Somehow We Ascend (Blog #204)

Leave a comment

Currently it’s eight in the evening, my sister and her husband are on a date, and their friend Laurel is putting the boys to bed. I just got back from spending the day in Santa Fe with Brian, the boy I met for drinks last night. I’m putting a certain amount of pressure on myself to finish tonight’s blog and finish it fast, as I may go out dancing in a couple hours. Not that I really have the energy, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity. I’ve only got one more day here, then it’s time to say goodbye, so why stay home?

We’ll see how it goes. I could very well pass out on this keyboard and wake up in my own drool.

This morning before leaving for Santa Fe, Brian and I went to Starbucks, and I’m pretty sure the guy at the drive-thru said, “Welcome to a normal human Starbucks.” Even now, I have no idea what he meant. Was he trying to be funny? If so, no one was laughing. My therapist says humor is a function of intelligence, so that would say something about either the barista’s smarts or mine. (Since this is my blog, let’s assume he’s the one with the problem.) Also, are most Starbucks for abnormal humans?

I still have so many questions.

In Santa Fe, Brian and I went to an exhibit hall called Meow Wolf. We spent a couple hours there, but much like the interaction at Starbucks, I still can’t tell you what it was about. Outside there were several sculptures, so I made the assumption that we were going to an art gallery. But when we got inside, it was pretty much one big acid trip–or what I would imagine an acid trip to be. The first room was a house, but there was some story about how the people in the house had been sucked into an alternate dimension or universe, so a lot of the doors (and even the washing machine) opened up into strange and bizarre worlds full of dinosaur bones, chutes and ladders, or a hall of mirrors.

Initially we didn’t realize there was a theme–the whole bit about the family disappearing into a different world. But I guess if one had the intelligence and patience, there were notes and clues hidden throughout the entire exhibit, and supposedly you could piece together what the hell everything was about.

One of the clues said the rooms represented the emotions the family members were feeling before they got swept away, but what do you make of a psychedelic forest, cereal boxes that look like they’ve been eaten by aliens, or a bathroom floor that’s been crumbled up like last week’s newspaper?

Seriously, most days I can’t make sense of my own emotions, and now I have to figure out someone else’s? I mean, I gave it the old college try for about five minutes, but then quit because some days you just can’t–you just can’t even.

Again, I still have so many questions.

After Meow Wolf, Brian and I checked out downtown Santa Fe, starting with two of the chapels. Perhaps the more famous of the two, Loretto Chapel, contains what many call a miraculous staircase. (I think an escalator beats a staircase any day, but that’s just me.) But really, this staircase is pretty awesome. The story goes that over a hundred years ago a stranger showed up to build a staircase when the church was in need. No one knows who the man was, but people say he was an angel or at least a genius because engineers today say the staircase, which is spiral and doesn’t have a center support pole, shouldn’t be able to hold the weight that it does. Supposedly no one has been able to explain how the staircase is structurally sound.

People have so many questions.

Since we got back from Santa Fe and I dropped Brian off, I’ve been entertaining opposite emotions. First, I had a wonderful time with Brian today. I spend so much of my life doing things by myself, it was really–really–nice to be in such good company. I texted my friend Bonnie about it, and she said, “Sounds like your time together made your heart light for a minute. That’s definitely something.” In response, I said, “That’s definitely something. And I didn’t realize it was so heavy.”

That’s the second part–the opposite emotion–heavy. Part of me thinks it’s about all good things coming to an end, but another part of me thinks it’s about realizing what I’ve been missing out on. It always feels like that in some way–like I’m missing out on a good time at a dance, some magical relationship, or some better life. My therapist is quick to point out that plenty of people in relationships would trade places with single me in a heartbeat, so I guess we all want what we don’t have.

Clearly, we all have so many questions. At least us normal humans do.

People say your life only makes sense in reverse, that one day you’ll look back and realize why things happened the way they did. But lived moment-to-moment and day-by-day, life is a real head-scratcher. Nothing seems to compute, including our experiences and emotions. Try to figure yourself out, and you might as well have a conversation with a wannabe stand-up comedian at a drive-thru or spend a day at Meow Wolf. Maybe we’re not really meant to connect the dots, at least as we live them. Some days I guess the best we can do is embrace the wonder of it all, ever grateful for those places and people who cause our hearts to beat, even when it’s time to say goodbye to them. Perhaps this feels like climbing a miraculous spiral staircase and not understanding how we’re being held up. Yet step-by-step we’re supported and somehow we ascend–ever higher into our own mysteries.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We are surrounded by the light.

"

The Weight of Perfection (Blog #165)

Leave a comment

Currently the muscles in my neck are so tight that my jaw is twitching. I wonder if that’s normal, or if it has anything to do with all the caffeine I drank today. I really meant to take a nap, but sometimes your day doesn’t turn out like you think it will. That is to say, sometimes your life doesn’t turn out like you think it will. (Am I right or am I right?) This morning I got up early to go to therapy, and when the conversation turned to age–specifically, my age–my therapist said I wasn’t allowed to complain about being “old” until I was on “the other side” of forty.

I don’t know who makes these rules.

Today my therapist and I talked about insecurities. I feel like I sprinkle them around this blog every day, every damn day, so I’m not sure I’d like to list them again as bullet points. In fact, I would not, but suffice it to say that all of them center around looks, talent, money, and love-ability. I mean, that covers the bases, doesn’t it? The whole thing came up in the context of hypothetical relationships. That is, I’m not currently in one, but I’d like to be one day, provided it doesn’t turn out to be a shit-show like some of my previous ones. You know how it goes. Anyway, my therapist said that she sees “all kinds” of people–the beautiful, the talented, and the rich. “WE ALL have the same insecurities,” she said.

Seriously–that’s good to know.

I spent a couple hours this afternoon with another therapist, my friend Deborah. She owns Anchored Hope Counseling in Fort Smith. She and I were just catching up, but if you need to go there as a client, don’t hesitate. You’ll know you’re in the right spot, since they have anchors EVERYWHERE. She said, “We may have overdone it.” I said, “Yeah, you really went OVERBOARD.” (Waka, Waka.)

This evening I taught dance, then I spent about an hour feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t really mean to do this, but I think it crept up on me because I’m tired. Not that it matters–it happened. The mood probably started when my therapist and I talked about my wanting to be in a relationship one day, a conversation that highlighted the fact that I’m–well–not in one now. I realize for some this may be an enviable position, since the grass is always greener. But after dance, I called to make dinner reservations for my birthday, and the reservation was for an odd number, meaning I’m going to be the only person there without a significant other. So unless the dessert menu is truly exceptional, it’ll be one more birthday I go to bed alone.

As I was processing all this, I really was trying to be grateful and see the bright side, but it was a losing battle, so I eventually cried. What pushed me over the edge was thinking about seeing Deborah this afternoon because she’s a “touchy” person. I mean, she’d make a joke, reach over, and touch my arm or shoulder. Well, I’m not a touchy person. I usually show affirmation through words. (Surprise.) But I kept thinking that positive touch really is healing, and it’s something most of us don’t get enough of. Deborah probably didn’t think anything about it, but I realized that when you’re experiencing loneliness, an affirming hand can really make you feel both “seen” and “okay.”

Y’all, crying really is great. You should try it. I mean, you don’t have to sob and boo-hoo, although that’s okay too. Personally, I only cried a few tears, but now I feel so much better. It’s easier to see that I’m not the only single person on the planet, I have a lot to be grateful for, and if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen. All that from a few tears! Well, all that from a few tears, several tacos, and a chocolate chip cookie, since I believe in combining different forms of therapy.

This afternoon at her office Deborah showed me a collection of mixed-media art she calls The Sisters. The Sisters are basically five different women, each in her own frame, each with her own inspirational saying. They’re pretty awesome, and my favorite was the one with this woman in–honestly–a rather frumpy, mismatched outfit. Beside her it said, “She released the weight of perfection and decided to become herself.”

The weight of perfection–isn’t that powerful? I mean, I think we could stop there and call it a night.

Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

But really, when I think about wanting to be in a relationship and even all my insecurities, I know my desires and fears are all centered around this idea of perfection, that I’d be happier if life were just so. Of course, this is a heavy burden to carry around, and life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time. We want something, we get it, then we don’t want it anymore. We get worried people won’t love something about us, but the truth is that people love us not in spite of our so-called flaws, but because of them. This is a lesson I’m being reminded of over and over again–no one is alone, we all have the same insecurities, and all of us are not only worthy of being seen, but also more than okay just as we are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

No good story ever ends.

"

My One-Sided Fears (Blog #162)

Leave a comment

After yesterday’s disappointing search for a new pair of jeans, I woke up today with a renewed sense of vision and hope. I thought, This is possible. I’ve bought jeans before. I can buy them again. So after breakfast and yoga, I ran a couple errands, parked my car outside Central Mall, and thought, Fort Smith, don’t fail me now. Well, I quickly discovered that stretchy jeans have become a serious thing. Like, they’re the new bell bottoms, or whatever. Everywhere I went, it was stretch this, flex that. I’m surprised each pair didn’t come with a gym membership. So–even though I admittedly have a bad attitude about stretchy jeans–I actually tried some on.

Well, nothing even came close because–again–small ankles, big butt. (Emphasis on the big butt.) Well, one pair did come close–my thighs looked great–but there was a big wrinkle right across my crotch. It was like one of those huge speed bumps in the middle of an otherwise perfectly inviting road. I thought, Oh no, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.

Before I go any further, I should say that I’m a fashion snob. My therapist says it’s okay to admit it–I’m vain. I mean, I’m not above wearing certain brands, like the ones sold at Walmart, but I’m above wearing certain brands, like the ones sold at Walmart. Mostly I get something in my head and go out looking for that. Like, I know Buffalo jeans fit me really well–I’m familiar with them. I like how the pockets look just so. Maybe it sounds like vanity to you, but I like to think of it as having standards. So I guess I shop with certain expectations.

My friend George says an expectation is a frustration in the making, and boy is he right. By the time I got to American Eagle, the last place on my list, I didn’t see a single pair of non-flex (regular) jeans anywhere in the damn store. When a lady asked if she could help me, I said, “Do ALL your jeans stretch?” and she said, “Yes. They’re what EVERYBODY wants.” Well, everyone has their breaking point, so I said, “Well not EVERYBODY wants them because I don’t.” Granted, I realize I’m probably too old to be shopping at American Eagle, but I almost called her a whippersnapper and said, “And why are there so many SKINNY JEANS? Don’t fat thighs matter anymore?”

Fat. Thighs. Matter.

Totally pissed at this point, I left the mall and tried to talk myself down off the ledge. You don’t HAVE to have a new pair of jeans for your birthday, Marcus. Okay, just breathe. Well, I finally decided to lower my standards and shop for pants at Target. Don’t tell the internet. (Whoops.) And get this shit. I found a pair I actually liked. I can’t believe I’m about to admit this, but they’re Levi’s–AND THEY STRETCH. Talk about eating humble pie, which–of course–is okay because now my pants will accommodate the extra calories. That’s right, I’m admitting it in front of God and everybody. I’m okay with stretchy jeans, at least I think I am. I’ll try them out next week. But apparently I just needed to find the right pair.

I hate it when I’m wrong.

This afternoon before The Great Jean Search of 2017, I ran into my friend Missy, who runs the Young Actors Guild, and she said they were putting on a show in at the King Opera House in Van Buren this weekend. So when I finished at Target, I looked at the clock and thought, I can just make it. Well–get this–when I went to buy my ticket, the lady behind the counter said she was buying it for me. Turns out, we’re friends and she reads the blog. Her name is Kim. It just took me a second to make the connection. (You know how it is when you see someone out of context.) Anyway, it completely made my day, especially after all the denim drama at the mall.

The show tonight was called Uncle Pirate and was about a young boy who’s being bullied at school and is pretty much afraid of his own shadow. As luck would have it, he has a long-lost uncle who’s an honest-to-goodness pirate. Having recently lost his ship and all his crew, Uncle Pirate shows up for a family visit, and he and the boy end up saving each other. It’s adorable. Also, I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think most the kids on stage had stretchy jeans, so I both blame and thank them for what I went through today.

One of the themes in Uncle Pirate has to do with fear. When the boy tells his uncle that he’s afraid of the bully at school, his uncle says something like, “Half the time, being afraid of something only makes you more afraid.” In other words, we often use fear as an excuse to NOT do something, and that just makes matters worse. But when we “feel the fear and do it anyway,” we better solve our problems and gain courage in the process.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but whenever I like I song, I play it over and over. Well, today’s song was “Take Me Home” by Cash Cash. There’s a line in the song that says, “But I still stay because you’re the only thing I know.” Honestly, if you listen to the rest of the words, it doesn’t sound like the singer is in a good relationship, but she stays because it’s familiar. At least, that’s my take on it, and I’ve been thinking today that I’ve been there. I’ve stuck it out longer than I should have because I didn’t know a better way. I assume this is true for all of us.

As my friend Suzanne says, “You can’t know what you don’t know.”

I’ve heard that the ego can’t see what it will stand to gain, only what it will stand to lose. I take this to mean that our fears only show us one side of the story. It’s a little thing, but as I was shopping for jeans today, I was only thinking about what wouldn’t go well, how terrible stretchy pants would be. But when I bit the bullet and tried something new, it actually worked out. On a much grander scale, I remember being in a miserable (miserable) relationship several years ago and being afraid of ending it, but I did. Then I was so sad and afraid of what would happen next that I didn’t think things would ever get better. But they did. I ran into my friend Ashley at the mall today, the topic came up, and she said, “You’re so much happier now.”

So once again, I’m learning that a lot of my fears are full of crap. Also, life doesn’t always suck–it’s pretty good sometimes. So whether it’s a new pair of pants, the unexpected gift of a ticket to see a show, or even a miserable relationship that ends up being the motivation you need to get some damn standards, I’m reminded that life is kinder than I previously thought it was. Also, in this moment, there’s nothing to be afraid of.

[Today’s song, for those who are interested.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?

"

Don’t Sit on Broken Chairs (Blog #158)

Leave a comment

I spent the holiday watching random videos, interviews, and documentaries, and after an entire day of checking off and adding even more things to my Netflix watch list (there’s so much to watch!), I’m trying to remind myself that there’s a world beyond my laptop screen, a world of actual flesh and beating hearts. I think that means I need to get out of the house, see a friend. My therapist says I’m the most introverted kind of extrovert, and having been at home for four solid days, I think it’s time to extrovert myself.

The day itself has been, oh, peachy. I did yoga (ouch, but good), spent some time online (but not on Facebook), ate Taco Bell with my parents. This evening I washed my car, Tom Collins, which reminded me how much I like him. Then I went for a two-hour walk and listened to Oprah interview JK Rowling, something I’ve been meaning to do since last year. Just as the interview started, I strolled through a neighborhood where I once worked as a wedding photographer. I couldn’t remember the exact house, but I recall being really sick that day. The bride was Laotian, and we took our shoes off for the ceremony in the living room. Later that day there was a Christian ceremony for the groom, and that night, every Laotian in the tri-state area showed up for loud music and more fried rice than I’ve seen before or since. Honestly, it was hell.

For whatever reason, while listening to the creator of Harry Potter say she wasn’t the world’s most confident person, but she knew she could tell a story, I walked down a road I’ve never been on before. There was an ugly, ugly house that looked like three different houses held together with glue sticks. I probably seemed like I was casing the joint, but I couldn’t stop staring. Of course, by staring, I mean judging. But after passing the house, I continued down a road with all these empty plots. The full moon hung in the sky like a lantern, the air was cool, and, although nothing was happening, it felt like there was room for possibility.

Honestly, that’s what my life feels like right now. Mentally, I dedicate a portion of every day to the idea that nothing is happening, that my life is stuck, but there’s a lot of space here, space where something could happen. Every time someone asks me what I’m doing, all I can think is, Waiting to be discovered. I think one of the many, many lessons I’m learning right now is that everything happens in its own time, that nothing can be forced. People read what I write or don’t. I can’t make anyone like my Facebook page. This afternoon I got overwhelmed with all the books I’m reading and all the videos on my watch list, and I realized it all has to do with the idea that I need something I don’t have. I used to think, I need to not be dying at a Laotian wedding. Now I think, I need more knowledge, I need a job.

It’s always something.

I remember exactly where I was sitting when I read Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and It’s all Small Stuff by Richard Carlson. It was my parent’s kitchen table, probably ten years ago. Why I remember shit like this, I can’t say, but one of the chapters said, “When you die, your ‘in basket’ won’t be empty.” I guess the point is that we will always have things on our to-do lists. My list of books to read and videos to watch will never be completely checked off. UGH. I hate that.

I’m just going to take a second to let that sink in. I’ll never be–done.

We may never be done, but that doesn’t mean we’ll never be complete.

A few weeks ago I had lunch with my friend Marla. We went to a Thai restaurant, and one of the booths had been set aside with a sign on it that said, “This chair got out of a bad relationship–it is broken. Do not sit on it.” Funny, right? For the last few weeks I’ve been meaning to blog about that chair because I know my personal tendency when I’m feeling down, overwhelmed, or broken is to–essentially–sit on myself. My life gets too much to handle, and rather than taking the pressure off, I put more on. I tell myself I need to do more, be more–now. It’s exhausting. Of course, being hard on yourself is a lot like sitting on a broken chair–it’s no way to hold yourself up.

Personally, I’m glad to be the strongly independent person I am, but I know I often isolate myself in the name of independence. I am a rock and all that bullshit. It’s easy to stay home for four days, get stuck in my head, and think that if something big doesn’t happen in a weekend–or a year–that it won’t happen at all. Tonight JK Rowling said, “I know what I believe because of what I write,” and when I look at what I write, I’m reminded that I believe in hope, and I believe in asking for help, and I believe in beating hearts. After all, we all hold each other up. 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.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

"

Matthew’s Box (Blog #117)

2 Comments

At least once I’ve written about the time when I was a child and became so upset that I didn’t have enough space to organize my newly acquired birthday presents that I began to cry. I remember my mom sitting on the side of my bed. The room was dark. Maybe a nightlight was on. My mom left the room, came back with an empty Cool Whip container. She said, “Let’s put all your worries in here. You can get them out later.” So I took my hand and placed my invisible worries inside. Mom put the lid on the container, tucked it away in the bottom drawer of my dresser, and then tucked me away in bed.

Somehow, it helped.

Perhaps this is the first time I’m sharing this part of the story on the blog, but I’ve written about it elsewhere before and told some of my friends, so I feel like I’m repeating myself. Anyway, we’re talking about it now because this afternoon (at breakfast) I found out where the whole Cool Whip container thing started.

Sometime before I was born, my mom attended nursing school at the Walter Reed Army Institute of Nursing in Baltimore, Maryland. My aunt Terri attended there with her. One of their classmates and friends was a lady named Pat. I’m told that when I was six or seven I met Pat and her husband when my family went to visit them. I’m not sure that I remember, but the story goes that Pat said we could stay with them, but I said, “Thank you very much, but I’d like to stay at a hotel where I can use the vending machines.”

Not much has changed.

Since Mom’s recently joined Facebook, she and Pat have reconnected, and when I got back from Austin yesterday, I noticed a hand-written letter to Mom from Pat on the kitchen table. It was mixed in with some other cards addressed to Mom as well as a small bouquet of flowers (in a smiley-face vase) from the cancer support house. This morning I also noticed a small glass box, which at first glance looked looked like a jewelry box about the size of the palm of your hand, beveled on all edges, beautiful, with a silver clasp. Mom said the box came from Pat, that it was called a “Matthew’s Box,” that I could read about in an article Pat sent with her letter.

Matthew, Pat’s son, was born in 1976, four years before I was even thought about. At age four he was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a typically terminal form of cancer that cut off the blood supply to his spinal cord and put him in a wheelchair. For over a year, Matthew was treated with chemotherapy, which left him weak, nauseated, and prone to infections like pneumonia. Two months before he turned six, an x-ray showed a new malignancy on his spine. Hope gave way to reality. At home and at treatment, Matthew held onto a toy he got when he was a baby, a stuffed dog (outfitted in engineer’s overalls) named Dooby.

One day while listening to records, Matthew began to sob. Hearing him from another room, Pat went to him. “Mommy,” he said, “if I die, will Dooby go with me?”

As time went on and Matthew struggled with the idea of dying, Pat said, “Matthew, think about taking all your concerns and troubles out of your mind and putting them in a box. Close the box and hand it over to God, and let him take care of it for you.” The day after that conversation, Matthew’s demeanor had changed. In Pat’s words, he was cheerful, chipper, glowing. When asked why he was so much happier, Matthew said, “Well, Mom, last night I changed my brain.”

Matthew died eleven months later. Even now, Pat keeps a glass box on a her desk. Into the box she slips little pieces of papers on which she’s written her worries and concerns. Whenever a friend has cancer, or maybe whenever they’re just having a hard time, Pat sends them a “Matthew’s Box” like the one she sent my mom.

Healing’s not an item on a to-do list.

Today I woke up tired and started the day by reading about Matthew and then crying into my grapefruit. I’ve been slightly on edge because I’m quitting coffee (for a while), and I’m overwhelmed that Mom is starting chemotherapy this Friday. (It’s the little things, it’s the big things.) Isn’t it all happening too fast? I spent the afternoon with my physical therapist, my massage therapist, and my chiropractor. My physical therapist actually described me as having, “almost perfect posture,” and my massage therapist got my shoulders to not round forward so much. And whereas all of that is exciting, it also feels like I have a long way to go. Tonight I’ve been thinking, What if I can never get my hips perfectly level or my ears above my shoulders?

What if my dreams never come true?

Tomorrow I see my therapist, and I honestly can’t wait. It’s been a couple of weeks, and–as always–I have a list of things I’d like to talk about, things that have bothered me but I haven’t been able to figure out on my own. This evening I realized that my therapy list is a lot like a “Matthew’s Box” or a Cool Whip container. It’s a place for me to put my own worries and concerns until I can get some help with them. My nature, of course, is to want a solution “right now,” to be able to check another item off my list. Thank God, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. But I realize that’s not how healing works. Healing’s not an item on a to-do list. No, healing is crying for breakfast, laughing for lunch, and eating peanut butter from a jar for dinner. It’s flowers on the table and asking a friend for help when you need it. It’s doing everything you know how to do while simultaneously acknowledging what’s not yours to control and admitting that often the only reliable thing you can change–as Matthew might say–is your brain.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

"

Feeling Vulnerable and Raw (Blog #116)

Leave a comment

Last night while I was working on the blog, Bonnie came back to the bungalow with doughnuts–Voodoo Doughnuts. I’d never had one before, but apparently they are a thing–creative packaging, filled with sugar, a great way to go up a pant size in less than twenty-four hours. But maybe the best part about them is that they are a little naughty–okay–a lot naughty. Their packaging is pink, and on the cover, along with a snake, is a magician with the words, “The magic is in the hole.” (Wow.) AND THEN it says, “Good things come in pink boxes.” (If you don’t get it, I’m not going to be the one to explain it to you. Especially you, Mom.)

So filthy–so funny–so tasty.

So that’s how today started, and I don’t mind saying that it’s gone downhill from there. I mean, Bonnie and I ate some delicious tacos before leaving Austin, and we listened to a lot of good music on the drive back to Arkansas today. But returning home after a great trip–to Austin of all places–can quite frankly blow. Let’s face it. Austin is where there’s live music, plenty of dancing, and amazing tacos. Van Buren, on the other hand, is where all my bills get delivered, the home of my bathroom scale, and the place where Mom has cancer. In short, there’s a lot of reality here.

Go away, reality, we don’t want your kind here.

I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’ve been extra tired this week and functioning on caffeine and sugar. Plus, I don’t mind saying that blogging every day about my emotions and internal life is–well–a real bitch at times. As if three years of therapy weren’t enough, now I’m personally journaling every day about what I think, feel, desire, and loathe, AND putting the highlight reel online for everyone to see. And I guess sometimes that leaves me feeling a bit vulnerable and raw, like what might happen if you had a scab that stretched from your face to your groin and intentionally ripped the whole thing off–you know–for fun. (Let’s start a blog and talk about our feelings!)

I don’t recommend it.

No, let’s eat doughnuts instead. And if you don’t think that will help, you can always take a pretzel and shove it in the heart of a one-eyed doughnut (that’s filled with red jelly) while pretending it’s everyone who’s ever 1) lied to you, 2) cheated on you, or 3) done you wrong.

When I got home tonight (about 1:30 in the morning), I went for a walk/jog to help clear my head, readjust. I’m not sure that it helped. But here’s something. My family has lived on this street for thirty years, and for as long as I can remember, situated between several houses and a local church, there’s been a patch of land that’s been a bit wild. From the road it’s looked like a bunch of overgrown trees, although sometimes it would get cut back, and maybe I remember seeing a cow or two back there. Whenever I would go for walks by there in the summers, there’d be a honeysuckle bush, and often I’d stop and smell it, even taste it.

Well, tonight as I walked by that plot of land, I thought something was different, but it took me a minute to figure it out. Y’all, the entire plot of land–maybe an acre or two of overgrown trees and honeysuckle–had been clearcut. (This is why I wouldn’t make a great detective.) It was just one big slab of dirt. Gone in the blink of an eye. Part of me was immediately sad–I’d gotten used to something being there, and now it was gone. Another part of me was delighted. Without the trees there, I could see all the stars shining through. There was all this–space. I wondered what would come along to fill it. There were so many–possibilities.

Sometimes I look at the way my life was before, and I miss it. On days like today when I’m wiped out and emotional, it’s easy to tell myself that life was better when I had a steady job, lived on my own, and every summer the honeysuckle bloomed in the same spot. Looking at my life now feels like looking at that empty plot of land–oh crap, where did everything go?  Again, it’s vulnerable and raw, in every way exposed. But at the same time, I can see stars I haven’t seen in years, and who knows who or what will come along, who knows what dreams may come.

There’s a poem by Robert Frost that says, “We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the Secret sits in the middle and knows.” What this means to me today is that it’s easy to look at the physical pieces of your life and think–that’s it–this blows. It’s easy to get caught up in what you can see, taste, and touch. But it’s the unseen dimension, I think, that gives the most shape to our lives. This is, of course, where divine wisdom lives, along with possibility. To be a little naughty, the magic is you know where. Additionally, it’s the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and–when the time is right–room for something else to come along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

When we expect great things, we see great things.

"

A Mouse in the House (Blog #104)

Leave a comment

For a while now I’ve been staring at this blank screen wishing I hadn’t made a personal commitment to write every day. I’ve also been wishing I hadn’t promised myself I’d be honest. Seriously, that was a stupid thing to do. Currently I’m tired (I know–we’re all tired–welcome to America), I have a headache, and I feel super bloated because I ate pizza on three separate occasions today, so I’m having a difficult time focusing. Additionally, I really don’t want to write about the thing that’s been on my mind all day, so I’ve been hoping I could get out of it. Like that ever works. Still, for over an hour I’ve been bargaining with the muse. Just give me something else to talk about–like the fact that I spent two hours tonight listening to Shania Twain’s Man I Feel Like a Woman, not because I’m gay but because I’m getting paid to choreograph it–that’s interesting, right?

But, “No, it’s not,” the muse says. “Tell everyone your mom has cancer.”

I don’t want to. I’m not ready to talk about it. 

“Do it anyway,” he says.

Oh my god, a mouse just ran across my parents’ living room! Let’s talk about that instead. Mice scare me. If only they were like the mice in Cinderella maybe I would–

“You’re stalling.”

Fine, damn it. But just so you know, I’m not happy about this.

“The mouse or the cancer?”

Either.

So yeah, my mom has cancer. They found it in one of her breasts several weeks ago, maybe as many as six or eight. This isn’t the first time I’m talking about it, just the first time I’m writing about it. (Mom said it was okay.) Originally she was told that it was small, localized, and slow-growing, so the assumption has been that the treatment would be fairly simple. I swear. I think the mouse just made one lap around the entire perimeter of the interior of our home. No wonder he looks so skinny. Anyway, I once worked for an attorney who worked out of his house, and I remember one day him standing in the kitchen with a block of cheese that had mold on it. Disgusting, right? But the man actually took out his pocket knife, cut the moldy part off, and ate the rest of the cheese. (He said you could do that because all cheese is basically mold, but I’m still grossed out.) Anyway, that’s how I’ve been thinking of the cancer treatment, something quick and simple that could easily be done in your own kitchen with a pocket knife if you were brave enough. But even if you wanted to let the doctors handle it–no big deal.

So apparently–big deal. Of course, things could always be worse (things could ALWAYS be worse), but we found out today that the cancer is a little more moldy–spread out–than previously thought. So two days from now mom’s going to get a port, which is basically a funnel they implant in your skin so they can pour chemotherapy into your body like motor oil for five months. After that, the plan is mastectomy, followed by radiation, followed by medication for five years.

As of now, that’s all we know. Also, I think we’re all overwhelmed, which is why we ordered pizza.

The fucking mouse just ran–no, sprinted–across the living room. It was so fast! Maybe I should call it Florence Griffith-Joyner. But I can’t think about that right now. I have so many other things to think about right now. Like FloJo gives a shit. I mean, a mouse just shows up in your home uninvited and does whatever the hell it wants. But of course, you’ve got to try to get rid of it. You can’t just let it stay. Still, I guess sometimes it takes a lot more work than you think it will. And maybe some days you wonder if you’re strong enough for what lies ahead.

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes.

“With the mouse or the cancer?”

Both.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"

Embracing My Animal Nature (Blog #85)

Leave a comment

Here’s a picture from when I was in Austin that I’m affectionately calling “Dasher and Dancer.” Get it? (I’m a dancer.) The photo was taken at a vintage furniture store, and I was a little sad that Dasher had a broken antler, so I gave him a hug. (Notice he didn’t return the favor. Of course, he doesn’t have arms.) Anyway, I’m back in Arkansas now, but I’m still sharing this picture because I always start each post with a picture and Bonnie sent me this one this morning.

This afternoon I spent well over an hour in the backyard, reading. Half-naked. In the hot sun. I’ve been doing this for the last couple of weeks, hoping to ease myself into an even tan, erase some of the lines I’ve acquired from hanging my arm out my car window and walking around Austin in a tank top. Well, I didn’t think I was outside too long, but maybe I was. Maybe the sun was especially pissed off today, like it had a fight with the moon last night and decided to take it out on me. Either way, I roasted like a marshmallow. My skin keeps getting pinker and pinker.

Here’s a picture I took a couple of hours ago. Something must be up with my camera or the lightbulbs in the bathroom because it doesn’t look like I’m sunburned at all. But everything that looks tanned in the picture (my stomach) is actually medium rare in real life.

First, while I’m partially nude, I’d like to say this. I don’t look nearly as bad as I think I do. I mean, I just spent three days in Austin eating tacos, fried chicken, and donuts the size of flying saucers, so I haven’t exactly felt svelte. But I stood on a scale today, and I actually lost weight while I was in Texas. Go figure. Metabolism, like Rob Lowe’s skin regimen, is a mystery. But back to the sunburn. I just took another picture, in a different room, and here’s what my skin really looks like.

Obviously, good lighting makes all the difference. Also–OUCH.

As the day has gone on, like my skin, I’ve progressively gotten more and more irritated. This evening I saw a lovely play in Fayetteville, but I kept remembering that I was alone, which almost never bothers me but did tonight. Then I went to Walmart, checked out, and got back to my car and realized I’d forgotten something, so I had to go back in, which made me want to spit in someone’s face. I’m guessing my bad attitude has to do mostly with coming down off the high of a wonderful trip to Austin, not getting enough sleep last night, cutting back on sugar today (where’d all the donuts go?), and burning the shit out of my stomach in the name of vanity.

But that’s just a guess.

This afternoon while I was frying my skin like a slab of bacon, I was reading a book about psychology and fairy tales. The book said that animals in fairy tales almost always represent our instinctual, animal nature (the id), and that the goal of becoming an adult is not to rid yourself of your animal nature, but rather to tame it or integrate it into your whole personality. For example, frogs (as in “The Frog Prince”) often represent one’s growing sexuality, the changing from a pre-pubescent child to an adult. In that particular example, rather than banishing the frog, the princess ends up kissing it, symbolically welcoming the change she is going through.

If a feeling is present, it’s probably there for a reason.

I’m not exactly sure what animal(s) would represent my irritation best, but probably a mosquito or a flock of shitting pigeons. Either way, I really like this idea of integration. I used to think that getting irritated, frustrated, or angry was bad and “not spiritual,” so I worked to avoid feeling those emotions as much as possible. (Television, whiskey, and nicotine often helped.) In fairy tale terms, I thought of those emotions as inhabitants of my kingdom that needed to be banished forever. But now I’m coming around to the idea that all the ups and downs in my mood are part of me. No one feeling should get to run the show, but everyone has a right to live here. Plus, if a feeling is present, it’s probably there for a reason.

When I think about my irritability that way, I realize that I’ve been “dashing” about a lot lately–making a whirlwind trip to Austin, sacrificing sleep in order to write, burning the candle at both ends the way I burned my skin today. And I guess my animal nature, which I’m now picturing as a white reindeer with one broken antler (because life’s a bitch sometimes), is simply telling me to gently apply some aloe vera, slow my roll, and go to bed.

Whatever you say, Dasher. (Also, Dancer loves you.)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

"

Defrosting Your Emotional Freezer (Blog #71)

Leave a comment

This afternoon I helped my dad defrost the freezer in the garage. He said it had been two and half years since it was last defrosted, but it might as well have been ten. There was so much ice caked on the top shelf, there was only enough room for one single-serve pizza from Schwan’s. (Mom LOVES Schwan’s food. And the Schwan’s guy, whoever it happens to be, since he brings the food. He always gets invited in, asked about his kids. Hell, “Schwan’s guy” is probably in her will–above me but beneath my sister.) Anyway, after Dad took out all the Schwan’s boxes, we dragged the freezer into the driveway, hooked up the water hose, and I went to work.

For about twenty minutes, I aimed the water hose at the ice as if I were a fireman (but obviously not a fireman because they put out fires not freezers), watching it slowly melt, break away from the shelves, and then fall to the bottom. When I finished, Dad and I cleaned the mold that had collected on the top and sides of the freezer, as well as on the rubber seal around the door. (It was pretty gross, but don’t you go getting all judgmental. I’m sure your freezer isn’t much better.) Before long, everything was spick and span. After the freezer dried out, Dad hauled it back inside the garage and plugged it back in, and Mom put all the food where she wanted it. I joked that now there was even more room for Schwan’s, and Dad–who prefers bologna and meals purchased with coupons–said, “You could have gone all day without saying that.”

Cleaning out the ice from the freezer made me think about the ways things build up in our lives. I know that for the longest time I held on to physical objects. Slowly, things came in but rarely went out. I’m just one person, but before I knew it, I had enough stuff for a yard sale, then an estate sale. Even though I don’t own many things now, I’ve noticed how easily they still pile up–bills, magazines, t-shirts. Hell, I have so many tubes of medicine in my toiletry bag, earlier today I almost brushed my teeth with hydrocortisone cream. I can only imagine what would have happened if I’d put mint-flavored Sensodyne on my hemorrhoids.

All emotions are useful.

As much as I used to hold on to physical objects, I also held on to emotions. I didn’t know any better, so I just shoved those sons of bitches down in a jar and shut the lid (tight). For the longest time, I rarely showed anger, rarely cried. I was like that meme that went around of a Canadian protest, which showed a man holding a tiny sign that said, “I’m a little upset.” Lately that’s gotten a lot better. Now it’s easier to say, “I’m fucking pissed,” and it’s definitely easier to cry, since I no longer think that it’s embarrassing to do so. My therapist says, “Crying is just like any other emotion, any other bodily function. You don’t apologize when you laugh or when you sweat.”

I like that way of looking at things, that all emotions are equal. That’s how emotions are seen in Chinese medicine. If I understand it correctly, all emotions, even anger, are useful. (Think of an abused person who can’t get angry enough to leave their abuser). It’s only when emotions don’t get expressed properly or get out of balance that there’s a problem.

As I think of it now, I guess letting go–of physical objects or emotions that have been held on to–is a lot like defrosting a freezer. If you want your freezer to do what it was designed to do, defrosting it is an absolute necessity. You have to get rid of the excess. Once you do, stuff can come and go all day long because there’s room for that. But if there’s too much excess, if things are being put in but never taken out, you’re going to end up with a problem. It doesn’t matter if it’s Schwan’s boxes, tubes of hydrocortisone cream, or emotions–too much is too much.

This evening I went to a swing dance in Northwest Arkansas and danced a lot with my friend Sydnie. (That’s her in the picture at the top of the blog.) We talked just as much as we danced. It’s a long story that doesn’t belong to me, but Sydnie told me about someone she knows who’s constipated. (I’m always saying, “Shit happens,” but obviously–for some people–it doesn’t.) Anyway, I’ll spare you the details and just say I think constipation is another example of what can happen when we’re not able to let go.

Earlier this week in therapy, my therapist and I were talking about biting your tongue, which is something I did a lot of in the past. She said that biting your tongue always hurts, and it’s also inauthentic, just like shoving your emotions into a jar is inauthentic. Plus, at some point, there’s not any room left in the jar, just like there may not be any room left in your t-shirt drawer. And when that happens, emotions start to leak out. Maybe you yell at strangers in traffic, maybe you cry for no reason when a song comes on the radio. Sydnie said, “When you can’t shit–you feel like shit,” and I took that to mean that whether it’s literal shit or emotional shit, eventually it’s all gotta come out because it doesn’t feel good to hold it in. Sooner or later, all freezers need to be defrosted.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

In this moment, we are all okay.

"

When Your Mood Stinks (Blog #70)

Leave a comment

I’ve been in a foul mood pretty much the entire day. In addition to being hungry because I’ve recently cut back on carbs and sugars (and all the things I love so dearly), I didn’t get much sleep last night, since I got up early this morning to go to therapy. (I’m sure it wasn’t the first time someone showed up in a bad mood. I mean, that’s kind of the point.) So that’s how I woke up, and then even before I got out of bed, I decided the screen protector I put on my new phone a couple of days ago was a PIECE OF SHIT because it wasn’t registering touch very well, which is a problem for–I don’t know–a touch-screen phone.

So that pissed me off.

And then when I got dressed, I couldn’t find my favorite ring. (I almost always know where my things are, since I’m anal retentive and hyper-organized and consequently so much fun to be around.) I looked everywhere–my man bag, my toiletry bag, my luggage–and couldn’t find it, so I started thinking that I must have left it in Nashville somewhere.

So that pissed me off more.

I almost always enjoy therapy, but since beginning this blog, I’ve started thinking, Good, it’s therapy day–more material. (On certain topics, my therapist, family, and friends have started letting me know in advance–don’t write about this. Fair enough.) But more often than not, I’m finding that what happens during that one hour in therapy is rarely the thing for the day I end up blogging about. Go figure. So I’ll just say that it went well, other than the fact that I was wearing shorts and a tank top and the waiting room felt like a meat locker.

After therapy I had lunch with my friend Ray, and I showed up a little early, so I sat in my car and Googled the screen protector I bought for my phone. I found out that I should be able to remove the protector, which made me feel better. But then I realized I would still need to replace it with another brand, which seemed overwhelming, so I put my phone away.

For lunch Ray introduced me to the best brussel sprouts I’ve ever eaten. I assume they were fried in unicorn fat and dipped in ranch dressing made by fairies, but since I’m on a diet, I didn’t ask any questions and instead focused on the fact that they were green.

In and of itself, a bad mood isn’t a problem.

I told Ray that I was upset about the screen protector on my phone and that I’d decided to not do anything about it–take the screen off, call the company, throw my phone across the damn room–until I got more sleep and adjusted to my diet. Ray reminded me of the acronym HALT, which stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. The idea behind the acronym is to to slow the fuck down (halt) and not make any big decisions whenever you’re one of those four things, since you’re probably not going to make the best decision anyway. (Personally, I think the H could also stand for Horny. Don’t make any big decisions when you’re horny.)

Just speaking from today’s experience, I’d also suggest that if you have three out of the four letters going on, don’t even bother leaving the house. Just try again tomorrow. Maybe wait until next week if you can.

The rest of the day has been–okay. I picked up a few books at the library and took a nap when I got home. Currently, the nap feels like a distant memory. This evening I went for a long walk and saw a skunk–twice. I’m pretty sure it was following me. Whenever something like this happens, I assume it’s a sign from the heavens rather than–you know–a skunk with bad eyesight thinking my black and white tennis shoes would be nice to make babies with.

Anyway, I looked up skunks on Google, and it turns out that it takes a few days for them to replenish their famous odor after it’s released. Because of this fact, they’re pretty cautious about using it and will only do so if there’s a real threat. In terms of spirituality, skunks represent independence, discernment, and good boundaries. (If only skunks had boundary bumper stickers that said, “Stay away or get the spray.”)

When I got home from the walk, I found my ring. It was in my man bag hiding behind the Ibuprofen. That made me feel a little better, but I’m still hungry, angry (about the phone), and tired. The day itself has gone well, but it’s felt like there’s been a bad mood on deck the entire time, just itching to step up to the plate and take a swing. I’m proud to say I haven’t really let it, but it’s certainly been tempting. I think that if I’d engaged more with the phone problem or tried to do anything more challenging than tie my shoes, I would have screamed or cried or both.

Since seeing the skunk, I’ve been trying to make a lesson out independence, discernment, and good boundaries. (Bad boundaries–stink?) But I don’t think that’s it. Rather, I think my bad mood today is like the skunk I saw tonight. In and of itself, it’s not a problem. There’s not a thing in the world wrong with being hungry, angry, or tired (or all three at once). So long as most of me can step over to the other side of the street and proceed slowly (don’t make any sudden moves), it’s all right. But get too close to a bad mood, and look out. To modify a familiar quotation, speak (or try to fix you phone) when you’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired, and you’ll make the best speech you’ll ever regret.

Talk about stinking things up.

Okay, I’m going to bed now. Surely this skunk of a bad mood will go away soon enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.

"