Feeling Oh-So-Welcome (Blog #471)

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Yesterday I left Houston about one o’clock and drove to Dallas for dinner with a friend. We ate Mexican and were given complimentary magic desserts that were cold to the touch and made fog come out of our mouths and noses. I’m not kidding. Some sort of dry ice thing, maybe. Anyway, after dinner I dropped my friend off at a play, then went to ANOTHER bookstore–number six in the last two days. But this time I just looked–I didn’t buy anything. I did, however, notice how badly my toe was hurting, I guess because I stubbed it earlier in the day. So when I left the bookstore, I taped my hurt toe to the toe next to it with electrical tape, which–believe it or not–helped.

Sometimes I can be really clever.

Having decided that I would stay in Dallas, I went to The Roundup, the land of unicorns–or, rather, gay cowboys. I’ve been there a number of times to two-step, and it’s always been fun. Last night, however, didn’t live up to my expectations. For one thing, I went alone, and although I recognized some faces, I didn’t “know” anyone. So for thirty minutes I just stood around watching, trying to work up the courage to ask someone–anyone–to dance. Finally, I did–I asked a girl who was a great, probably trained, dancer–and she said no, she was taking a break. So that sucked–it’s never fun to muster the courage to ask someone to dance and then be turned down, even if they’re “nice” about it.

Going back to my perch, I waited a while then tried again. This time I asked a lesbian, but someone else got to her at the same time I did. I said, “Will you save me a dance for later?” And get this shit–she didn’t say yes. Instead she said, “Do you know how to dance?” Opening my mouth like a codfish and bobbing my head, I said, “Yeah.”

So that sucked too. In nearly twenty years of asking others to dance, this was the first interview process I’ve ever been a part of. Strike two. I think I waited close to an hour before I tried again with someone else. This time I asked a guy who was the best dancer there. I’d met him once before, although I’m sure he didn’t remember. Anyway, he said yes and was very kind. However, he treated me like a beginner and only led the basic pattern. He said, “I’m testing you.” I guess I didn’t pass. Granted, they do a different form of two-step in Dallas than I’m used to, but I HAVE danced it several times in the past. Plus, I’m no slouch on the dance floor. I can almost always keep up. (I do teach dance for a living.) Of course, he didn’t know that.

Regardless, it bruised my ego.

After these three successive experiences, I had a series of good dances–nothing amazing, but good. All with kind people, one of whom approached me. And that was nice. But the point is this–even with all my years of dancing and objectively being able to say that I was one of the top five dancers in the club last night, it never really gets easier to approach strangers and ask them to dance. No one wants to be rejected. I don’t know if you’ve ever had this experience, trying to break into an already established crowd. I really think that’s what it was about. Most the places I go, people know that I can dance. But to the group last night, I was just an outsider.

I definitely felt not-so-welcome.

Caroline Myss talks about tribal dynamics, the way any group instinctively protects their own and is cautious of The Other. She says it doesn’t matter if it’s a crowd of teenagers, a fraternity, or a bunch of dancers–there’s always an initiation process or hazing for new members. “I’m testing you,” is what the guy told me. Back to the idea of the tribe, had I passed the guy’s test, he probably would have introduced me to his friends, let them know “this dude’s all right.” Maybe he would have asked me to dance again. Since I didn’t pass his test, however, I stayed outside, at least for him and his friends.

Understanding this helps me to not take last night personally. It didn’t help last night, mind you. What did help was a man named Carlos, who danced with me and smiled the entire time. (Never underestimate the power of your smile.) He said, “Don’t be nervous.” Still, I couldn’t shake that icky feeling from earlier, so about midnight I thought, I’m done with this shit and left, heading across the street to meet my friend from dinner. Then when we finished visiting, I ate chicken and waffles, loaded up on coffee, and hit the road for home. I thought, I don’t want to wake up in this city. So I drove all night–from two until seven in the morning. Not that I would recommend this behavior to anyone else–driving while you’re exhausted–but that’s what I did. And it did help chill me out a little–I got to see some stars–I even got to see the sunrise–I got to sleep in my own bed.

Today has been better. I’m still tired from this past week and staying up last night, but things are coming into perspective. This afternoon a good friend reminded me, “We all have off days.” Plus, I’ve spent today taking care of myself, doing things I love–reading, window shopping. Tonight I installed a fun light-switch cover a friend gave me over a year ago. It has gears and a lever that moves up and down to turn the switch on and off. This reminds me of my childhood, since I made something similar out of Tinker Toys when I was little (and I AM IN THE SAME ROOM).

Because I’m living with my parents.

Earlier I stepped outside to look at the stars. Because of my travels and light pollution in “the big city,” this is the first time I’ve been able to “take in” the full sky in over a week. I really have missed it. Lying down in our driveway, I began to relax. There’s just something calming about the stars, especially once you begin to recognize the constellations. Hercules, The Serpent Bearer, Bootes (pronounced Boe-OH-teez)–it’s like they are their own tribe, smiling down upon and welcoming every single one of us. Now I can’t wait to go back out there. There’s a meteor shower going on in Aquarius this month, and I wonder if I can see it yet. (It peaks in two weeks.) It really is wonderful how the heavens can erase your worries; how their quiet, steady movements can gently remind you to slow down; how their large open arms can make you feel oh-so-welcome here.

[I snagged the above screenshot from a desktop application called Stellarium, which allows you to look at the stars as they appear anytime, anywhere in the world. Shown here is what the sky looked like in Van Buren, Arkansas, at 11:00 this evening. (It’s 1:00 now.) Notice the three planets–Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars–and the imaginary line that they appear to travel along, the ecliptic. The text in green on the left-hand side is where the meteor shower should be, just “behind” Mars.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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My Gargoyles, Edward and Bronius (Blog #461)

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Two days ago while cleaning out my closet, I found the instructions for a lava lamp, a piece of my childhood that I got rid of long ago in a yard sale. Lamps were a big thing when I was little. I had the purple lava lamp, a red twirling “siren” lamp, even a lamp that tossed rainbow-colored lights onto a whirling string (and is hard to explain). As an adult, I’ve collected mid-century modern lamps, lamps of unusual shapes and sizes, swag lamps and chandeliers that I used at my dance studio and old home, The Big House.

There’s always been something about the light.

When I had my estate sale, most of my lamps and chandeliers found new homes. Two lamps I couldn’t part with, however, are now in my newly redecorated room. Three chandeliers and three swag lamps I kept by default–they didn’t sell. For over a year now, they’ve been collecting dust in my parents’ garage, and no one on Craigslist or Facebook has wanted to pay what I’m asking. So I’ve been working on getting them inside the house this week. One at a time I’ve been cleaning them up, and if I haven’t been able to use them in my room (there’s only so much space in here), I’ve been hanging them in a spare closet.

This is something I’ve been hesitant to do. For the last year, anytime I’ve seen the chandeliers in the garage, part of me has wished they were gone. It took a lot to have that big sale, and their being around has served as a reminder of all the things that I no longer have, the place I called home for three years where I no longer live. Still, I’ve been making peace with where I am and have recently thought, At least for now, Marcus, these lamps belong to you, so let’s use them and take care of them.

In the process of cleaning up my lights this afternoon, I decided to hang one in my room. Because of the way it’s constructed, I didn’t think it would work at first, but my dad encouraged me to try, and it did. (Thanks, Dad.) Anyway, it’s antique–French, I think–with a heavy alabaster shade and a handful of hanging crystals. Atop two gargoyles have been attached. They’re not old, but they have that feel. I originally found this chandelier on eBay after days of searching for gargoyle lights. I just got obsessed over them because of their history and what they represent.

Technically, “gargoyle” means “spout,” as they were often used to decorate drain pipes in medieval architecture. However, depending on the history you read, gargoyles were also seen as guards and were placed on churches to keep evil spirits away. (What demon would want to go near something so ugly?) Plus, there’s something about them representing our shadow, that dark part of ourselves that we push away to the corners and refuse to look at or dance with. What with all my work in therapy, I figured gargoyles were the perfect creature to have around, a symbolic gesture that I was willing to embrace all aspects of myself–the good, the bad, the ugly.

For me, decorating is quite psychological.

As gargoyles can be thought of as guards, I named the two gargoyles atop my chandelier Edward and Bronius, both titles that mean “protector.” I don’t honestly believe that they kept me safe while living in The Big House, but I also never had a problem while the three of us resided there. (I’m just saying.) Plus, this is something I like to do, name my inanimate objects, especially the ones with faces. It makes my world seem more personal, more magical. I realize I’m almost forty, but–

why should I have to stop imagining?

We are surrounded by the light.

So now Edward and Bronius watch over my bedroom. A few of their crystals broke, apparently, while being moved, but–so what?–life isn’t perfect. And whereas all my favorite lamps and lights used to be spread throughout one big house, now they’re concentrated in one single bedroom–mine. I’m surrounded by their light–the light–and I love it. Maybe more now than before, since I’d mentally “lost” some of these objects, and now they’re “found.” This is the way I’ve come to think about myself–lost and now found–not because of some religious experience, but rather because I’m learning to love all parts of myself, to feel protected and at home here, in me, where the light and the dark dance together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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Any Dancing Jesus (Blog #456)

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Last night I drove to Springfield, Missouri, to attend a weekly dance at The Savoy, a ballroom owned by my friends Anne and Andy. My friend Matt was there, and it was the perfect thing–dancing, seeing friends–a way to get away. Anne and Andy rent The Savoy for weddings and events, so after the dance I helped them and Matt set it up for a local graduation. When we finished at 1:30 in the morning we went for tacos, then I crashed at Anne and Andy’s place, which is above the ballroom.

Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep great, at least at first. Probably too much beer, which was my payment for helping set things up. Also, I apparently got sunburned yesterday at my friend CJ’s farm. My back looks like something you’d find at a Western Sizzlin’ Steakhouse. Point is I must have dehydrated myself, since I woke up in the middle of the night with a headache. But then I drank a glass of water, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed, and things were better this morning.

Phew.

I’ve spent the day dicking around Springfield with Matt. First we went to Chipotle for lunch, then perused a handful of antique stores. Later we grabbed frozen custard, then came back to the ballroom so Matt could work the graduation, which is going on now. Everyone else is downstairs, and I’m blogging upstairs. Whenever the event is over, I’ll help get things ready for a wedding tomorrow (or at least help eat the leftover graduation cake). As I’m pretty beat from all the sun, dancing, and calories, I’m hoping to get a nap in first.

It may not happen.

Before my estate sale, I boasted a modest collection of religious figurines–Jesus on the Cross, the Mother Mary, a Buddha or two–I had all my spiritual bases covered. And whereas I liked all the statues for different reasons, the only one I didn’t sell was Jesus on the Cross, a mid-century modern piece I affectionately refer to as Rock Star Jesus, since his hips and arms are kind of kicked off to one side. In addition to looking like a dancer (and the fact that there’s a story in the Acts of John about Jesus dancing before his crucifixion), Rock Star Jesus reminds me to surrender joyfully to the trials of life.

I wrote a blog about Rock Star Jesus, surrendering, and resurrection here.

When Matt and I were antique shopping today, I bought another statue of Jesus, this one brass, small enough to fit in your pocket. (A travel-sized savior, if you will.) This statue, I guess, implies a cross but doesn’t actually have one. Or perhaps it represent’s the resurrection, the triumphant return, the rising. Regardless, Christ’s arms are raised higher than normal, as if in praise, as if in celebration, as if to say, “Friday was a rather bad day, but now let’s party.” The whole thing made me think of a recent picture my friend Bonnie took of me in Nashville, in which I adopted a similar pose under a sign marked “receiving.” You can read about it here, but my idea was that raising my arms represented my willingness to receive all the good (and even the not so good) life and the universe have to offer.

Your story isn’t about your physical challenges.

All this to say that I thought the new statute with its outstretched arms was the perfect reminder of a hundred things–surrender, resurrection, joy in all circumstances, receiving and abundance, even asking for a hug. (Come to papa.) This is the deal with a symbol. It can mean so many things. After four years of therapy, I look at the statue’s out-turned palms and think, There was a man with good boundaries, someone who could say no–to money changers, to temptation, to compromising his soul. (Or maybe those flicked-out wrists just mean Jesus knew how to vogue.) I know I’m making jokes about a sacred figure. I know that as of this afternoon I’ve effectively started a collection of Whirling Messiahs. But having had a challenging year, I actually take these statues seriously, since they remind me that Jesus had his challenges too and–what’s more–surpassed them. If you believe the story in the Acts of John, he danced passed them. This, I think, is the message of any dancing Jesus, that your story isn’t about your physical challenges, but rather your soul’s rising.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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The Universal Dance Floor (Blog #450)

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As much as I love swing dancing (and I do), I adore two-stepping. Two-Step, a country dance, comes from Foxtrot, and, although there are a number of different ways to count and dance it, is typically counted “quick, quick, slow, slow.” Like Foxtrot, Waltz, Quick Step, Polka, and Tango, Two-Step travels counterclockwise along line-of-dance, which is the imaginary “loop” or “track” that’s laid out around the perimeter of any dance floor. (Spot dances like Rumba, Cha-Cha, and Swing are danced in the middle of the floor; line-of-dance dances are danced on the outside.) Anyway, there’s just something about two-stepping. Not only do you get to constantly travel around the dance floor, you can also turn or spin around yourself or your partner at the same time.

It’s go-go-go. (Yeehaw.)

Currently it’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Today’s blog is number 450 (in a row), and I’m writing it now because I’m going to a wedding reception this evening and plan to party hardy. The wedding itself was earlier today (at noon), just down the street from our house. (I walked there and back.) And whereas it was a beautiful wedding (truly), it was also a Catholic mass, which means it lasted a long time and involved a lot of standing and sitting, a lot of repeating, “Lord, hear our prayer.” Honestly, it was difficult for me to pay attention. I used to work at weddings as a photographer, and after about a hundred, they stopped being riveting. Plus, today’s mass was mostly in Spanish, and I don’t speak Spanish.

In short, my mind wandered.

Yesterday I wrote about my search for the constellation Cassiopeia, part of my recent fascination with our solar system. I’ve really been wanting to understand why stars and planets move or appear to move the way they do. Last night I looked up a model of the universe online and found a site that shows where the planets currently are. In one diagram, the sun was shown in the middle, in another, the earth. This was extremely enlightening, seeing the universe from both an outside and an on-the-ground perspective, and it really helped me understand why this planet is over here and that planet is over there.

This is all I could think about in church earlier today, the planets and their orbits. Normally planets move through the constellations (the zodiac) on the ecliptic (the planetary racetrack) from west to east, but sometimes they seem to move from east to west. This is called retrograde motion, and I learned last night that it’s an illusion that occurs when a faster moving (inner) planet passes a slower moving (outer) one. This same illusion happens when you speed past someone on the highway. You’re both technically moving forward, but relative to you, the other person or car appears to be moving backwards.

Still trying to get a picture of how the whole thing works, I imagined during the wedding that the sanctuary was our solar system. I thought, What if the sun were in the middle of the room, and I (as the earth) were orbiting around it? What would another planet to the left or right of me look like? What if they were on the other side of the room, “eclipsed” by the sun? And then it hit me–the universe is like a dance floor!–all the planets looping around the sun counterclockwise, each on its own path, some spinning right as they go (Venus, Uranus) and some spinning left (all the others). I thought, It makes perfect sense. Some planets dance solo and others dance with partners (moons).

Like one big cosmic Two-Step.

We’re all equal on life’s dance floor.

Yesterday I was reminded of an affirmation that I’m quite fond of–“Everything is happening in divine right order.” To me this means that the planets and yes, even you and I, are on our proper paths. Not that everything is predetermined, but rather that we are all where we are meant to be–the universal dance floor!–and the rules of dance apply. Here it doesn’t matter if you spin right, spin left, dance solo, or grab a partner. What matters is that you’re dancing. Some days you’ll dance quick, some days you’ll dance slow. At times, others will appear to pass you by. Don’t let this upset you. It’s an illusion. We’re all equal on life’s dance floor. Each of us–at best–is simply, fabulously whirling around in circles–circles that have nowhere to go or be other than right here, right now–circles with no beginning and no end.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

Dance Camp Gratitude (Blog #444)

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Currently it’s ten at night, and I’m sitting with my friends Bonnie and Todd on their porch. Our friend Jessica is here, as are her children, Allison and Corban, and Corban’s girlfriend, Emilee. The seven of us have been together since two this afternoon for what we’ve been calling “dance camp,” a one-day swing dance intensive. (I was the teacher.) First we danced for a couple hours, then we ate ice cream, then we danced some more, then we ate dinner (KFC). Now we’re on the porch relaxing, digesting.

I can’t say what a lovely day this has been. I woke up worn out this morning–I guess I still am–but I’ve still had such a great time. I’m a teacher–I adore watching people learn–and everyone did a fabulous job this afternoon. We worked for over four hours, and it’s amazing to see how much someone can progress in a short amount of time. It absolutely made my heart soar.

And then fried chicken for dinner!

Tomorrow morning I’m getting up early to be tested for allergies. Because they prick you with dozens of potential allergens, I’m prepared for my back to look like a war zone. The point is, since I’m already worn out and getting up at the butt crack of dawn, I’m trying to keep this short. Easy enough. Other than dancing with my darling friends (and eating all the calories), not much has happened today. Well, wait, my recent bad mood has improved. Disappeared just like it showed up–out of nowhere. I’m guessing this is because I got out of the house (got out of my head) , socialized, moved, danced. Four over six hours I’ve been surrounded by smiling, happy people, and maybe their joy has rubbed off. Or would it be rubbed on? Regardless, I’m reminded that life isn’t always a bitch. On occasion it can be kind and generous, full of delights.

For this I am grateful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t pick and choose what you receive from life, and you can’t always accurately label something as bad.

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Marcus and the Weeping Willow (Blog #432)

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Today I ate breakfast, read a book, and went for a two-hour walk. Along the way I spotted The Yellow Umbrella, a tiny burger/fries/milkshake stand that’s uh-mazing. I didn’t have any cash on me, but I thought, I’m so excited. I’ll come back in a while. I’ll get a milkshake! So later I went back, but The Fucking Yellow Umbrella had closed for the day. Ten minutes ago. Talk about a disappointment.

Turning around, I thought, Hardee’s has burgers, fries, and milkshakes.

That was six hours ago, and I still feel bloated. Of course, I did just eat dinner (pasta). Maybe that has something to do with it. Either way, I’ve had a lot of calories. Recently I heard Rihanna say she knows when she’s having a fat day. I thought, Me too, girl, me too. But she also said, “I accept all of the bodies,” so I’m trying to do that too–embrace who I am in every changing moment.

This evening I went by my parents’ house to set up my mom’s new tablet (her portal to the rest of the world). Naturally, this took a while, entering her email address and password into each app I downloaded, transferring information from her old tablet to her new one. I actually love doing stuff like this, organizing things, putting everything where it belongs. Granted, the tediousness of it all can wear on me, but I do enjoy figuring out new devices and solving problems. I remember being like this as a child, wanting to understand how the world works, taking things apart, putting them back together.

Recently my friend Bonnie pointed out that as a child, your whole worldview is different. For one thing, you really have no concept of time (whatever that is). You bury yourself in a book, a project, a game, and the rest of life simply falls away. You’re not checking Facebook every five minutes. You’re not thinking about your to-do list or calendar. You’re just–well–the only place you ever can be.

Right here, right now.

I realize a lot of things necessarily change when you become an adult. It’s hard to function in today’s society without a day-planner. But personally I feel a lot of anxiety about having my whole day, week, life scheduled out hour-by-hour. This may sound ridiculous coming from someone who sleeps in past noon and doesn’t currently have a job (you may be thinking, What does HE have to schedule?), but my default is to at least mentally plan everything I do every day. First I’ll read a book, then I’ll go for a walk, then I’ll eat 2,000 calories in a single meal.

I can’t go on like this.

I think this behavior, this attitude, stems from my need to control. As if the world’s going to fall apart if I stop planning. As if I’m going to. Of course, it’s not–I’m not. And would it be so terrible if I did? Along these lines, I’ve been thinking that I could adjust my habits. I could adjust–well–me. I’ve been reading that rigid thought patterns and emotions affect the physical body, that sometimes our bodies develop illnesses and issues as a way of saying, “Sweetheart, something needs to change. We can’t go on like this.” Regardless of whether or not this is true (I personally have a love-hate relationship with theories like this one), I know that I could alter a few things upstairs. I’ve talked about this before, but I demand a lot of myself. I’m nervous a lot. I feel “less than” a lot. (It’s wearing me out.)

Sweetheart, something needs to change.

I really am working on this. God, am I working on it. This afternoon during my walk–unplanned–I detoured through one of my favorite cemeteries. Maybe this sounds like a morbid thing to say, but I actually like cemeteries. They’re quiet, they’re peaceful, and that’s how I want to be. Plus, this cemetery I went to today has two stunning weeping willows, and I love weeping willows. There’s just something about them, the way their leaves fall helplessly toward the ground and yet their branches reach proudly toward the sky. It’s like they understand both pain and hope.

Walking toward the weeping willows today, I stopped at several headstones. Only one belonged to someone I knew, but the rest belonged to strangers–people like you and me, really–people who once worried and made too many plans, ate too many calories. Going from grave to grave, I adjusted some of the wind-blown flowers. It felt like a sacred act. I thought, They can’t organize this themselves, and I hope when I’m gone someone will put all of my things where they belong. Then I sat down under the shade of one of the willow trees and–for no apparent reason–began to cry.

I hope this makes sense. There I was, surrounded by thousands of dead bodies, and I realized I was breathing. For a moment, it was so clear to me–I was alive. We get so little time on earth, and I thought, I have choices down here. I don’t want to live the rest of my life beating myself up (about anything). I don’t want to go on feeling nervous and less than. I can’t–I just can’t. Sweetheart, we can’t go on like this.

Live your life unbridled.

Leaving the cemetery with my headphones in, I literally danced down the gravel road. I spun. I did the grapevine. Considering the fact I had dead people on either side of me, perhaps my dancing bordered on gloating. Look what I can do, suckas! But this is the way the world works–it’s ironic. And perhaps this is the gift the dead give us, a reminder to live our lives unbridled, to be at home here, to dance when we feel like dancing, to cry when we feel like crying, to be okay with whatever arises in the moment, to let even a tree hold you while you simultaneously take yourself apart and put yourself back together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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Getting a Grip (Blog #416)

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It’s 1:45 in the morning, and I’ve been putting this off for over an hour. I don’t feel well. I don’t feel awful, but I don’t feel well. I’m tired, irritable. My body is shaky (it has been for a while now), and it’s driving me crazy. I’m imagining that–on top of everything else–I have a neurological disorder, that I’m breaking down from the inside out. I’ve been Googling supplements all day, a compulsion that typically gets me nowhere. Maybe I’ll give up Google next year for Lent. But then again I’m not even Catholic. I guess I could convert, but that’d just be one more thing to do. Like my plate isn’t full enough already.

Get a grip, Marcus.

I’ve been thinking this would be a good way to start my autobiography, should I ever choose to write one: Thirty-seven, that’s how old I was when Meghan Markle married Prince Harry and my life fell apart. But then I don’t know where I’d go from there.

Get–a–grip, Marcus. (Focus.)

Today I spent the afternoon at Starbucks working on one of my travel writing stories, and that’s about it. I did run into an old dance student (who thought I was in Austin because everyone thinks I’m in Austin except me, who knows I’m not in Austin but instead living with my parents, who, incidentally, are not in Austin either) and had a lovely conversation. It always amazes me when something like this happens, randomly running into someone you haven’t seen in years and jumping right in with each, getting real. In the span of ten minutes, we talked about health challenges, going to therapy, and places where we consider ourselves to be weak. And I really don’t know this person that well. But the whole experience was so–refreshing.

It was the best thing that happened today. Being honest, that is.

Everything is progressing as it should.

This evening I taught a dance lesson to a student who thinks they should be progressing faster than they are. (They all do.) Having worked with hundreds of students over the years, I keep saying (truthfully) that they’re actually progressing faster than average, but you know how people can be their own worst critic. Anyway, here’s what I’ve been thinking about the situation. When you’re a new student, you don’t have anything to compare yourself to. If you do, it’s probably Dancing with the Stars, and THAT won’t make you feel good. But as an experienced teacher that works with everyday people who aren’t spending forty hours a week preparing for a competition, I can stand outside a student’s frustration and see that things are going just fine–they’re normal–everything is progressing as it should.

My friend and I talked about something similar today–the benefit of having a good therapist, someone who’s experienced in human relationships and emotions who doesn’t know you and can stand outside your drama and comment about what’s going on. There’s such a stigma about going to therapy, but who couldn’t benefit from a relationship like that? At one point in the last four years, I was dealing with a particularly difficult person in my life, someone I cared for but who came with excessive baggage (like more baggage than Rose had on the Titanic). “Why do you have this shit show in your life?” my therapist said. Blunt, I know, but no one else I was talking to was being blunt, and it was just the thing I needed to cause me to look at the situation in a different way, to realize that I could–change things.

Imagine that.

I told my friend today that sometimes I felt like the poster child for going to therapy, but it’s only because it’s been such a good and positive thing for me. I don’t pretend that it would be the same for everyone else, but I do think it’s worth trying, just like I think learning how to dance is worth trying. I mean, you already know how to sit on the couch or go to the movies or whatever it is you know how to do. Honestly, I think it’s fear that stops people from trying new things that could help them. Maybe embarrassment. I know there have been plenty of times I’ve actually felt apologetic as a dance student for not knowing something, not being better at something. I felt the same way in therapy when my therapist asked why I was putting up with such bad behavior. I thought, Why didn’t I know this already?

It’s okay to ask for help.

Of course, the answer is simple–because no one taught me. No one taught me how to dance or how to have healthy relationships (before they did)–probably because no one taught them. Likewise, no one (except for my therapist, who’s a professional) is teaching me how to navigate being thirty-seven, living with my parents, and having a health challenge (or two). After all, who knows these things?! Aren’t we all just figuring life out as we go along, aren’t we all just doing the best we can? This has been my experience, so I’m trying to get a grip and remember that it’s okay to admit you don’t know everything, that it’s okay to ask for help.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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That Which Is Coming Together (Blog #402)

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Last night my friend Bonnie and I went to a swing dance with live rockabilly music in Fayetteville, and my friend Matt from Springfield drove in to meet us. Y’all, it was a screamin’ good time. We danced our butts off. Personally, I barely sat down. At the end of the band’s first set, I was so drenched in sweat that I could have easily won a wet t-shirt contest. That’s the only downside to a night of hard swing dancing–all the perspiration and consequent body odors. (It’s disgusting.) That being said, you sure do burn a lot of calories, so maybe it all evens out.

After the dance was over and there was room on the floor, Matt and I decided work on some aerials (dance stunts). This was all my idea, since I’ve recently realized what fun it is to be tossed is the air, and Matt’s one of the only leaders I know willing to toss me. (I’m not exactly petite.) I say “toss,” which makes it sound like the follower is a sack of potatoes that the leader simply heaves over his shoulder. But that’s not how aerials work. When done right, both the leader (base) and the follower (flyer) exert equal amounts of effort. Anyway, Matt and I worked until we were both worn out, mostly on a move called The Lamp Post, in which the follower goes up and around the leader’s head.

Here’s a video of our “work in progress.”

One thing I forgot to mention is that last night’s dance was held at a gymnastics studio. So get this shit. After all that jumping around on the dance floor, I got to jump around on some honest-to-god trampolines. Y’all, my sister and I used to have a trampoline when were growing up, and last night I felt like a kid again–flying high into the air, flipping forward, flipping back. I even got to jump into a foam pit! I can’t tell you how much fun it was. That being said, I was sucking air after only a few minutes of jumping, and I’m not quite sure how I used to bounce around like that for hours.

Also, I must have done something to my lower back, as I could barely walk out of the building. It’s better today, but my body has still been “talking to me” nonstop. At one point this afternoon I could have sworn I heard it say, “Who do you think you are jumping around like that–Tinker Bell?! Did you forget that we’re almost forty damn years old?”

“Um, yes–yes, I did,” I replied as I grabbed my hip with one hand and reached for the muscle relaxers with the other. “But thank you for so clearly reminding me of our age.”

Since Matt and Bonnie and I stayed late after the dance AND THEN went to dinner, I didn’t end up going to bed until four in the morning. And whereas I slept in today, I still haven’t quite recovered. Also, my body has been acting weird. This evening I helped my parents set up their television and other living room electronics, since they recently got a new TV stand. Y’all, I was up and down, up and down, just like on the trampoline last night, and I got light-headed. This sometimes happens when I eat a Paleo diet, so I ended up saying, Fuck it–I need more carbs, and eating two hard-shell tacos with cheese for dinner. (They were delicious.)

Here’s a picture of my parents’ new TV stand. Since we hid the electronics inside one of the cabinets, I had the hardest time filling up the shelves in the middle (intended for electronics) with appropriately sized knickknacks. I literally had to beg, borrow, and steal from the rest of the house in order for this to come together. But alas, it finally did.

Now it’s 3:30 in the morning, and my brain is shutting down. Also, my allergies are kicking in. My eyes won’t stop watering. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that cheese. Or maybe God shouldn’t have made the pollen count so high in Arkansas. Either way, I’m about to pop a couple antihistamines, maybe some Ibuprofen, and pass out. Last night when I was dancing I thought, I feel like myself again. But clearly I’m not over the hump. In addition to the allergies, my skin is doing all these crazy things, my energy level is still up and down like an aerial. And yet as frustrated as I am with my health, I’m also beyond thankful for these happy, childlike moments when I find myself dancing or jumping on a trampoline, even soaring over someone’s head. In these moments, I have no complaints. So maybe it all evens out. I fret about what will happen next, but I look at my parents’ TV stand and think, Don’t worry, Marcus. Everything else is coming together too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

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Shadow Dancing (Blog #401)

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Well hell. I just spent thirty minutes trying to connect my laptop to the WIFI at a local coffee shop to no avail. I’ve had this problem before–a message that says another device is connected to the network with my IP address–but this is the first time I haven’t been able to resolve it. So now I’m connected to MY hot spot and using MY data, which feels stupid because THE WHOLE POINT of blogging at a coffee shop is to use THEIR free internet. But I CAN’T connect to their free internet, so what am I EVEN doing here?

Oh yeah, I’m drinking coffee.

Yesterday I did my second live video on Facebook. I know this isn’t new technology, but as I’m usually late to the party, it’s new to me. So I’m excited about it. In yesterday’s video, I shared an essay I wrote in September of 2016 that helped initiate all my big life changes–closing the studio, having an estate sale, and–ultimately–starting the blog. Additionally, I read yesterday’s blog–which was #400–out loud. If you missed it and would like to see it, here it is. (It’s about 26 minutes long.) As I continue to hit milestones with the blog, my plan is to share other previously unshared essays and/or short stories.

After last night’s live video, I went dancing with my friend Bonnie. Well, sort of. We went to a swing dance, but the attendance was super-low, so we pretty much walked in then walked right back out. As a former organizer of dances, I kind of hated doing this because I know how much difference every person makes, but as an attendee I thought, This just isn’t going to work for me. We ended up at a local restaurant where a rockabilly band was playing, and since there wasn’t enough room for dancing, we simply listened (and snacked).

Y’all, the place was a bit of a dude bar. You know, pool tables, waitresses in Daisy Dukes, Hells Angels scattered about the room strategically. Mid-evening, when I had to go to the bathroom, I was forced to wade through all of it. Weaving my way around burly guys with pool sticks in their hands, I thought, What have I gotten myself into? Well, I guess I was wearing a look of suspicion on my face when I cautiously opened the door to the men’s room, as one of the guys at the urinals said, “You opened that door like a serial killer, bro.”

Seriously? This gay boy has been called a lot of things over the years, but never bro.

I mean, a serial killer.

Later in the evening, Bonnie and I went Latin dancing in downtown Fayetteville. That’s where we took the above picture, inside some sort of blow-up, light-up, bounce-around tent that I assume was meant to look sophisticated but really just looked tacky. Business owners, before doing something drastic like this, remember the following little poem by yours truly:

When you’re straight,
It’s okay to decorate.
But if your vision
Includes an “inflatables” decision,
Trust a homo–
It’s a no-no.

Getting home late from the dance last night, I slept in this morning. Then this afternoon I taught a couple’s dance routine to a group of teenagers, the group I spoke of yesterday and have been dreading working with for nearly two months now. And yet, after all that worry about them being awkward and me being awkward and us being awkward together, everything went great. We worked for two hours and went from them know pretty much squat to being able to perform the entire minute-and-a-half routine. Throw in a little practice and some nice outfits, and they’ll be golden. And y’all, the experience was actually fun for me, working with “the kids,” seeing them progress. I actually felt–well–proud.

You can speak your truth and stand beside it.

This has been on my mind lately, how something in real life is so often the complete opposite of what I’ve imagined. During the group lesson I missed a call from the insurance agent of the guy who rear-ended me (in the worst way possible) several months ago. So when the kids left, I called them back, and despite all my anxiety over speaking to this person, the conversation went fine. A couple months ago my therapist said, “I bet you’re a better negotiator than you realize. I bet you could actually be tough.” And not that I did any tough negotiating today (I just gave them my email address), I did think, I can say what I want. I can speak my truth and stand beside it. I guess life is funny this way, turning what I thought were monsters into simple shadows on the wall, shadows that quite often turn out to be fun to dance with, shadows that shrink as I step closer to them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

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Any of Us Can Stumble (Blog #373)

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

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

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

In the south, even.

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

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

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

You can regain your balance.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."