It Is Possible (Blog #440)

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Almost every day I blog in order to solve a problem–talk myself down from a ledge, work through my emotions, give myself hope. It’s just the habit I’ve fallen into here, trying to figure things out, trying to figure me out. Not every day is like this, of course. Some days, like today, are “good” from dawn to dusk. I don’t know why days like this exist. Maybe because some days are shit from sunup to sundown. (Can I get an Amen?) Regardless, I’m grateful for days like today, days that “work.”

This morning I woke up earlier than intended. (I hate that.) This probably happened because I’m pet-sitting a dog this week, and the dog’s in my room. And whereas she’s SUPER quiet (she never barks–I don’t think she knows how–maybe the cat got her tongue–haha), I can still hear her moving around, breathing. Anyway, I gave up trying to go back to sleep and started the day early. I had breakfast, read a book, made a phone call. I didn’t rush like normal. I read once that was a big part of having peace of mind–slowing down, taking your time. It said, “You should wake up early.”

Maybe it was right. (Maybe.)

This afternoon I saw my therapist and had a great session. A friend recently told me that “great” is an overused word like “nice,” that I could try saying “fabulous” or “wicked hot,” but a “wicked hot therapy session,” to me, sounds rather salacious, something that might involve a whip, which isn’t my idea of a mentally healthy good time. But I digress. Today my therapist and I discussed, among other things, a dream in which I yelled at someone. “FUCK YOU!” I said and then woke up. We decided the person I told off in my dream represented 1) barking up the wrong tree and 2) suppressing anger, so the fact that I was telling them to screw off was a good thing and meant I’m done with those behaviors in myself and others. “I’d love to have a dream in which I told someone to fuck off,” my therapist said. “I hope I have one.”

You belong exactly where you are.

After therapy I window-shopped at a vintage store then ate sushi and read a book. Then this evening the improv group I’m in performed at a private party as part of a local business’s team-building activities. Talk about fun–I’m always amazed when I see people put themselves out there and try new things for the first time. (Sort of like how I got up early this morning.) Finally, when the show was over, I had drinks with a friend from our group. Now, obviously, I’m blogging. So that’s it, just a lovely day. Not once did I feel rushed, panicked, or frightened. Well, I did get just a wee bit nervous before the show but took that as excitement. I told myself, This will be fun. (And it was.) So it is possible to move effortlessly from one thing to the next, to not get hung up, to act like you belong exactly where you are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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My Inner Coach (Blog #431)

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It’s two in the morning, and Daddy is ready for bed. It hasn’t been a particularly difficult day, but it has been a long one. This morning I ate breakfast then read a hundred pages in a book, which was relaxing. Then I walked to the bank and am pretty sure I missed the opportunity to speak to my future husband as I passed him on the sidewalk because I had my damn earphones in. (Oh well, maybe next time.) Afterwards I spoke to the insurance agent of the guy who hit my car (with me in it) almost a year ago, and that was my big accomplishment for the day. I had a confrontation.

“I don’t need you to understand,” I said, “I need you to do something about it.”

Needing to cool off after the phone call, I went for a run in the middle of the hot, humid day. (Ironic, I know, cooling off by getting hot.) Anyway, it must have worked. Forty-five minutes later, I didn’t give a shit about the insurance company–all I wanted was a glass of water.

And by water I mean Heineken.

This evening I hung out with my friend and former roommate Justin. We went to dinner with some mutual friends, then back to his house for drinks, conversation, and more conversation. (We both like to talk.) Get this shit–we were together for seven hours tonight. Seven hours! Y’all, that’s like a job–practically a full day’s work. But really, that’s pretty typical for me and Justin. We’ve known each other forever and usually have marathon catch-up sessions.

Tonight at dinner I gave Justin a look about something, and later he told me what he got from it. Y’all, he nailed it–like three things I was thinking from one look. I know I’m being vague about it now, but the point is that we decided the reason Justin could read me so well was because we’ve spent so much time together. Whether non-verbally or in conversation, we can cut through a lot crap with each other because we’ve invested time, money, and attention into our friendship for well over a decade now.

High price, but high payoff.

I share this story because the idea of work and reward has been on my mind recently. I have new dance students who get frustrated that they can’t spin as well as I can. I try to explain that I’ve been working on my spins for nearly twenty years now (holy shit, I’m old), but I don’t think the gravity of that statement really sinks in. For twenty years–off and on–I’ve been spinning in my kitchen, across my living room, up and down various dance floors. When I had the studio, students would come in an hour a week, but I’d be there ten or twenty, practicing while I taught. It’s not that I consider myself a fabulous spinner–I could be A LOT better–but the idea that someone coming in “off the street” should get the reward of good spins (if you want to call it a reward) without putting in the work–ridiculous.

Personally, I too get frustrated when I don’t get results as soon as I want them–in writing, in health, in relationships. And yet the things and people who mean the most to me are the ones that have grown slowly, a little here, a little there. Perhaps I’m starting to get okay with this, starting to show myself some grace. Last night I dreamed that I was playing baseball as an adult. (I haven’t played since I was kid.) My coach in the dream was screaming at me, “You should be doing this better. You should know more.” And whereas I’d normally agree with him (I’m a recovering perfectionist), I said, “Hey, asshole, calm down. I haven’t played baseball in thirty frickin’ years. I think I’m doing pretty great, all things considered.”

My inner coach–what an asshole, indeed. Maybe we all have that, that voice that tells us we should be doing better than we are, that inner jerk who compares us-just-starting-out to someone else who’s been doing it for decades. I’m growing weary of that voice that demands perfection right this minute. And since I can’t find a single person or thing that I value in my life that hasn’t required slow, consistent hard work and practice, I’m less and less interested in quick payoffs and instant benefits anyway. Plus, it’s just not possible for me to be any better (or worse) than I am in this moment. So I’m working on acceptance. Because all things considered, I am doing pretty great. We all are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

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When It Comes to Luggage and Bodies (Blog #374)

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Today I am worn out. I feel tired behind my eyes. Additionally, my skin is acting up, and the muscles in my neck are tight, tight, tight. I’ve said these things before, but I say them again because I’m about to go out-of-town for several days on a writing gig and am worried about how my body will handle the busy schedule. So I’m giving it a pep talk even as we speak. Hang in there.

Not the most original pep talk, I know.

The occasion, the writing gig, is a travel-writing trip to Memphis. Y’all, this is my first-ever travel-writing trip, but it promises to be a pretty sweet deal. Basically I’ll get flown to Memphis, put up in a hotel, fed twice or more a day, and bused around to local restaurants and attractions along with several other journalists, the understanding that we’ll all go home and write about the city and the things we saw for our respective media outlets. (I’m officially writing for a local magazine I used to work for and not my blog, but I’m sure I’ll talk about my adventures here as well). Actually, I have two travel-writing trips planned back-to-back, so I’ll be running around the region for the next week and a half. This will be the most travel and work I’ve required of myself since my immune issues flared up six months ago, which–again–is why I’m worried.

Hang in there.

In preparation for the trip, today I spent three hours shopping for carry-on luggage. One bag, specifically. Y’all, what a chore, finding something that was the right price, the right size, the right color, had the right number of pockets, and also looked cute. I went to five stores before finally narrowing it down to two at Academy Sports–a bright red and black hard case and a navy canvas with small, red accents. I really, really wanted the hard case. Not only was it cheaper, but it was perfect on the outside. HOWEVER, I went with the canvas bag (by Coleman), since it was good enough on the outside and perfect on the inside (deeper storage and a compartment for wet clothes). So once again, remember–when it comes to luggage and bodies, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

Last night I dreamed that my car was being repaired at a garage. The hood was up, and I was working on the engine. I guess I was a mechanic, but I didn’t know exactly what to do. Then another mechanic appeared (as if by magic), and we worked on the engine together.

You’re exactly where you need to be.

Y’all, of all the dreams I’ve had the last few years, this one excites me the most, since cars in dreams almost always represent the physical body. The engine, I think, represents my immune system, the thing that makes my body run smoothly. Me and the mechanic, then, would be me and my doctors, indicating that I’ve finally landed in a place where things can be fixed (in the dream, the garage). Alternatively, the dream could simply be about the direction my life is going and the fact that I’m currently working on the stuff under my hood (my insides), the stuff you can’t see but that really runs the show. Either way, I’m hoping the message is the same–Hang in there. You’re exactly where you need to be. Don’t worry. You’ll be back on the road in no time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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There’s a New Sheriff in Town (Blog #372)

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Currently it’s four-thirty in the afternoon, and my friend Bonnie and I are in her car, Carlotta, en route to Dallas to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the blog. The plan is to go out to dinner, then go out dancing. The day itself is cloudy and rainy, but I have sunshine in my heart. I’m excited to party and pat myself on the back for all my hard work, something I don’t do very often (believe it or not). Also, I’m excited that Bonnie is here. More than any other person, I think, she’s the friend who’s appeared on the blog the most. So this seems fitting.

Before we left today, I went shopping for a new outfit–well, a pair of shoes and a shirt–for tonight. Y’all, I’ll post pictures later, but I actually bought stuff with bright colors, something fun. I figured as long as I’m going dancing in a city where I don’t know anyone, I might as well feel confident and stand out. When I told Bonnie about my purchases, she said, “I could go all ‘Marcus Coker’ on that.”

“Like, what do you mean?” I said.

“Well, you used to have a lot of fun clothes, but you got rid of them. You’ve spent the last year wearing gray and black–utilitarian clothes–while you were busy doing your inner work. Maybe you’re ready to start wearing playful things again, now that the outside can truly match the inside.”

Good stuff, huh?

I think Bonnie is right. I’ve joked before that my clothes have been dark because I’ve been in mourning. On some level, I guess this is true. In a lot of respects, I consider “the old me” dead. Not only does my life look different on the outside, but it certainly looks different on the inside.

Last night I dreamed about a (former) friend who has a lot of unhealthy behaviors. They’re passive aggressive, a people pleaser, and often addicted to one substance or another. As much as I’m able, I don’t judge them for it. As my therapist has told me more than once, I’ve “rocked those strategies” plenty of times in the past (plenty). This is how my therapist often refers to actions, behaviors, and habits–strategies. What I like about this perspective is that it allows me to step back and more objectively look at how I’m handling the situations in my life, asking myself, “Is this behavior, this strategy, effective? Is there a better way to go about this?”

Anyway, in the dream my friend and I were on a trip, and they were on the phone, running the show. However, they’d forgotten something I thought was important (and fun), my bicycle. And then–kind of out of nowhere–I slugged them in the face. All of a sudden they were on the ground, their nose bleeding, no longer on the phone, no longer running the show.

Violent, I know. Not the best dream to wake up to. Still, I think the dream was really positive. To me it communicates that my subconscious has finally had enough with unhealthy behavior, both from myself and others. There’s a new sheriff in town. A different, healthier part of me is running the show now, and it clearly means business.

Talk about a reason to celebrate. (Also, watch your noses.)

I want a new life.

Perhaps in addition to representing mourning, my dark clothes have also represented and communicated the idea that I’m serious–I’m haven’t been playing around over here with regards to my personal growth, my mental health and the health of my relationships, and this blog. This feels true to me. I’m grateful for my past, but I want a new life, a different, healthier, free-er, more playful life. I want it with every fiber of my being, so much so that I’m willing to spend the rest of my life working toward it. If I can help it, I won’t settle for less. From what I’ve experienced of freedom so far, it’s worth every serious effort. So you go inward and you grit your teeth. You change your behaviors and what you’ll accept from others, even getting violent (figuratively speaking) if you have to. Then when most of The Hard Work is over (since it never actually ends), you buy a new outfit, jump in the car with a friend, and find a way to party and celebrate the start of your new life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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