The Bright Side (Blog #515)

Currently it’s 8:00 PM (central standard time), and I’m sitting at a Chili’s restaurant in the St. Louis airport. So far my travels home from Washington, DC, have gone smooth as silk. Nothing like the ones getting there. Rather, everything and everyone has run “one time.” No delays, no hangups. What’s more, after a full weekend of dancing and consequential exhaustion, I got to sleep in late this morning and do some sightseeing, since my flight didn’t leave until 6:55 this evening (eastern standard time). So it’s been a good day.

I should probably clarify my comment about sightseeing. I did NOT go to the Smithsonian or tour the monuments, although I did leave my hotel this afternoon and glanced the Jefferson and Washington monuments from my Uber. I DID, however, go to three bookstores. Lame? Maybe for some. Exciting? Definitely for me. I love a good bookstore. Plus, I discovered a super-cool antique-doorknob shop. I know, I know–you’re probably thinking, This man needs to get laid. And whereas you’d be right, I swear the doorknob store was more thrilling than it sounds. They even had some sweet gargoyle lamps!

The first bookstore I went to was just off Dupont Circle, which is basically set up like a hub or wagon wheel. Ten streets pour into a roundabout which is made up of two circles–the outer circle being for cars or pedestrians, the inner circle for pedestrians only. (Inside that area is a small park.) Well, my Uber driver dropped me off on the correct street, but the WRONG side of the circle. Of course, it wasn’t a problem to walk–I could use more walking in my life–but I had to figure a plan first, since I started to walk around the outer circle but realized that would take too long. Finally I figured it out–Make a straight line. Go to The Center first. Then you can easily find your way to wherever you want to go.

Go to The Center first.

I get so twitterpated about books. I honestly think of looking for them like an adventure. Today while walking to the second store, I ended up one street off, right by a hotel. So rather than walk AROUND the entire block, I cut through the hotel lobby. Well–I tried to at least, since the lobby didn’t open to the other side. But always determined, I nosed my way into an empty conference room and spied a door that said EXIT. At this point, the theme song to Mission Impossible started playing in my head. Slipping through the door, I immediately ran into two delivery men, but I just acted as if I was supposed to be there, on the back loading dock. Quickly, I jumped off the dock and found myself on my desired street, the one with the bookstore. Mission accomplished!

Despite my cloak-and-dagger tales in book hunting, I only bought one book from the three stores I visited. It was eight dollars. I spent more in Uber fares than I did on the book. And whereas part of me considered it all a waste for “just” one book, I had a good time. And when I went back to the hotel (where I’d stashed my bags at the front desk) and drank two beers along with lunch? I thought, Hell, I’m having a GREAT time.

But really–I don’t think the day could have gone better.

Now it’s 9:30, and I just boarded the plane for Tulsa. We’ll take off soon, so I’m rushing. Despite my wonderful day and fabulous weekend, I don’t want to be up blogging late tonight. I’m already ready to crash. But before I wrap up, here’s something–

Well, wait. I had to close my laptop for the flight, which–I guess–went well except for the fact that my bag came back damaged. Shit. One of the handles got ripped off, and the side is torn. So that sucks. But, I talked to an airline agent, and she gave me a travel voucher for $75, which I believe is what I paid for the bag. So thanks to this trip and the airline’s multiple mishaps, I now have $275 in airline dollars to spend. Whoopie.

Anyway, back to the thing I was going to tell you. Last night, about two in the morning, I asked a girl, a stranger who had glitter on her face, to dance. Then after she said yes, I told her I liked her glitter makeup. Her face lit up. “Do you want some?” she said.

I paused.

“Yes. Yes I do!”

Well, the next thing I knew, the girl (who said she was from France) started digging through her purse and covering my face and “little beard” in green glitter that EXACTLY MATCHED my shirt. Talk about fun. Even before we danced, we had this beautiful moment of kindness and creativity. An unexpected surprise. A lightening up.

Oh–by the way–I’m at my aunt’s house now, in Tulsa. It’s one in the morning. I truly am tired, and part of me is so frustrated with this trip. It really was a chore getting to DC and–honestly–exhausting to be there, despite all the fun and wonderful dances and conversations I had. I guess my body just needs a break. Ugh. Things were going so well today, and then the bag thing happened. I mean, I liked that bag. It was a gift from a friend when I announced that I was moving to Austin. And I know–I haven’t moved yet. But still, the bag matched my others. That’s important for homosexuals–matching glitter, matching bags. Okay. I’m letting it go. I’m choosing to look on the bright side. Yes, this too is an unexpected surprise. I have less baggage now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them. 

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On Sinus Infections and Self-Acceptance (Blog #514)

Today has been another full day at the International Lindy Hop Championships, and it’s absolutely flown by. Of course, I did sleep in until noon–my first meal of the day was lunch–so that may be some of it. In terms of my physical body, part of my neck and back are in periodic spasms, but otherwise I’m making it. My energy level is–all things considered–solid. What’s more, it occurs to me that I haven’t had a full-blown or even a mild sinus infection in six months. This is a big deal, considering I had one that lasted the entire three-months before that, and I’ve historically gotten one every eight to twelve weeks.

Hum. I really wasn’t intending this to be a health report. I guess I’m just thinking about these things because I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gotten sick (with a sinus infection) while I’ve been traveling, especially to dance weekends. I’m assuming this happened because whenever I’m away my schedule is off and I’m usually worn out. You know, lowered immunity and what-not. All that being said, I’m grateful that at least the sinus-infection part of my personal health equation seems to be improving.

Let’s hear it for progress.

But back what went on today. This afternoon the event held the finals for several of the major competitions. Talk about some great dancing! And y’all, the coolest thing. They have a juniors division here, and the kids that were in it were the cutest things you’d ever want to see in your life. They killed it. There was even one kid who performed a solo routine, and he had more energy and pure heart for this dance than I’ve seen maybe ever. When he finished dancing, the entire room gave him a standing ovation, and dozens of people threw their shoes on the floor, which I’d never seen people do until now and is apparently a sign of respect.

This evening I went out to eat with a few friends. Y’all, we ate at a place called Jaleo, and the food was ridiculously good and so well-presented. That being said, I’m not exactly sure what KIND of food it was. Like, my first course was a cold tomato soup, then I had stuffed peppers, then an amazing spinach salad, and then some type of grilled chicken. All of this was followed by three different types of ice cream. So amazing.

Here’s a picture of the stuffed peppers.

Now it’s about midnight, and the event is winding down. They did the awards ceremony earlier. The band should be almost finished. Whenever they are, there will be a party with soul music. However, by three o’clock, it will all be over. I guess part of me is a bit sad. That tends to happen at events–it’s like I want more time to meet people, talk to people, dance with people. But earlier one of my new friends said, “God places you where you need to be,” so I’m trusting that whatever interactions I’ve had this weekend are the ones I’ve needed to have. And that feels better than thinking, Things didn’t go as well as they could have. I could have–should have–done more.

I really have been noticing improvement in this department. I don’t beat myself and life up as much. What happens, happens–and I’m more and more okay with that. I have to be. I’m tired of everything being wrong or not good enough. I’m worn out with comparing myself to everyone who dances or looks better or even different than I do. I’m exhausted with not being comfortable in my own skin. So that’s something, the fact that there’s more self-acceptance here. Yes, it feels right, like finally finding the rhythm or clapping on the beat.

Let’s hear it for progress.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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Write, Dream, Speak (Blog #513)

Last night I danced until three-thirty in the morning and passed out about four. Then I slept like shit and woke up with a headache about nine-thirty. There’s a nerve in my neck that’s been pinched for several days now, and it was “talking” to me as soon as I crawled out of bed. So that wasn’t fun. (It’s still not fun.) Anyway, I cleaned up, got dressed, and went in search of the breakfast buffet. And whereas I felt like a zombie, another dancer who saw me said, “Good job–you look awake!”

“Smoke and mirrors,” I said. “Smoke and mirrors.”

Somehow, even though I’m not technically working or heavily participating in the swing-dance event this weekend, it’s been a busy day. This morning I was invited to participate in a brainstorming meeting, and that turned into a couple other mini-meetings that happened this afternoon and evening. When those things weren’t happening, I watched the competitions. Y’all, it really is badass here. Not only does this event boast some of the best swing and social dancers on the planet, it also boasts a ton of newbie and intermediate dancers who have unmatched passion and creativity. You should see the looks on their faces. As one person who’s here for the first time said, “This room is pure joy.”

This evening my dear friend Randy, who lives nearby-ish and went to college with my dad, drove to the hotel where I’m staying to take me out to dinner. Talk about a good guy. He even waited patiently for thirty minutes while I participated in a meeting that ran over. And whereas we didn’t have a plan for where to go, we ended up at a lovely Italian restaurant that was delightful from start to finish and had one of THE BEST chocolate cakes I have ever put in my mouth. As Randy said, “It was worth the price of admission.”

I mean, it was covered in hazelnut cream sauce.

Back at the hotel after dinner with Randy, first I watched a couple competitions, then I danced, then I grabbed a beer with a friend, then I danced some more, then I went to a late-night breakfast. (Thankfully dancing burns a ton of calories, since God knows I’m doing plenty of eating lately.) Then for over two hours I chatted with the people at my table–mostly about the event. I’ll spare you the details, but I will say this–I LOVE being around people who see possibility and aren’t afraid to dream and aren’t afraid to work to make their dreams come true.

Now it’s three-thirty in the morning, and I can’t rub two thoughts together. My brain is shutting down. At the same time, my body wants to be dancing. All that to say that although I normally adore this blog, it feels like an inconvenience in this moment. Like, I’ve had a FULL day without it, and now you (whoever you are) want me to cram it in last thing and still say something intelligible? I mean, it’s asking a lot. And yes, I know that I’M the one who’s asking it.

Today during one of the meetings, someone said, “Marcus, you haven’t said anything this entire time.” So I said, “Well, I’m mostly taking it all in,” but then I gave some thoughts. And I’ll be damned if my voice wasn’t shaking the entire time, I guess because I was around a lot of people I don’t know very well and I’m–uh–the new kid on the block. Still, I spoke and shared what was true for me. And whereas I sometimes devalue what I have to say, people listened. Not like it was gospel, but like it was helpful. And that’s what this blog has taught me. Write–even if you’re tired, even if it’s not your best, even if you think it quite frankly sucks. Write anyway. Dream–even if you don’t know if or how your dreams will come true. Speak–even if your voice quivers.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

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On Fermentation (Blog #512)

Well shit. After waking up at 6:15 this morning and rushing to and through the St. Louis airport just to sit on the tarmac (again!) for over an hour (due to lightning), I finally made it to Washington, DC, this afternoon. The good news–my luggage made it too. In fact, it was one of the first onto the conveyor belt. The bad news–almost everything inside was wet. I guess they left my bag outside while it was raining. Oh well. I took a complimentary (hotel-sponsored) shuttle to the hotel where I’m staying, got checked into my room, and laid my clothes out to dry.

When I told one of my friends about my problems yesterday and today, she said, “The flight home will be better.”

Let’s hope she’s right.

I’m here in the nation’s capital for the International Lindy Hop Championships, one of the largest and well-known swing-dancing competition events in the world. This is my first time here, my maiden voyage, and I’ve come mostly to observe. And despite the fact that I’m not competing or taking classes, normally I’m intimidated in new dancing situations. But today I’ve felt at home–comfortable in my own body and heart. What’s more, I’ve seen some friendly faces–people who know my name and seem to like me. So that helps.

The weekend here is jam-packed with things to see and do. I’m not sure what’s going on now, but I do know that dinner starts before long, so that’s my priority. Well, after I take a shower and brush my teeth. Since I was stuck in St. Louis last night while my luggage was stuck in Tulsa, I haven’t used an honest-to-god toothbrush in over thirty-six hours. Granted, I did scrub my teeth with my finger and a bar of hotel soap (that tasted ever so slightly like lemon), but that’s wasn’t the same thing. Also, I know washing my mouth out with soap sounds gross, but it was my best option at the moment and wasn’t as bad as you might think. Try it for yourself sometime.

Just don’t swallow!

Currently my brain is mush. I could really use a nap. That being said, I can’t stop thinking about fermentation. Odd, I know, but I finished reading my book about alchemy on the plane today, and fermentation is one of the seven phases of what alchemists call The Great Work. And not that they have to happen in a certain order, but fermentation is step number five and is basically the step in The Great Work (or self-work or spiritual work) in which “the hard part” has been done and now you simply wait as everything in your life putrifies, breaks down, and rots. It’s not pretty or fun, but that’s why St. John of the Cross referred to this stage as The Dark Night of the Soul.

Of the seven stages, this is the one I currently identify with the most, as it’s the one in which you feel as if nothing in your life is working–because nothing in your life is; it’s not supposed to. Rather, by design, all the things you once held dear–including your values, relationships, and precious opinions–are intended to break down and fail you so that YOU can be transformed. The books advice? Wait. Do nothing. Don’t try (because you’ll fail). Try resting for a change.

This advice is frustrating for a do-er like me, of course, but what I love about this alchemical way of looking at the world is that it reminds me that you can’t force The Process. Sometimes the best you can do–the most appropriate thing you can do–is wait. Be still. What’s more, I’m reminded that just as suddenly as problems and frustrations can show up in our lives, they can disappear. At SOME point, the fermentation process does end, and a new, transformed life emerges.

At–some–point.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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Extremes in Caffeine and Dancing (Blog #506)

Last week when I got sick for a day, I stopped drinking coffee. For one thing, it didn’t sound good at the time. But I also traditionally drink way-too-much coffee, so I thought, Give it a rest, Nancy. Well, the first few days were a little rough, but I made it. Now it’s been over a week. Look at me! That being said, I’m not smoking cigarettes, getting laid, or doing any other damn fun thing in my life these days, so I’ve noticed The Void. It’s been tough to hold my head up, especially since I’ve been working the last several nights until four in the morning helping friends pack. Even when I sleep past noon like I did today, I just can’t seem to get enough rest or ever really wake up.

And God knows the GREEN TEA isn’t helping.

At all.

This morning while making breakfast and preparing to toast a THIN bagel, I noticed our butter is UNSALTED, our cream cheese is FAT FREE, and our grape jelly is SUGARLESS. This was the final straw. What the fuck? I thought, as I switched on the coffee maker. Why would someone even want to live in an uncaffeinated world where EVERYTHING tastes like cardboard?!

As if life weren’t challenging enough.

So now I’m enjoying my first cup of coffee in over a week. Feel free to alert the media. And whereas the all-or-nothing part of me thinks that I’m a failure for not “sticking it out,” another part of me thinks coffee DIDN’T sound good last week, but it DOES sound good now. I mean, the seasons change, so why can’t my desires and opinions? But seriously, back to this cup of joe. It’s delicious. I’m glowing.

I feel like a virgin. Touched for the very first time.

Who doesn’t like a little drama?

Maybe I could try not to overdo it this time, just drink coffee with breakfast instead of all day long. I’ve heard some people do that. I don’t know–moderation isn’t really my bag. I like the all-or-nothing thing, the extremes. Sure, it’s more dramatic, but who doesn’t like a little drama?

Sometime last year there was a dance move called The Backpack Kid that went viral thanks to Katy Perry’s performance on Saturday Night Live (SNL). The move is a little difficult to explain in writing, but it essentially boils down to swinging your hips from side to side while swinging your arms in the the opposite direction. (The complicated part is that every other time, one of your arms goes behind your back.) Anyway, the move is super fun, and during my last trip to Nashville (and after a few beers), I finally figured out how to do it. Yippee!

Recently I was watching an interview with the teenage kid who made the move famous, and the interviewer asked him why he thought kids could do the move faster and therefore look better doing it than adults. Well, the little shit said something like, “Kids are more agile. Old people are brittle and can’t move as well.” And whereas that’s “sort of” true and SOUNDS like a good answer, I DISAGREE. Think about it. A child is smaller than an adult. Their hips are like eight inches from side to side. An adult’s, on the other hand, are like forty-five. (I obviously exaggerate.) But the point is that the move requires taking your hips from one side to the other. Because a child has LESS DISTANCE to travel, they can bounce back and forth faster than a bunny rabbit can hop across your front lawn. However, since an adult has MORE DISTANCE to travel, the back-and-forth takes them longer.

It’s just physics.

I guess there’s two ways of seeing The Backpack Kid. A shorter distance means a faster movement, which–granted–is fun to look it. There’s a certain “yee-haw” quality about it. It’s flashy. But a longer distance, despite its slower movement, means A LONGER DISTANCE. What’s more, the distance traveled becomes MORE OBVIOUS. (Wow! I went from HERE to THERE.) This is what I like about having wider hips. Maybe they don’t move as fast as a teenager’s, but their movements are clear. They’re distinct. They’re powerful. Likewise, this is what I like about the all-or-nothing thing. It’s easier to SEE MOVEMENT when there are extremes. Not that I’m suddenly against moderation and balance (I’m not), but it is easier to NOTE CHANGE when there’s summer on one end of calendar and winter on the other. And I imagine this is how we all spend our lives–moving from one extreme to the other. Some of us move a little less, faster; some of us move a lot more, slower. But all of us, it appears, are dancing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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On Symbols and Transformation (Blog #494)

Today I have done nothing but eat, sleep, and read. I’ve read so much, my brain has turned to slush. I expect any minute now it will run out my ears and onto my shoulders. Even if it did, I’m too tired, too physically depleted to care. I’ve been wiped out all day, despite sleeping in this morning and taking a nap this afternoon.

My body is a mystery.

Currently it’s past midnight, and I’m on information overload. Earlier I finished a book on the meaning of symbols, and since then I’ve read a few chapters in a book about hypnosis and over a hundred pages in a six-hundred page book about alchemy and mysticism. Don’t ask me to intelligently summarize anything I’ve read today. Not that I haven’t learned anything, but it just hasn’t congealed yet. My inner perfectionist wishes I had instant understanding and recall of everything I read, but that’s simply not the way learning works for me. I need exposure and then application before understanding comes.

And sleep, I need sleep.

One thing I have learned–about symbols, specifically–is that they speak to both our conscious and subconscious minds. A simple as letters on a page or as complex as a mandala, symbols can range from the jewelry you put on each day to the dreams have each night, and are essentially forms of communication–a crown that denotes royalty, black clothes that indicate mourning, a red door that means “you’re welcome here.” And whereas some symbols have to be explained, others are automatically comprehended by the subconscious. For example, the four points of the cross stand for the four elements (fire and water, air and earth) or the four cardinal directions (north and south, east and west) of the physical world. So–among other things–the image of Christ on the cross is about going beyond all pairs of opposites. It’s about finding your center point, your immovable spot, your soul. But if you’re organically drawn to this image, no one has to tell you what it means. Part of you gets it.

The way I think about it, symbols CALL US to be something we CAN BE but aren’t currently. They’re like examples, seeds that are planted in our minds that, if properly tended to, can grow into the thing they stand for. Honestly, I’m not sure they work if they’re used logically and rationally and not mysteriously. Like, several years ago I bought a picture of a man dancing, then later bought a chandelier with several children dancing along the edges. I’m a dancer, of course, but it wasn’t about that. The IMAGES simply compelled me. They still do. Looking at them now, I know it’s because, deep down, I associate them with freedom. They communicate to my spirit (or rather, they communicate FROM my spirit) that there’s another way–a lighter, less encumbered way–to move about in this world.

I hope this makes sense. The point is that symbols have the power to awaken within us dormant energies or ways of being if used correctly. By correctly I mean that you have to personally identify with the symbol–it has to to you in some way, and no one else (including me) can tell you what a specific symbol means. If you look at the crucifix and want to vomit because you had a bad experience in Catholic school–well–find yourself another image. Or if dancers don’t give you a sense of peace and freedom but the beach does, go with that.

Put some sand on the back of your toilet. Hang a picture of the seashore on your wall.

The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

Lately I’ve been chewing on the idea that both symbols and the subconscious are powerful and capable forces. For years I’ve read about people who were “free” and wondered if I ever would be one of them. Internally, that is. But I’m learning to trust that just as I can read information, apply it, and watch it come together, I can also trust that I’m attracted to the symbols I’m attracted to for a reason; my life is coming together too. In other words, the symbols that fascinate us aren’t there to tease us (look what you can’t have); they’re there to transform us. Personally, I’m coming to respect them more and more. Because they work. I used to look at those dancers and think, Wouldn’t that be nice to be free? But now I think, Yes, it IS nice, this feeling of freedom. Sometimes it even comes so naturally, I think, Part of me has been a dancer all along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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The Golden Gate Disappointment (#487)

Highlights from the last 36 hours, in no particular order–

1. Someone said I was skinny

This last weekend I attended a dance event in San Francisco, and my host toted me around on his scooter. At one point he said the scooter was easier to drive with “a little extra weight” on it. Best compliment I’ve received all month.

2. San Francisco has A LOT of hills

Yesterday I didn’t feel like taking classes and went looking for books instead. I started out just on foot, but damn if San Francisco isn’t a lot of up and down, up and down. So I ended up Lyft-ing (Lyft is like Uber or a taxi, Mom), then walking, then Lyft-ing, then walking some more. Basically, I just hunted for bookstores–I went to six in all. The amazing part? I didn’t buy a thing. Still, I had a great time (yesterday was gorgeous) and even wandered through a lovely park (Delores Park). I thought it might be the place used in the opening credits of the television show Full House, but–alas–it wasn’t. Anyway, check it out.

3. Last night was fabulous

Just before the last dance at the workshop I attended–The Switch–I had a beer with my friend who helped organize the event, then grabbed dinner. Then I had a handful of dances, all of which were delightful. (The last night of any dance event is almost always the most fun, since people are laid back, settled in, and generally too tired to put up a front or give a shit about looking better than anyone else.)

4. What the hell, Tom Collins?

After the final dance (and the scooter ride home), I walked up the steep hill where I parked Tom Collins on Friday in order to check on him. And whereas he was technically okay and I hadn’t gotten any more tickets (I got one yesterday for not turning my wheels toward the curb), the lock on Tom’s trunk wasn’t working. (This problem has happened once before, and you can read about it here.) Anyway, I futzed with the switch and latch by hand for a good twenty minutes to no avail, then ended up asking my host if he had two screwdrivers, a pair of pliers, and a wire coat hanger. Thankfully, he did. (I would have used my own tools but I left them back in Arkansas so my parents, my aunt, and I could have enough room for all our damn luggage.)

Using the tools, I took the inside panel off the trunk door. As it turns out, there are two small nuts that hold the power lock for the trunk in place, and one of them had come loose and disappeared. This means the lock was TECHNICALLY WORKING, but it wasn’t being held securely in place. So it wasn’t ACTUALLY WORKING. Anyway, not having a nut to replace the lost one, I used the wire hanger to fasten the lock to the frame until I can get to a hardware store (or my brother-in-law’s garage) and fix things correctly.

Sometimes you simply do the best you can.

5. What the hell, San Francisco?

This morning after cleaning up and packing my things, I drove Tom Collins to a park and hiked in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge. And whereas I was really looking forward to seeing and having my picture taken with this iconic monument, it was almost completely covered in freakin’ fog.

But what can you do?

6. Come on, universe

Fresh off The Golden Gate Disappointment of 2018, I went for a sourdough bread bowl, something one of my friends recommended. Wouldn’t you know it? They’d JUST sold out.

So I ate a sourdough sandwich instead.

And whereas the sandwich as a whole was extremely tasty, the bread was THE HARDEST thing I’ve ever tried to chew in my entire life.

7. Finally– a win

My last stop before leaving town was ANOTHER bookstore, where I ended up getting two books–a children’s book I’ve wanted for a while, and a book on alchemy and mysticism. So that was fun. Plus, there was a sign out front that said, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

Hear, hear.

8. You’ve got to be kidding

Leaving San Francisco took FOREVER, I guess because there’s only one bridge out in the direction I was going, and there was a wreck (or two or three) nearby. (There was SO MUCH traffic.) So what should have been a three or four-hour drive to Fresno (where I am now, visiting relatives), took six. Nonetheless, I’m here–safe and sound.

9. It all catches up

Now it’s thirty minutes before midnight, and I’m worn out. All the dancing and all the driving has obviously taken its toll.

So for now–

I’m done.

But I should be clear.

It’s been a good day.

Life doesn’t suck.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Ultimately, we all have to get our validation from inside, not outside, ourselves.

"

I Stumble Along (Blog #486)

Yesterday I woke up with a headache, and it never really went away. Like, it would get better for an hour or two then resurge, especially if I were dancing with much energy. (I’m at a Lindy Hop weekend, and it’s a lot of bouncing up and down, which apparently is better at creating tension in the body than relieving it.) Anyway, that’s sort of how the day went–there’d be this build-up of internal pressure, and then it’d let off a little.

A little.

When I first started attending dance workshops, I went to every class that was offered, rotated around to a hundreds of strangers and said, “Hi. What’s your name? Where are YOU from?”, and tried to learn as much as I could about everything and everyone. Now, I hate doing that. I adore learning, but the whole meet-and-greet and be patient with a million strangers who are all struggling to do something new, frankly, is exhausting. All this to say that yesterday I skipped my classes (that I paid for) except one (which went well, and I enjoyed meeting and dancing with A FEW new people). The rest of the time I either observed or talked to friends.

Here’s the deal. I really don’t know many people out here. Like, I know the main organizer and my host, and they are both darling people, but they are also new relationships. I have close friends and people in my life with whom I can breathe deep and feel “completely at home,” but they simply don’t happen to be with me. So there’s this feeling of I’m-all-by-myself that keeps coming and going this weekend like my tension headache. I wouldn’t say that it’s “a ton” of internal pressure, but it does build up off-and-on throughout the day.

For example, yesterday I walked to lunch with a friend, but ended up eating alone. I eat alone all the time and am rarely bothered by it, but yesterday’s situation was magnified as a big deal in my head because “everybody else” was sitting at a table with their friends–laughing, carrying on, loving life–they basically looked like an iced-tea commercial. And there I was alone at the bar, looking like the first part of an anti-depressant ad. BUT THEN a girl from overseas whom I’d met in the buffet line came over and asked me if I wanted to walk back together and chat. (I’d asked her opinion about a specific dance event.) Well, get this shit–we ended up skipping the two classes after lunch and talking instead–getting to know each other, chatting about dance—like friends would. Halfway through the conversation, my friend the organizer joined in. All of a sudden, the iced-tea tables were turned. Had someone else been walking by alone, they might have seen us there on the sidewalk, basking in the sun, eating gluten-free snickerdoodles, and thought, Life sucks. I wish I had friends like that.

When classes were over, my host and I came back to his place, and I walked up the street to make sure my car was still there. (Parking here is a mess, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t do something wrong.) As it turns out, I did do something wrong. I parked on a hill, going down, and didn’t turn my wheels toward the curb. So I got a fucking ticket for $69. And whereas I didn’t immediately overreact or freak out or really feel bad about it at all in the moment, my mind kept coming back to it throughout the night. This blows. Why does life hate me?

But honestly, how was I supposed to know? I never park on hills.

But then my host and another new friend and all went to dinner, and it was fabulous. But then, after having been in a dance contest between classes and coming back to the house, I found out I didn’t make it to the next round. (What a bummer.) But then I got to the dance and my host said, “Let’s take a picture together by the sign [like friends would],” and then I had some delightful dances with people who were smiling and kind and fun to be around. But then I did that I-should-be-better-than-I-am thing. But then one dancer said, “I enjoy dancing with you so much. You’re clear without being forceful, and you have a lot of interesting shapes.” (So that felt good.) A couple hours later when the dance was winding down, I was in the middle of a good conversation AND a headache.

So it was a mixed bag.

We are all too hard on ourselves.

Waking up this morning, I’m more centered. My body is sore, but I got good sleep, and that always helps. Plus, I’m more focused on the positives and am reminding myself that EVERYONE does that comparison bullshit, especially at dance weekends. We see others laughing and having a good time, but we simply have no idea what their internal dialogue and experience is. Mostly like, we are all too hard on ourselves and ask too much from life, demanding that every experience be pleasant, every dance fabulous. But what’s the truth? Some dances, some days, suck or are mediocre. Some are both great and not-so-great at the same time. These are the ones I don’t know what to do with, the days when the tension comes and goes, the days when I stumble along. Emotionally, these days are exhausting. A little up, a little down, over and over, can take its toll.

Still.

I keep dancing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Things are only important because we think they are.

"

Driving to a New House (Blog #485)

It’s nine in the morning, and I’m in San Francisco. I drove here yesterday, and it took four hours. Along the way I saw vineyards, orange and lemon tree groves, and more trucks filled with tomatoes that I could count. The rolling hills of California, under the hot sun, appeared to me to be pure gold. But don’t get excited and start heading west–they’re really just made of dead grass.

The lesson here is that good lighting can do wonders.

I’m staying with a new friend of mine who’s attending the same dance workshop I am–The Switch. The event’s purpose is to foster the culture of ambi-dancing, or dancing your non-primary or non-gender-specific role. In other words, people who are normally leaders (typically men) have a chance to follow, and people who are normally followers (typically females) have a chance to lead. Anyway, finding my host’s apartment wasn’t a problem, but finding parking was. I circled the block for over an hour. (Street parking is free here but hard to come by, especially on a Friday evening.) FINALLY a someone pulled out two blocks (and up a steep hill) away, and I snagged their spot. (Having packed like Rose on the Titanic, I had to consolidate bags before huffing it down the hill.)

And because I don’t want to go through all that again, I’m not using my car the rest of the weekend. What would be the use? Parking is difficult EVERYWHERE here.

Here’s a picture of the Oakland Bay Bridge, which I drove in on.

After getting dinner at a local Mexican restaurant and checking out a neighborhood bookstore, my host and I went to last night’s dance together–on his scooter. (Don’t worry, Mom, I wore a helmet.) I can only imagine we were quite the site, a small Asian up front, and this large Caucasian behind (with a large Caucasian behind), holding on for dear life, zooming through the crowded, steep-hilled streets of San Francisco. But we made it to the dance in tact and easily found a parking spot–scooters can fit anywhere. Along the we drove through The Castro–the local Gayborhood–or as my host called it, “Queer Central.” Y’all, there were more homos and multi-colored flags than I’ve ever seen in my life. Even the crosswalks were rainbows. Plus there was a bar named Moby Dick, a grocery store named Bi Right (clever, huh?), and a coin laundry named Sit and Spin (think about it).

Fabulous.

The dance itself was lovely. Honestly, I haven’t seen a room full of such happy, smiling people in a while. The “rules” for the event are that if you ask someone to dance, you ask what role they would like to dance–lead, follow, or switch (as in, switch roles throughout the dance). So the place was full of not only the traditional setup–girls leading girls, but also guys leading guys, girls leading girls, and even girls leading boys. You know, just people dancing, having fun.

Being in a new city and not knowing anyone (except a few people I’ve met at other events), it took a while for me to get up the courage to ask others to dance. I mean, I did just have a rough experience asking guys (and girls) to dance at a gay bar in Dallas, and some of those feelings of rejection popped back up. Plus, I did that thing I always do the first night of dance events–compared myself to everyone else in the room and found myself wanting. But I told myself, These feelings ALWAYS show up and try to ruin your good time, Marcus. Just let them be–and ask someone to freaking dance. So that’s what I did. Actually, I asked quite a few people to dance–and a few people asked me to dance. And I had some delightful conversations. And it was fun.

And no one died.

The scooter ride back from the dance went well, but it was freezing. Having come through 120-degree desert heat on the way here, this is something I was unprepared for. I guess it’s because San Francisco is covered in fog (you can’t see the moon, or the stars, or anything at night), but it was sixty degrees when I got here, and God-knows-what when my host and I rode home last night. Thankfully, my host let me borrow a jacket (he’s very kind) so I could layer-up, and I’m looking at the cold weather as an “adventure.”

I can do anything for a weekend.

Currently I’m sipping coffee and thinking about getting ready for classes, which start in two hours. I need to take a shower and round-up a light breakfast. Mostly I’m contemplating a book on hypnosis, which I read a couple chapters in last night before I went to bed. From what I understand so far, the book suggests that 1) hypnosis is both a state of mind and a form of learning and 2) all of us are technically “hypnotized” far more often than we realize. In fact, according to the book, it’s possible (and likely) that my feelings of rejection and better-than/less-than came up at the dance last night because the environment (new city, new people, dance hall, music) reminded my subconscious of dozens of similar situations in the past in which I had responded the same way (feeling insecure). Sort of like when you change jobs or move houses but crawl in your car and suddenly find yourself driving to the old location and not the new one. We’re talking about “learned behavior” here (crawl in the car, go to location X), and this action/response mechanism can apparently apply to emotional responses as well (go to new dance event, feel insecure).

If you can learn to lead, you can learn to follow.

This theory makes a lot of sense to me. I’ve talked before about how I often react to present situations with past emotions–when dealing with finances, for example–and having this context about learning and behaving helps me better understand what’s going on here (in my life). Now–what to do about it–I don’t know. I’m only three chapters into the book. Stay tuned. But I trust that if a human can learn to respond to a situation one way, they can learn to respond to a situation another way. If you can learn to lead, you an learn to follow. You don’t keep driving to your old house forever.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

On Being Out and Proud (Blog #477)

Last night I worked until three in the morning helping my friends pack. Then I came home, showered, slept for four hours, and got ready to go back to work. But not to help my friends–it’s two o’clock in the afternoon now and that starts in an hour–I had a dance lesson this morning at 9:30. 9:30! What an ungodly hour for dancing. Of course, you know my motto–If you’re paying, I’m dancing–so I was there with bells on.

And plenty of coffee in hand.

Let’s talk about being gay. Specifically, let’s talk about the fact that I am and the fact that at the age of thirty-seven, I’m almost completely–but apparently not always–out of the closet. Sure, I’ve made a lot of progess. In my early twenties, I used to lie about it. People would ask me if I was gay, and I’d say, “No–Who, me?–I like girls–Vaginas are just the BEST THING ever–Can’t get enough of them.” Then in my mid-twenties, I came out to my family and close friends, then eventually stopped lying about it. If someone asked, I’d tell them. But I wasn’t “out and proud,” whatever that means. Like, I didn’t put a rainbow bumper sticker on my car or wear a t-shirt that said, “No one knows I’m gay.”

Although–people have told me–this was close to the truth.

Ugh. Coming out is such a gradual process. I’m a little bitter that straight people don’t have to deal with it. But then, of course, they have to worry about getting pregnant and, sometimes, making child-support payments, so maybe it all comes out in the wash. Anyway, when I started this blog, I just decided to say it–“This morning I was standing in a waffle line and saw a guy who asked me online for casual sex [and I said no, Mom].” I mean, that’s what had happened that day. It was the truth.

And I was tired of not being honest.

But back to the dance lesson this morning. It really did go well–one of the best and most fun I’ve ever had with a new couple. We worked for two hours. Then at the end of the lesson we were all just sitting around chatting–the groom, his mother, and his fiancée. And the guy, who grew up here, said he now lives and works in Dallas, and I said, “Oh–I was just in Dallas.”

“What were you doing there?” he said.

So I said, “I was in Houston working on business, but stopped in Dallas to see friends and have dinner.”

Then, like someone would in a normal conversation, he said, “Where did you eat?”

“Some Mexican place, I can’t remember, but they had a dessert that made smoke come out my nose.”

And then–and then–he said, “DID YOU GO TO THE BARS AFTERWARDS?”

All right, well, he didn’t scream it like that, in all capital letters. But that’s what it felt like. Immediately, it was like I was a closeted teenager again, afraid. I thought, Yes–if you must know–I went to The Roundup to dance with the gay cowboys BECAUSE I’M A HOMOSEXUAL. But what I said was, “No, I just went to dinner–because I had to drive home.”

Then I thought, That’s a fucking lie, Marcus. But, God, it was so awkward. I just met these people! This was a casual conversation, and–what?–I’m supposed to use it as an opportunity to talk about where I like to put my dick? (Is this too graphic?) Because that’s what saying, “I’m gay” often feels like to me, at least when all the other person’s doing is exchanging social pleasantries and NOT asking about my personal life. It’s like when you go to the proctologist or the OB/GYN and later meet someone new, and they say, “What’d you do today?” and you DON’T say, “This morning I had a digital rectal (or vaginal) exam,” but instead say, “I ran some errands” or simply, “I had a doctor’s appointment.”

Because it’s weird to bring up images of your WHO-HA with someone you don’t know from Adam.

And Eve. Or Steve. (Or who-the-fuck-ever.)

Like, you don’t spill your guts to everyone, every time.

I guess I still haven’t figured out when and where and how it’s okay to say, “I’m gay.” Again, I’m not sure if the straight community understands this–and I’m not asking them to–what it feels like to have to navigate every conversation and relationship, to always be “feeling out” how others might respond, to not know whether it’s okay to say, “I went to a gay bar this weekend” or whether it’s safe to walk down the street holding another boy’s hand. Because people have been seriously hurt or killed for this type of behavior. You know, being themselves. I’ve never had a negative experience, but that fear is certainly present, and I know that’s what was really driving my silence this morning.

Granted, I could have said, “Yes, we went out in Cedar Springs [which, everyone knows, is the Gayborhood in Dallas]” and seen where things went from there. Actually, as the conversation continued this morning, I did say that, when the groom asked where the restaurant we ate at was. “By the Warwick, in Cedar Springs,” I said.

“Oh, the Warwick is awesome,” he replied.

And that was it.

No big deal, no “You must one of those Friend-of-Dorothy, Cher-loving, thong-wearing queers.” None of that. Ugh–this is such a slow lesson to learn, that most of the world is more open and accepting and kind than I’ve previously imagined, that this is 2018 and someone from Dallas isn’t going to be shocked that their thirty-seven-year-old rumba instructor without a ring on his finger would go to a gay bar. Likewise, it’s a hard lesson to learn that being out of the closet doesn’t mean you have to be an out-and-proud screaming queen every minute of every day. I’m a homo, and all I talk about is homo things, and I’m never, never, ever afraid of what other people think of me. Because come on–I am afraid of what other people think of me sometimes, just as I’m afraid of being rejected and–here you go–of letting other people accept me just the way I am.

But I’m working on it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."