tonight that I was “a lovely lady dancer.” I’m pretty sure I blushed.) I’m so used to being in charge, it’s hard not to back-lead and try to take control. But when I can relax, it goes better, and it’s such a relief to get a break, to not have to be in charge or decide, to not have to know what’s going to happen next.

There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us.

In the car this evening, I listened to a book by Ann Patchett called What now? The book was adapted from a commencement speech Ann gave at her alma mater, and it deals largely with the question we tend to ask when our lives are changing—What now? In terms of school and business, Ann says we often put a big emphasis on learning to lead, but that most of our lives is actually spent following, so it’s useful to learn to follow. As a writer, she says she spends most of her time listening, most of her time observing, most of her time staring at her computer screen, waiting for something to happen.

Up until tonight, I thought the whole leading and following thing applied mostly to the dance floor. That was context in which I knew it. But since listening to Ann’s book, I’ve been thinking about all the applications of leading and following OFF the dance floor. For example, I’m usually a “make shit happen” kind of person. I typically have a plan, work nonstop, and am ridiculously productive. In short, I’m used to being a leader.

But lately the biggest decision I’ve made has been whether to have waffles or pancakes for breakfast. And since I don’t have a job, I haven’t been working so much. And I guess I’ve been giving myself a hard time about that, but now I’m seeing that I’m getting a chance to be a follower. Sure, I could see that as scary, but I could also see it as exciting. Like, I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t know how I’m going to get there, but there’s a certain type of wonder about all that, and it’s not as if I’m dancing alone here. There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops. So I can relax and enjoy the ride for a while. I can be passive for a change. I can wake up each day with excitement and ask, What’s next? What’s next? What’s next?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

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