These Hundreds of Thousands of Words (Blog #1094)

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Phew. All day I’ve been tired, sad. And whereas I could blame lack of sleep and a number of other things, the fact is I’ve already begun to grieve the loss of this blog. Including tonight, I only have three more posts to go. I don’t know. It’s weird. Just like when a person dies you go through all those stages–denial, anger, grief, acceptance, bargaining–I’m going through those with this. Denial because, has it really been three years? Anger because of what hasn’t happened, hopes and expectations that haven’t been met. Ugh. All the feelings. The good news being that, so much more than three years ago, I’m open to all the feelings and what they have to teach me. Sweetheart, letting go is never easy.

At times throughout this process I’ve imagined that I’d, I guess, somehow be perfectly healed, or just perfect, on the other side of this thing. And that one of my final posts would be like, here’s how I did it. And how you can too for three easy payments of $127. Alas, if anyone ever pitches you such a deal, run don’t walk away. Because the fact is that no matter what a person learns, they are always and forever still growing. Still a work in progress. As much as people like me may hate it, there is no perfect to get to. If it does exist, perfection is like the casserole I made for dinner tonight. A little bit of everything. One big delicious mess.

With cheese.

This being said, I would like to take this blog as an opportunity to “sum up” what I’ve learned or how I’ve grown as a direct result of this project. My idea being that, although I despise numbered lists and bulleted sub-headings, I’ll go through my blog “categories” one by one and write a few sentences or paragraphs about each one. As these categories became self-evident early on and new ones haven’t been added in maybe a year and a half, I’ve come to see them as themes, or what this time in my life has been all about. The lessons I’ve been learning and doing my best to embody.

So here we go. I’m just going to shoot from the hip. And I’ll try to be brief. (Yeah right, Marcus.)

1. Abundance

Ugh. Does this have to be the first one? This has been a toughy for me, since, as a result of my traumas, I grew up believing that if you love something, just wait, it’ll be taken away from you. And yet my therapist, who has a real hard on for abundance, has shoved it down my throat. Yes, things leave, but other things come around. Thankfully, I have made progress. For one thing, money isn’t terrifying to me anymore. Even though I don’t have much of it. Although now I imagine if I did I wouldn’t be scared of it. It’s just paper. The most important thing being, however, that I really do believe deep down that I’ve been given an abundance of talent, love, help, knowledge, wisdom, and resources (both internal and external) with which to make my way through life. Creatively, I’ve been given an abundance of ideas. This is what counts. I know it’s rough when your bank account is strapped, but don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

2. Affirmations

A lot of self-help books are huge on affirmations, looking in the mirror and saying, “I’m beautiful, rich, and forgiving.” Or whatever. And whereas I’ve tried this shit more times than I care to admit, it hasn’t been what’s worked for me. Instead, the affirmations that have turned my life around, rather than being forced into me, have come out of me. That’s what this blog has been about. Sweetheart, be patient. I’m here for you. So if you like the idea of affirmations, go for it. But don’t open a book to find them. Open your heart.

3. Archetypes and Personalities

More and more I see the world through the lenses of “we’re all different” and “we’re all the same.” And whereas I don’t subscribe to one particular personality system, it’s helped me to be able to label people with archetypes (diva, drama queen, addict, pimp), since it allows me to get impersonal about their behavior. Or even mine. (Of course I’m worried about my outfit; I’m an artist!) Additionally, the more personality systems I study, the more I realize that every archetype and personality type is not only neutral (although it can be animated positively or negatively), but also necessary. God knows we don’t need everyone to an anal-retentive control freak. But God also knows the world would be a much sloppier place without those of us who are. (Wash your damn hands.)

4. Authenticity

This is a buzz word these days, and one my therapist actually dislikes because it’s so “hip.” To me it equates to being honest, even and especially if that honesty looks like anger, sadness, or confusion. You know, the emotions we hide behind our masks. Alas, it doesn’t seem to be something we can achieve every minute of every day (certain niceties are required in a polite society), but it is something we can strive toward. Being real. Being ourselves. My only other thought about it is that I’ve often been as surprised as anyone else when I’ve been able to be assertive or–here’s another word my therapist hates–vulnerable. Like when I cry in public or admit my faults (which, I agree with my therapist, isn’t being vulnerable, it’s being honest). Meaning we often don’t know what our authentic selves look like until they reveal themselves to us.

5. Balance

Is required and looks different for everyone. How do you know you’re out of balance in any area of your life? Your body will tell you. Learn to listen to its subtle and not-so-subtle messages. Additionally, pay attention to your relationships. If they’re full of drama, contention, or anything but an underlying peace, something is out of whack. Chances are you’ll never be able to hold the center point forever, so just keep your eyes on the middle. The rest will take care of itself.

6. Boundaries

My therapist calls boundaries the Holy Grail of personal growth. And whereas I used to think I had them, I realized I didn’t. Pro tip: if you can’t say no or if you tell the most personal details of your life to complete strangers (or vice versa), you don’t either. So get some. Learn to not only say no, but hell no. Figure out what you’re worth and don’t settle for less. Get in touch with your soul, do whatever it says, and never, under any circumstances, sell it. For one thing, it’s not yours to sell. For another, you’ll always regret it. How do you do these things? By learning to say no, hell no. And don’t worry if you “mess up.” Life will, without a doubt, give you another opportunity to excel. As with all things, having good boundaries is a process.

7. Coco’s Favorites

These blogs are my personal favorites. Many are already tagged as such, but I’ll be adding others as I work my way through reading all my old posts.

8. Creativity

People say they’re not creative, but I’m convinced we all are, even if it’s just in the way we make up a story about how we’re not creative, or what someone did that ruined our lives, or how awful things are (when they’re really not). Of course, creativity is better expressed through writing, dancing, knitting, planting, decorating, or whatever, and I’m certain our souls MUST, somehow, expand themselves through creating. So first stop and notice WHAT you’re creating (dinner, drama, dissent), then think about what you’d LIKE to be creating (an encouraging environment, a business, a hilarious blog). Then CHOOSE something different.

9. Dancing

Is good for a hundred reasons. Do it. Even if you don’t like it, consider that you were made to move. Some way, somehow. Your very heart BEATS. Tune into the rhythm of your life. If you ARE willing to give dancing a try, remember what my mentor Maggie tells her students. “Let dancing love you.” If not dancing, then let something, someone. Please, open your heart.

10. Dream Interpretation

I wish I were a master at this or had some of the experiences the people who write all those books about dreams do. Lucid dreaming, predicting the future, and whatnot. I don’t know, my therapist says I have the “most auspicious dreams,” so maybe it’s just easy to think someone else’s life is better or more fabulous than yours. Regardless, I do believe our subconscious/inner wisdom speaks to us a thousand different ways. Through dreams, synchronicities, hunches, bodily sensations, feelings, emotions, and even thoughts. So it’s whatever floats your boat, whatever you’re willing to listen to. Just know that it’s not all as random as it seems. Know that you can trust yourself. You’re wiser than you realize.

11. Emotions

Are not something you primarily think about. They’re something you primarily feel. Also, I hate to break it to you, they’re not something that go away when you shove them down. Like, they just hang out in the shadows. In your shadow. And whereas I wish I had a surefire way for coaxing them out, I’ve learned they come up when they’re ready. The best thing we can do is to listen. Be curious. Love, or at least make space for, whatever arises. Including frustration, anger, grief, sadness, and anything else that gives you snot bubbles. Because that’s your inner wisdom talking. For example, anger often means “get some damn boundaries.” (See above.)

12. Encouragement

Whatever you’re going through, I promise you’re not alone. Yes, your situation is unique to you and is your cross to bear, but it’s not the first time it’s ever happened. In Alcoholics Anonymous they say, “You’re only as sick as you are isolated.” Meaning that a burden is automatically lifted when you stop trying to carry it yourself. So please know that people love you and are rooting for you. Granted, they don’t always know what to say, but I guarantee there are people who would take a bullet for you in a heartbeat. People who will cry at your funeral and feel that something important, something they liked, is missing from their lives when you’re gone.

13. Facebook Live

This is where I’ve put the few live videos I’ve done and where I’ve read, out loud, other stories I’ve written. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll do at least one more when this is over.

14. Gratitude

Is often something those self-help books try to force. Don’t worry, be happy. Alas, I’ve found that gratitude, like an affirmation, works best when it springs naturally from the heart. A humbling voice, it says, “Sweetheart, you have everything you could ever need and more.” What’s more, I’m convinced this voice is always there, available even when we are most down. It says, “Life sucks, but we’ve been given this breath, and with this breath we will make it to our next. Or make it home.” So again, listen to your heart. (Not your head.)

15. Growing Up

Involves letting go of the need to blame, being your own parent most of the time, taking responsibility for your life and choices, and sucks. But is absolutely necessary. Also, it’s natural. Stop fighting it.

16. Hope

As stated in The Shawshank Redemption, “is a good thing, maybe the best of things.” So please, please, please allow as much room as is humanly or even divinely possible that even your most challenging circumstance can turn around for the better. On a dime if heaven so sees fit. Along these lines, pray for miracles and expect them to show up.

17. Improv Comedy

Is worth trying or at least taking note of. Because, like life, it requires that you think on your feet, play well with others, and not look back. Audiences may not be forgiving, but improv teaches you to be. So what if the show didn’t go well? It’s over. (Everything in your life is over.) Why is this a good thing? Because now we can play another game.

18. Letting Go

Is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. Because we like what we like and we want it last. Our relationships, our stuff, our identities, our stories and judgments about ourselves and others. Our blogs. But nothing lasts. We don’t get to keep a thing. So work on enjoying whatever it is while it’s here, then letting it go. The way the sun sets, the way a storm ceases. With grace.

19. Myths and Fairy Tales

Aren’t just cute little stories. Rather, within them are embedded the mysteries of life, our personalities, and our struggles. Best thing I ever heard on this topic was that your three favorite movies reveal the path your life is on, and I believe this more and more. Recently through EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) I realized one of my favorite movie characters (for almost twenty years now) was not only hung up on integrity (like I am) but was also embarrassed by his station in life (like I used to be). The idea being that you’re drawn to these characters and their stories for a reason. Your inner wisdom is nudging you forward, giving you a template for what’s possible. Be willing to take the trip.

20. Patience

Is almost harder than letting go. But is one of the most useful traits you could ever hope to develop. Because although the universe is capable of turning on a dime, it rarely does. What’s more, it rarely does what you want it to, when you want it to. Pro tip: the less you insist on having everything your way, the more patient you’ll be. So, in the words of Nancy Byrd Turner, “learn to labor and to wait.” Give yourself the gift of time. To grow. To heal. Nature does not proceed in leaps, and neither do we.

21. Perspective

If I could give everyone one gift, it would be the gift of perspective, the gift of being able to perceive whatever it is thats bothering you (including yourself) in a different way. Alas, since I can’t, go see a therapist. This is what they get paid for. But seriously, what if you could put on a pair of mystical glasses that allowed you to see everything in your life, even the rotten stuff, as heaven’s gift to you? What if you could turn your viewpoint upside down and really see that there’s nothing in your life by accident and that–if it’s there–it’s there for a reason? To challenge you, to grow you, to change you, and maybe even the world, for the better? What if you could look at the mountain you’re facing and, rather than asking God to remove it, absolutely know you were meant to climb it? And then put your boots on. This is my encouragement. Pick up a book, go to church, or bang your head against the wall, not until your circumstances shift, but until your perspective does. Because that’s when you will.

22. Relationships

Seems to be the medium through which everything happens. The bullshit, the learning, and the healing. So look alive. Like or not, no one is alone. We’re all in this together.

23. Self-Acceptance

Means coming to love yourself warts and all, not putting up such a damn front, and being gentle with yourself and others. It means accepting every part of you–even the ugly, angry, and sad parts. The weird thing? The more you accept yourself exactly as you are, the more you accept others and the world exactly as they are. And vice versa. This is why Jesus said don’t judge. Because that which you hold against someone else, sooner or later, you’ll hold against yourself. But as you accept That Which Is Unacceptable in yourself or another, That Which Is Unacceptable becomes your teacher. All parts come bearing gifts. Hold out your hands.

24. Spiritual Practice

Looks different for everyone but is something I’m convinced we all long for and participate in somehow. Maybe one person does it in the kitchen, the way they lovingly prepare the perfect meal to feed their family. Maybe another does it in a chapel. I grew up as a Christian. Last night I prayed the rosary. Now I don’t know what to call myself. More and more, the labels are unimportant. It’s the experience I’m after, the inner knowing that I’m part of something bigger than myself. The conviction that every time I take a breath, God breathes with me. I’m after what the mystics know, the truth that every life, every rock, and every molecule is both sacred and holy.

25. The Physical Body

This could be an entire series of posts. And has been. Suffice it to say that every experience we have on this planet is granted to us through our physical organism. And whereas my personal temptation has been to ignore my body’s signals (information, guidance, wisdom) or be mad it at for hurting or being sick (not good enough), I’ve learned that it is the master and I am its pupil. I am in its classroom, and I must play by its rules. So more and more I’m learning to love, honor, and take care of my body, this gift I’ve been given. Granted, it’s easy to compare yourself to others and find fault with your body, but then you miss The Mystery. Then you miss the wonder that is you.

26. Therapy and Healing

Is actually a thing. And whereas I could go on and on about different therapies and modalities I’ve tried and succeeded with, really, it all started the day I picked up the phone and called my therapist. One little choice that was really a big choice. “I think I need help,” I said. Thankfully, my therapist was a good fit for me, and her office became a safe place, a sacred place, where I could begin to put myself back together. And whereas I’ve done a lot of work on my own, I think this is a huge part of the process. Having a witness. Not someone that does the work for you, but someone who sees you and believes in you. Maybe more than you do. Someone who is willing to stick with you through it all. Another big part being what my therapist told me that first session. “For this hour we’re going to do two things: sit in truth and not judge ourselves.” So whatever path you choose, I suggest taking these two gems with you. The truth (it will set you free) and non-judgment. I promise, you’ll get further faster if you do.

27. Transformation

Is not only possible, but necessary. Just like a caterpillar can’t stay a caterpillar forever, we as humans can’t stay our old selves forever. Indeed, we’ve been designed to grow, change, transform, evolve. To forget that which is behind and press forward toward the mark. To be burned in the ashes and rise again. To die on the cross and ascend three days (or three years) later. This is written in our stories, and this is written in our cells. So just find a way to accept it. Then get on with the process. Set your foot upon The Path. Entertain the idea that you are more (insert positive adjective here) than you ever thought possible.

28. Travel Writing

Hasn’t been a huge part of my journey or this blog but is still worth mentioning. One lesson from traveling being that, just like that, the universe can take you on a trip, put someone on your path, or put you on someone else’s. Just like that, you can be in a whole new world. With a whole new perspective. JRR Tolkein said, “Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or secret gate.” Believe in this magic. Trust that as one journey ends, another is beginning.

29. Writing

Isn’t for everyone, but is for everyone. At least, words are for everyone. Personally, these words, these hundreds of thousands of words, have changed my life. Once a writer friend pointed out that I was literally writing into existence the life I wanted to live. Sweetheart, hang on for one more day. Things will get better. Lately I’ve been hashtagging all my posts #healing. And whereas I’ve thought of these statements and labels as simply my way of hoping or just description, well, in the beginning was the word. Seriously. Think of the world you create when you say something is “possible” versus the world you create when you say something is “impossible.” Notice how your thoughts, feelings, emotions, attitude, and actions change depending on which world you decide to inhabit. Crazy, I know. And that’s just one little word. Now, have the words I’ve written these last three years MADE my life change? I could never prove that. But my life has changed, and surely it’s at least partly due to the fact that at some point I started telling myself a different story. A story I wanted to hear. One of healing, forgiveness, self-acceptance, hope, transformation, and transcendence. A story in which I was the hero and there was a happy ending.

And surely anyone can do this.

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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How to Be Okay with Fewer Pockets (Blog #708)

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When I was twenty-five, I went to New York City for the first time. To go on a date, if you must know. Because I didn’t have a carry-on bag, I borrowed a messenger bag, a man bag, a murse (that’s man purse, Mom), from my friend Justin. They were all the rage back then, and Justin, ever-trendy, had half a dozen to choose from. The one I picked out was navy blue with an orange accent stripe. This was perfect because I’d just opened my dance studio and the bag matched my logo and business card colors.

During my time in New York City, I fell in love in more than one way–with my date, with the city itself, and with Justin’s man bag, as silly as that sounds. But seriously, it was fabulous. Not only was it my favorite colors, but it had pockets for everything–business cards, four pens or pencils, you name it. Ugh, I’m a sucker for a good pocket. So when I got back to Arkansas I told Justin I was keeping the bag. Like the good friend that he is, Justin didn’t put up a fuss.

For the better part of a decade, my man bag and I were inseparable, outlasting that three-year relationship that began in New York City or any other I’ve ever had. My bag and I saw the world, went on dozens of trips together–to Denver, Baltimore, Toronto, Mexico, Abu Dhabi, and Thailand.

With time, my man bag began to show signs of wear. (Don’t we all?) But get this shit. Several years ago some of my friends and students, Joe and Loretta, gave me a new one–here comes the weird part–that looked EXACTLY like my old one. No kidding, I guess they found it stashed in a closet somewhere, but it was identical to mine and had never been used. The tags were still on it. I can’t tell you how over the moon I was. Later that night I switched everything from one bag to the other. Y’all, it was so easy; the pockets were all the same, and I already knew where everything went.

That’s one of the things I love about my man bag–I know where everything goes. Sometimes after a difficult day when nothing else in the world makes sense, I can organize my bag, and it’s like maybe I can’t control anything that matters in my life, but I can control this. I can control where I put my business cards and pens. I wonder how many times I’ve done this, pulled items out or shoved items into my bag–Tylenol, lip balm, audio cables for dance gigs. I’m sure it’s in the thousands. It’s weird. I’ve never thought of myself as being attached to that bag, since technically it’s been attached to me. But since it’s literally been a container for my life–it’s held my money, my lunches, and almost every book I’ve read in the last decade–I guess we’ve been attached to each other. I’ve carried it, and it’s carried my stuff. My friend Bonnie recently said it smells like me.

Also, I’m not sure that was a compliment.

Earlier this week Bonnie gave me a new man bag. Not because my old one smelled like me, but because she’d gotten me one for my birthday last September but the box had gotten lost in the shuffle of their packing. (She and her husband are getting ready to move.) Oh my gosh, y’all, the new man bag is so sexy. There’s leather and everything; my old one was just nylon and rubber. I really was/really am excited to have it. Still, when I switched all my stuff from one bag to the other yesterday, I didn’t know where everything went. The new bag, although technically larger than the old one, I think, doesn’t have nearly as many pockets. I thought, Where are my business cards and pens going to go? And what about my audio cables?

When that relationship that started in New York City fell apart, it was Memorial Day weekend, and I was in Tulsa with Justin. A friend called to tell me they’d heard my boyfriend had cheated. For hours I couldn’t reach him. During that time, Justin drove me home. Finally, I got my boyfriend on the phone. For two hours I paced the neighborhood, and we hashed it out. The entire time, Justin walked nearby, never saying a word. When the conversation was over, I was single again. I remember feeling like someone had punched me in the gut. I collapsed. Not knowing what else to do, I took a shower. Then I gathered everything my ex had ever given me, put it in a box, and shoved it in a drawer. It took years, but I eventually threw it all away.

Healing from that breakup took years too. I saw my ex a number of times after that and remember wanting everything to go back to the way things were before. Since we’d dated long-distance, we’d spent thousands of hours on the phone, and his voice was so comforting. He was a fabulous listener. Part of me always knew we wouldn’t last, and yet he was like that messenger bag I’ve slung over my shoulder for thirteen years–familiar, something I wanted to hold on to. But, of course, we don’t get to hold on to anything here. At some point, everything changes and you have to let go. For years you keep your glasses in a certain pocket, and then overnight there’s not a pocket for your glasses anymore. You think, What’s going to hold my glasses? When you’re suddenly single, you think, Who’s going to hold me? In time, you figure it out, how to take your old life that used to fit into that space and make it fit into this space, how to be okay with fewer pockets, how to carry and hold yourself instead of asking a bag or a boy to do that for you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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On Musterbation (Blog #664)

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The above photo was taken by my friend Tom Wilmer during our recent travel writing trip to Fall Creek Falls State Park in the Upper Cumberland region of Tennessee. Apparently the tree in the photo is one of the most photographed trees in America, and if you Google “Buzzard’s Roost tree” you can see even more of it. I’m using the photo tonight–even though all I can think about when I look at it is how not-flat my stomach looks–in order to prove a point, which I’ll get to shortly. Plus, the photo reminds me that I used to have two functioning knees and before long I’ll be back to running around state parks, crawling around mountaintops, and–eeek!–dancing.

This afternoon I went to the chiropractor and got a massage (at the chiropractor’s office). I can’t tell you how grateful I am for these people. So often I insist on suffering, like, I can take care of this problem myself. But whenever I do break down and ask for help, I actually get it. So this is me being thankful for my chiropractor and massage therapist and everyone else who’s helped me this week–my dermatologist, my therapist, my physical therapist, and–oh!–a very nice gentleman at Kinko’s today.

The Kinko’s trip had to do with printing off and signing some paperwork to finally–finally–settle my bodily injury claim with the insurance company of the man who knocked the shit out of me over a year ago and totaled my car. This has been one of the most frustrating ordeals I’ve ever gone through. And whereas I’m not completely happy with the way it’s turning out, I’m not completely dissatisfied either, so I’m moving on. What’s done is done, and now I can think about/worry about/stress about other pressing matters. This has taken eighteen months of my life, and God knows I have plenty of other things on my mental and emotional plate to deal with.

This evening I curled up on my futon with a cup of hot tea and read several chapters in Wayne Dyer’s I Can See Clearly Now, a book that’s reminding me that there are no accidents, everything in one’s life is good and useful (although sometimes it takes years to see this), and the mind is a powerful creator and healer. In one story, Wayne describes seeing a woman (under hypnosis, I think) cause her skin to physically blister when she was touched with a rubber eraser because she believed it was a hot poker. Is that crazy or what? But Wayne’s point was that our beliefs truly can and do affect our realities, so they’re worth examining. In terms of my present health challenges, I’m personally trying to shift my thinking from This will never get better to My body is both willing and able to heal.

In another story, Wayne talks about the work of Albert Ellis, a man who greatly influenced Wayne’s thinking. Ellis, as I understand, was the creator of Rational Emotive Therapy (RET), which came before and has similarities to Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT). Both therapies contend that it’s not outside people or events that cause our unhappiness, but rather our thoughts or beliefs about those people or events that cause our unhappiness. According to Ellis, in a video I watched on YouTube, we “disturb” ourselves whenever we think things MUST be a certain way. He says the three big MUSTS are, “I must do well or I’m no good, you–you louse–must treat me well or you’re worthless and deserve to roast in hell, and the world must give me precisely what I want or it’s a horrible, awful place.”

Sticking with today’s events as examples, this theory would contend that it’s not the fact that my stomach isn’t flat that disturbs me, but rather my belief that my stomach must (or should) be any different than it actually is. Likewise, it’s not the fact that my car accident matter dragged on for over a year that stresses me out, but rather my belief that “this shouldn’t have taken so long.” Ellis refers to this kind of thinking–in which we place demands on ourselves, others, and the universe that are in direct opposition to what-is–as musterbation. Is that great or what?

“Masturbation is good and delicious,” he says, “but musterbation is evil and pernicious.”

There are no rules.

With this in mind, I’m trying to lighten up on myself. For example, normally by this time of night (12:23 AM) I’m done with the blog and already at the gym doing physical therapy, so there’s a part of me that thinks, I must finish up. I must go work out. Fuck! I’m behind. Then my mind launches into all sorts of “the world will fall apart” scenarios because I’m not obeying my made-up rules. (No one else is obeying them either, by the way.) But the truth is, there are no rules. Nothing MUST happen other that what IS happening right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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.

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69 Months and Oh-So-Many Miles (Blog #561)

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Currently it’s seven in the evening. I’m been up and functioning since three-thirty this morning. I’m not kidding. Consequently, I don’t feel like writing. I’d rather be drinking a Budweiser and eating a bag full of chocolate-covered donut holes. Or sleeping. Sleeping would be nice. But instead I’m writing.

There’s not a donut hole in sight.

I should back up.

Last night I went to bed at eleven-thirty and got up four hours later in order to go with a friend to court–on the other side of the state–for a minor traffic violation. Well, for the accusation of a minor traffic violation, since America and innocent-until-proven-guilty and everything. Anyway, that’s their story.

This is mine.

After getting up, getting dressed, and scarfing down two scrambled eggs, I walked outside at four this morning to look for my friend. And whereas I didn’t see them, I did see the constellation Orion. And not that I’d wish anyone out of bed that early, but you should have been there. Around one in the morning Orion’s just on the horizon, but at four–wow!–he’s directly overhead. And whereas I’m dreading the impending winter, I’m looking forward to seeing this unmistakable figure–The Hunter–make his march across the heavens.

Oddly enough, my friend’s court appearance was in Forrest City, the same city in which my dad spent several years in federal prison. (He was a pharmacist. He gave some drugs away without prescriptions. That’s not allowed.) Anyway, he was originally sent to El Paso, so our visits were few and far between. But when he got transferred to Forrest City, that was only four-and-a-half hours away (228 miles in one direction, exit to exit), so our visits increased. I can’t tell you the number of times as a teenager that I got up by myself or with my sister at three-thirty, got dressed, scarfed down two scrambled eggs, and pointed my Honda Civic down Interstate-40 East toward Forrest City–

To go through a metal detector and see my dad in a visitation room.

I think the last time I actually stopped in Forrest City was that day in April 2001 when Dad was released and my mom, my sister, and I drove to pick him up. It’d been 69 months since he walked out our front door for El Paso. 69 months since he’d started teaching me to drive and someone else had to finish the job. 69 months and oh-so-many miles. How do you even describe such a day, a day you thought would never come? I can’t. All I knew and felt was that my dad was coming home.

Somehow–finally–Forrest City was in my rearview mirror.

Seventeen years. That’s how long it’s been since I last drove to Forrest City, much less at four in the morning, much less for anything related to breaking the law. (Um–for an accusation of breaking the law.) Anyway, this morning brought up a lot of memories, a lot of–um–uncomfortable feelings. On the one hand, I was quite aware–I’m thirty-eight now. There’s nothing intimidating or embarrassing about walking into a courthouse or going through a metal detector. But on the other hand, I felt like that teenager, the one who was in that courthouse the day 12 jurors all said, “Guilty,” the one who used to get up at four in the morning to walk through a metal detector and see his father sitting in a visitation room dressed in all forest green.

It’s funny how time can collapse so quickly. One minute you’re an adult standing next to Orion. You feel–free. The next minute you’re a teenager standing next to a guard with a gun on his belt. “Who are you here to see?” he says. You drop your head and say his name. You feel–intimidated.

This morning I was fully prepared to walk through a metal detector and sit in a courtroom with my friend, but something–heaven?–intervened. “The courtroom is full,” the disgruntled courthouse employee said. So I waited in the car and read a book. Part of me–honestly–was relieved. I hate courts, hate confrontation, and I knew my friend would be contesting their ticket. But then after I saw several people leaving, I thought, There’s more room now. Go inside, Marcus. This isn’t your fight anyway. But again, something intervened. The car alarm went off. Every time I tried to remove the key from the ignition–HONK, HONK, HONK.

So I stayed in the car.

Things worked out for my friend. Today was only an arraignment. Anyway, when my friend got back to the car, they fixed the alarm, but we discovered the battery had died. So we asked a couple for a jump, and they gladly said yes. The man helped my friend with the cables, and the lady sat in their car and pumped the gas. Personally, I did nothing–just stood outside the car, scrolled on my phone, and tried to look as if the whole affair weren’t my fault. Then just as the couple started to drive off, the lady smiled at me. Like, I don’t know, life was all right. I hope I never forget it–

That smile in Forrest City.

I’ve said before that I wouldn’t trade any of my challenging experiences. I mean that. Even the ones that were agonizing, embarrassing, or intimidating–I wouldn’t trade them even if I could. Because this is my story. This is my march across the heavens. (Hum.) Sometimes people tell me that I have a lot of courage–my therapist says I have big balls–to put my insides on the internet, or to dare to live life on my own terms. And whereas I’m not saying my current life is easy–fuck–it’s a chocolate-covered donut hole compared to those 69 months and oh-so-many miles, those 69 months and oh-so-many miles that still manage to suck me in after 17 years sometimes, but for which I am also mysteriously and profoundly grateful. Because of them, today I am strong beyond measure. My head is lifted. I can see the stars. People smile at me, and I smile back at them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

Why Me and My Therapist Are Successful (Blog #533)

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Recently a dancer friend of mine said to me, “You seem to get so much out of your therapy. I never seemed to. What do you do, or what does your therapist do? I’m serious.” Hum. That’s a really great question. Because I do get a lot out of my therapy. But why exactly? I mean, it’s not magic. Anyway, I’ve been chewing on it. And whereas I’m not sure I have a complete and perfect answer, today’s blog is my attempt at one.

Why HAS my work with my therapist been so successful?

Before going further, I should back up and reiterate, if I have indeed iterated before, exactly how I came to be in therapy in the first place. For the LONGEST TIME, I have been attracted to self-help, psychological, alternative health, and spiritual growth material. This, I assume, is partly due to how I am “hard-wired” and partly due to the fact that I endured a lot of trauma growing up and have, for quite a while now, been looking for some way, some “how,” to resolve it. In short, part of me has always known that there has to be a better way to live, or–simply–a way to heal.

Early on, this journey led me to countless books and a number of “new age” (although they’re actually “old age”) philosophies and techniques. To be clear–I learned a great deal from all of them, but none of them quite did “the trick.” What they did do, however, was give me a profound exposure to the vast information available regarding–hum–ways to put yourself back together. In being exposed to all this material, of course, I read about therapy and had friends in therapy, and although I wasn’t opposed to the idea, I never thought, That’s something I need to do. Looking back, I obviously could have benefited greatly from the right work with the right person, but–I guess–it simply wasn’t time.

Oddly enough, the thing that did “the trick” was a terrible (no good, very bad) relationship that I was in, since suffering seems to be the ever-great motivator toward changing one’s self and one’s circumstances. It was at this point–in the middle of everything falling apart–that it was suggested to me by my Reiki teacher that although I was clearly attracted to and cared for the person I was with, perhaps THE REASON I was attracted to them had something to do with my family history and MAYBE I SHOULD GET MY ASS TO A THERAPIST. So that was it–I went not only because I was miserable, but also because I was curious.

What the fuck (exactly) is going on here? I wondered.

When I initially started shopping for a therapist, I had NO IDEA what to look for, since clearly–or at least it should be clear when dealing with human beings–that some therapists are good therapists and others are bad therapists. As mine says, “SOMEONE had to graduate at the bottom of the class.” My method for finding the right person, then, consisted purely of asking a counselor friend of mine–someone I trusted–for a recommendation. And whereas the first person he recommended wasn’t taking new clients, the second person he recommended (my current therapist) was. One afternoon I called her, and she later called me back. It was a short conversation, but by the time I got off the phone with her, she’d not only made me laugh out loud, but she’d also made me feel respected and comfortable. She’s continued to do these three things for the last four years plus.

The FIRST time I met my therapist, she asked what was going on. “Why are you here?” she said. Then, for nearly an hour, she just listened as I did AN OVERVIEW. Since I’d done enough work on my own, I KNEW what “the biggies” were, so I laid them all out there. EVERYTHING that I’d ever been afraid to say or talk about, I said or talked about. I just vomited all over her floor as she quietly and simply watched. Then at the end, she gave me her overview. “Here are some things I notice,” she said. “You have some boundary issues; you have some family-of-origin issues (but who doesn’t?).”

Then she offered an encouragement–“But everything is workable. It’s ALL workable.” Lastly, before I left, we discussed how often I wanted to be there. “If money weren’t a consideration,” she said, “how often would YOU LIKE to come here?” From there, we made a plan. But this, I think, is a HUGE FACTOR in why my work with my therapist has been successful. She’s always let me steer the ship. I believe the technical term for her approach is self-directed or client-directed therapy. Not that she never pokes or prods, but I don’t think she’s ever, even once, said, “Let’s talk about your father.” In other words, she doesn’t push me to discuss things unless I’m ready. “My theory,” she says, “is that when your subconscious is ready to deal with something, it will come up.”

So far, that’s been my experience. During the last four years, we’ve circled back around to EVERYTHING I threw up on her floor during that initial meeting and then some. As I’m a hyper-organized person and the method works for me, I normally come with a list, a collection of topics that I get “hung up” on or curious about between sessions. Someone was rude to me. I felt rejected on the dance floor or in my dating life. This person pisses me off. I’m worried about how I look. I’m judging myself for smoking again. I had this crazy dream last night. Through all of it, my therapist listens (she has a big hard-on for being “present”), then comments. Sometimes she affirms–“That person is full of bullshit.” Other times she confronts–“You’re full of bullshit.”

From day one, she’s told me, “There are two rules for this hour. I don’t care what you do with the rest of the week, but during this hour, we’re going to SIT IN TRUTH, and we’re NOT going to judge ourselves.” Consequently, the message she’s communicated to and instilled in me is that–well–I’m okay. Never once has she not accepted me exactly the way I am. And not that she’s all hippy-dippy about it, but she’s modeled unconditional love to me. As a result–from the beginning–I’ve thought, This is someone I can trust.

And if you don’t think you can trust your therapist, don’t walk–run–the other way.

Occasionally I have thought, I don’t know if I can tell her THAT, and that’s when I’ve known I had to. After all, if I don’t trust her with everything, then what’s the point? If I can’t be completely me, then our relationship isn’t going to be as productive as it could be. With anything, you get out what you put in, and since therapy is so expensive, well, you better put in all you can.

At least that’s my attitude.

To my friend who’s a dancer, I would say that work with a therapist is obviously a relationship, and you know when you dance well with someone and when you don’t. Some partners you trust to hold you, and others you’d be deathly afraid to let come near you. So that has to be the foundation. I’ve got to like this person as a person, I need them to like me (even if we only see each other once a week for an hour and we NEVER have a cup of coffee together), and we need to trust each other. They have to trust that some way, some “how,” I know what’s best for my life and the direction I want my ship to go, and I have to trust them that they can help me navigate my stormy waters.

A navigator. Maybe that’s a good way to think about a therapist. So often I go to mine and say, “Sally is really pissing me off, but I don’t want to tell her to walk the plank (bitch).” Then my therapist will give me what she calls “strategies,” different paths I could take. As things progress, we see what works and what doesn’t work. Another thing she does that’s helpful is offer stories from her personal life. (I’ve heard a lot of therapists won’t do this.) Once she told me that she was scheduled to meet someone for lunch but decided in the parking lot of the restaurant that she had no desire to spend an hour with this person. So she called them and said, “Yeah, I’m not coming.” My mouth was ajar–at the time I never would have considered being that direct. But the fact that she had meant that I could and that THERE ARE OTHER WAYS of being in the world.

A few closing thoughts. My therapist went to therapy personally for years. (Would you go to a dance instructor who had NEVER taken any lessons or gotten out on the dance floor?) Also, my therapist never gives me homework or directives (although once she did tell me to get the fuck off online dating applications). “To tell you what to do would be patronizing,” she says. “You know what’s best for you.” So she believes in me. This is huge. More than anyone else in my life, she constantly affirms my talents, abilities, and inner wisdom. I assume she’s able to do this because she’s secure in herself. Lastly, she’s honest–she’s not afraid to tell me what her personal struggles are or when something is outside of her realm of expertise.

As to why I keep going to therapy (if anyone wonders), it’s because I see results. My life consistently has less and less drama in it. I like myself more and more. The quality of my relationships continue to improve (although the quantity continues to decline). Recently my therapist said that my perfectionism actually serves me in terms of my therapy because I keep working at “all this.” It’s not that my life has to be perfect, but I am COMMITTED to this process.

So, in short–right person, right relationship, self-directed, results-focused, commitment.

I hope this helps.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Connecting the Dots (Blog #465)

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A few short stories and observations before I leave town this afternoon for business and pleasure–

1. People think they are soooo funny

Two nights ago after I turned my lights out and crawled into bed, I heard an insect buzz, buzz, buzzing around my head. I yelled into the living room, “THERE’S A JUNE BUG IN HERE!”

My dad hollered back, “That’s odd–it’s July.”

2. People are assholes

Earlier this week I was writing at Starbucks, and some goober on the other side of the room struck up a conversation with three strangers. That’s a natural-enough thing to do, I suppose, but this guy was separated from these women by at least ten feet and was practically yelling across the communal area–HELLO THERE!–going on and on about where he was from (he was a Yankee) and why he was down here in the south (he needed a change of pace). Anyway, I had my earplugs in listening to music, TRYING to concentrate on writing, but this jerk wouldn’t stop being socialable with these ladies.

The nerve.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW STARBUCKS GOT STARTED?” he said.

Then he told them (and me) exactly how it all happened. I’m not kidding–he shouted every frickin’ detail about this entrepreneur who was trying to sell coffee machines and ended up hawking Joe out of a broom closet in Seattle’s fish market. Loud Guy even ended the story by saying, “–and the rest is history.”

I wanted to throw my latte straight at his bald head.

But I didn’t because I’m in therapy.

So get this shit.

The next day–the next day!–I’m out driving in my neighborhood and see this same fella walking the streets–just gliding along with a damn smile on his face as if he owned the county. He even had his t-shirt tucked into his khaki shorts–like a perfect asshole! I wanted to roll down my window and yell, “Untuck your shirt, you little turd, and wipe that grin off your face!”

But I didn’t because I’m a spiritual person.

3. The universe is an asshole

Seriously, the universe can deliver this guy into my experience two days in a row, but it can’t introduce me to Zac Efron.

4. People are kind

Conversely, here’s something. A couple months ago I was in Hot Springs working on a travel-writing story. My last day there I “took the baths” for a few hours, and while soaking my body in mineral water, I met the kindest man–a chiropractor. For at least an hour we chatted–about Hot Springs, the hot springs, health and wellbeing, worry and meditation, even his family in Fort Smith. As much as the guy at Starbucks got on my nerves, this guy delighted my soul. Such a pleasant surprise.

Well, Friday night I was out listening to live music with my friend Kim, and there was a group of obvious friends sitting by us. You know when people are enjoying each other–talking, laughing, carrying on, dancing. Well, one couple in particular caught my attention. They just seemed laid back, fun.

So get this shit.

The laid back, fun guy was the brother of the gentleman I met in Hot Springs. (Kim knew him and told me his last name, and I made the connection.) What a small world, I thought, then kept thinking I should introduce myself. But what would I have said?

“Hi, I’m Marcus, and I met your brother in a bathhouse.”

You know how we all have voices in our heads? Like that voice that tells says you should lose weight or get a damn job or whatever? Well, I have this still, small voice that never puts me down and is never shaken by life (or assholes at Starbucks), and that voice spoke up while I was watching these darling strangers.

“They’ll come to you,” it said.

But then the evening went on, and they didn’t. (Oh well.) Everyone left the restaurant except me and Kim and the staff. And then–and then–out of nowhere–the two returned. She’d misplaced her glasses. (They were in her purse.) But the point is–like the voice said–they came over to say hello. (Life is weird.) I said, “I met your brother in a bathhouse,” and we had a delightful chat about jewelry, dancing, staying “open.” We all hugged before they left, and they said, “We love you.”

To me, a total stranger.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I love you too.”

5. The universe is kind

Love is all around us.

Last night after a hard day of manual labor and a hot shower, I stood in my driveway and looked at the stars. Searching the sky, I finally found The Serpent constellation, then afterwards discovered Pegasus, The Horse. Although they’ve been there for centuries, they seemed to appear out of nowhere. For me, I guess they did. Not that I haven’t seen the individual stars before, but I simply didn’t know how they fit together. Even now their fitting together seems to blink in and out–it’s there one moment and gone the next. Since this is my experience with people–now we fit together, now we don’t–perhaps love is like the stars–all around us–there if we can only see it and connect the dots.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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The Thing I Was Forgetting (Blog #365!)

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

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

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

Each person is important.

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

Talk about a hand-delivered message from the universe.

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

Big dreams take commitment.

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

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

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

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

Freedom is everyone’s birthright.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You know when someone crosses a line. You may not want to admit it, but you know.

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Pancakes for Breakfast (Blog #345)

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I guess all children are often embarrassed by their parents, but sometimes I think my dad worked extra hard to make this generalization specifically true for me and my sister. In addition to trying to pawn my sister off on random hot waiters–like, please take pitty on my homely daughter and escort her to the drive-in–my dad, who’s always been a pretty big guy, used to walk around the house wearing only his terry-cloth sleep shorts. Bare-chested, he’d answer the door in these shorts, welcome my friends into our home in these shorts. I can still see the skin under his arms flapping as he’d wave his hands in the air. “Come right on in here!”

When I think about growing up, I don’t remember a time when Dad didn’t wear those sleep shorts around the house, especially in the evenings. They were dark blue, made from this fuzzy towel material, with an elastic band that stretched as Dad did. Quite literally, he wore them for years. With each wearing and each washing, the shorts wore progressively thinner, until they eventually wore out. You know how it goes with your favorite item of clothing. Sooner or later you have to say goodbye.

When I was a teenager, Dad’s terry-cloth shorts were at their thinnest. Truly, they were long past retirement age. They should have been put out to pasture when I was still in the single digits. But you know how people hang on to things. Anyway, I remember when my best friend, David, saw Dad in those shorts for the first time. He nearly came unglued from laughing so hard. He said, “What the hell is your dad wearing?”

Several weeks ago I asked my friends on Facebook, “What’s one movie that always makes you cry?” Y’all, I got a hundred suggestions, but the big winner was The Notebook. If you don’t know, The Notebook is about a man whose wife has Alzheimer’s. Every day he reads to her (from a notebook) the story of how they met and fell in love. In hearing their story, briefly, she comes back to him. She becomes lucid. But that’s how strong their love is. If only for a few minutes, it makes the impossible possible.

According to everyone I’ve ever talked to, The Notebook is a real tear-jerker, and if you haven’t seen it, I’m sure you can imagine why. Well, I watched it last night for the first time, and everyone was right. I was a mess. But I wasn’t a mess because of the couple’s beautiful, longterm relationship or the fact that the wife (Allie) often couldn’t remember her husband (Noah) or their children. Honestly, I don’t have a lot of experience with love stories that last or loving someone who slowly fades away. Rather, I was a mess during the scene in which Noah introduces Allie to his father for the first time.

First, let’s back up just a moment. Still a teenager, Noah works at the lumberyard. He’s poor. Allie, on the other hand, comes from old money. When her parents find out about Noah, they are somewhat gracious, but mostly furious. They don’t think Noah is good enough for their daughter, and they forbid her from seeing him again. However, when Noah’s father meets Allie, he welcomes her with open arms. He doesn’t ask her how much money she makes.

In the scene that still breaks me up to think about it, Noah and his father are sitting on their front porch, and Noah is reading poetry–Walt Whitman–to his father. Allie comes up, and Noah’s father takes control. He says, “You’re much prettier than Noah let on.” When Allie asks what Noah was reading, Noah’s father says, “I’m a Tennyson man, but Noah likes Whitman. When he was a child, he used to stutter, so I had him read poetry to me. Eventually the stuttering went away.” Frustrated that his dad has revealed something embarrassing about him, Noah raises his fist in the air and says, “Dad!” Then he looks at Allie and says, “I used to stammer.”

Noah’s dad says, “Stammer–stutter–what’s the difference?” Then he says, “How about we go inside and eat some breakfast. Allie, do you want some breakfast?” Noah says, “Dad, it’s ten at night.” Then Noah’s dad says, “Who cares? You can eat pancakes any damn time you want to–come on.”

Y’all, this scene took me completely by surprise. I was a wreck. Granted, it doesn’t take much these days, but I went back and watched the scene multiple times. As I’ve continued to think it, I know that it tears me up because Noah’s dad is my dad. Granted, he wasn’t wearing terry-cloth shorts in the movie, but he was just-enough embarrassing. At the same time, he was completely welcoming and non-judgmental. Noah may have been hesitant, but Allie was completely smitten, both with Noah and his family.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized what a great example my parents and even some of my extended family have given me. My dad may have worn way-too-thin terry-cloth shorts, but he’s always had an open-door policy. In thirty-seven years, I can’t think of one person who has not been welcome around here. Girls, boys–gays, straights–it’s never mattered. And everyone loves my father. Despite any embarrassment I may have felt, my friends have always told me, “Your dad is so cool.”

When I was in my early twenties, when I first started teaching dance, I had a dance partner (Megan) who was six or seven years my junior. The first time I picked her up for a dance, her father, Wade, met me at their door in a pair of tiger-stripped boxers–and nothing else. Megan was running down the hall like someone in a slow-motion movie, trying to stop him. But before she got to the door, Wade and I were already laughing. I told him I wished I had a pair of boxers like his. I can still him saying, “Get in this house, young man.”

Over fifteen years later, Megan and I are still friends. A few years ago, Wade passed away, and I spoke at his funeral. I talked about his tiger-stripped boxers and his saying, “Get in this house.” In all the years that I knew him, that’s the way he always greeted me. Usually in his boxers, he’d say, “Get in this house.”

I guess I tell this story because just like my friends think my dad is cool, I think Wade was cool. I love the fact that he was completely himself and didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought about him. He used to flip people the bird and say, “Sit on it and spin.” My point is–by simply being himself, he communicated to me that it was okay to be myself. Silently he told me, “You don’t have to impress me. You don’t have to put on a show here.”

You don’t have to change a thing about yourself.

As I consider The Notebook and Noah and his father, as I consider Wade, I realize the gift my father, his terry-cloth shorts, and my family have given me. By having a come-as-you-are, open-door policy, they’ve shown me that love is all-encompassing. It’s not concerned with what you’re wearing or not wearing, and it doesn’t ask how much money you make per hour. Recently when I was feeling embarrassed about not being able to better support myself and be in a place of my own, my dad broke down in tears. (He blamed his emotion on his recent heart problems.) He said, “Honey, you’re ALWAYS welcome here.” I suppose this is what love does. Often disguising itself in a pair of terry-cloth shorts or tiger-stripped boxers, love stands at the front door and says, “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself to come inside.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"The heart sings for its own reasons."

The Place Where Quantum Leaps Occur (Blog #339)

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This afternoon I read about fifty pages in a book called Reality Is Not What It Seems by Carlo Rovelli. The book is about quantum physics, and I stopped reading it (for now) when my brain melted and ran out of my ears. Seriously, the book is well-written, but the subject matter (get it–physics–matter?) is dense.

Apparently, part of quantum theory states that electrons orbiting an atom can change orbits, much like if you were orbiting the sun on Earth then suddenly found yourself orbiting the sun on Saturn. But here’s the deal–electrons don’t take a bus, or even a straight or curved line to get from one orbit to another. They’re just in one place and then the next. This phenomenon is what’s properly called a “quantum leap.” (And here I thought “quantum leap” was a television show starring Scott Bakula.)

Holy atomic hopscotch, Batman.

One of the big names in quantum theory is a guy named Werner Heisenberg. He’s dead now but was the one who came up with the idea that in between being at one point and another, an electron is “nowhere.” He formulated this theory one night while in a dark parking lot. There were a few street lamps around, and he saw a man walking across the pavement. He could see the man under one lamp and then the next, but not in between them. Of course, he imagined the man’s trajectory in the dark spaces, but it was as if the man simply disappeared then reappeared elsewhere. So Heisenberg thought, What if subatomic particles behaved like that?

Well, it turns out they do. Crazy, right?

Recently I asked my therapist for her opinion about a psychology book I’d just finished reading. Rather than give me a direct answer, she said, “Let me ask you a question. Do you think I’m more competent than you are–at life?”

“Well,” I kind of sputtered, “No. I don’t actually.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you can see reality.”

My therapist went on to say that in terms of her profession, she obviously has a specific set of skills that I don’t, just like I have a specific set of skills that she doesn’t when it comes to dancing. So in these aspects, perhaps one of us is more competent than the other. Sometimes one person “knows” more than the next. But my therapist’s point was that when it comes to handling life in general, she and I equal. I said, “My only hesitation in answering earlier was that at one time I would have said you were more competent at life than I was.”

Y’all, I can’t say when this change in my thinking took place, I just know that it did. At one time I thought anyone who was smarter, richer, more talented, or better looking than me was better than me overall. But now–I’m glad to say–that thinking seems utterly ridiculous. This shift in perspective is so great, in fact, that I feel like an electron that’s made a quantum leap. It’s as if I’ve suddenly jumped from one orbit, one way of being in the world, to another. Quite literally, I’m on a different path. When I think about Heisenberg’s parking lot/street lamp story, it really does feel as if I used to be “there,” then I was “nowhere,” and now I’m “here.”

(I don’t know what my deal with quotation marks is tonight.)

Granted, I realize this isn’t how the changes in our lives and thought processes actually occur. Presto, change-o. Despite the fact that I can remember one point of light in my life and compare it to another, current point of light in my life and feel as if I’ve made a quantum leap, I can also remember walking through the dark in order to get from where I was to where I am now. But I can’t say when the shift actually happened. I’m glad I did, but I can’t say when exactly I stepped into this current point of light.

This is the beauty of walking through the dark.

If you want my honest opinion, some days I think I’m still walking through the dark. I mean, life has been a real bitch lately. As an episode of Breaking Bad points out, sometimes you’re looking for a light at the end of the tunnel, and all you get is more tunnel. Maybe it’s possible to be in the light and in the dark at the same time. Going back to quantum theory, there’s something called indeterminancy. Inderterminancy states that when, say, an electron does move from one point to another, it doesn’t follow a predictable path. In fact, it behaves as if it were following all possible paths. (Wrap your head around that.) But the point is that when an electron is in between points, when it’s “nowhere,” you don’t “know where” it’s going to end up next. So perhaps this is the beauty of walking through the dark, of those times in our lives when it feels as if we too are nowhere. Nowhere, it turns out, isn’t a bad place to be. Rather, it’s the place where quantum leaps occur, the place where changes can happen in an instant, the place where all possible outcomes are exactly that–possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

"

Making My Way Home (Blog #331)

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It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m almost ready to hit the road. There’s a sock hop in Missouri tonight, and I’ve spent the day getting ready. I took a shower, shaved, even clipped my fingernails and toenails. I kept thinking of that line from Scent of a Woman–“Get yourself up, get yourself together.” Then I put on a new pair of jeans along with a fresh white tee and made a delightful breakfast–fried sweet potatoes, scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit. And hot green tea. I feel like a new man.

I’m also ready to go back to bed.

I think the lingerings of the flu are finally over. Now I’m just back to my normal level of tired due to whatever is wrong. I’m currently listening to Natalie Merchant’s song “Wonder.” They say I must be one of the wonders, God’s own creation. And as far as they see, they can offer no explanation.

I said yesterday that I’ve been planning my own funeral. This is “mostly” a joke. I don’t know what’s going on with my body, but I don’t really think I’m dying, at least in the immediate sense. I think a person generally knows when “this is the end,” and I don’t have that feeling at all. You never know, of course, but my intuition says I’ll be around quite a while longer. (So you’re just going to have to get used to the idea.)

That being said, I have been thinking about death. Not in a macabre or morbid sense, but in an everyday sense. What I mean by this is–let’s face it–death happens every day. It’s something everyone–everyone–has to go through. Why not think about it? In my case, I don’t think I’m afraid to die. Granted, I’m terrified–absolutely frightened–of being sick and in pain. I don’t want to drown, burn to death, or have every bone in body broken and go through kidney failure. But taking that last long breath and drifting off this planet the same way I drifted in? That part I’m okay with.

Earlier I was thinking, If I were to die soon, would I be disappointed in myself? And whereas I still have a hundred things I’d like to do–like publishing a book, sharing my story, and helping others–I’m proud to say that no, I’m really satisfied with how I’ve lived my life. There’s a concept in spiritual teachings that part of our soul’s journey is to integrate–to line up our heads and our hearts as we pull all our scattered pieces back together. In short, the goal is leave this planet intact. This is why Jesus, as he hung on the cross, said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” It wasn’t about God and those who had wronged Jesus. It was about Jesus and his own personal soul, about not hanging on or being bitter, about not dying with any unfinished business. Indeed, he said, “It is finished.” His soul had done what it came to do. It could leave whole.

I’m not pretending to be like Jesus–by any means. (Although I do think I have good hair like he did.) There are still a lot of things in my life that could stand cleaning up, so I’m not putting myself on a cross here. At the same time, I realized earlier that I’ve worked my ass off these last several years to get myself up and get myself together. As much as anyone else I know, I’ve worked to own every part of my past and, at the the time, not use any of it as an excuse to be bitter, cynical, or unkind. I told my therapist recently that this work is tough stuff. She said, “You’re right, and it’s why most people don’t do it. But the reward is less anxiety and stress, better relationships, and peace.”

I think to think of this reward as coming home.

Honestly, I’m so often focused on what’s left to be done that I don’t give myself enough credit for how far I’ve come. But today I am. If only for this moment, I’m recognizing that if I were to die today, it would be well with my soul. I’ve done The Hard Work.

Toward the end of “Wonder” Natalie Merchant sings, “With love, with patience, and with faith, she’ll make her way–she’ll make her way.” With love, with patience, and with faith, I know I will too. I believe we all will eventually. We all will make our way home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

"