Well shit. It’s two-thirty in the morning, and–once again–I’ve let the day get away from me. My routine is all effed up. I haven’t blogged or meditated or anything yet. I just took a selfie and turned my face THE OTHER direction. WHAT is going on? Is Mercury in retrograde? ( Mercury MUST BE in retrograde.) Hum–I just looked, and it’s not. But still–something ain’t right. I guess it all boils down to the fact that I slept later than normal, then spent my usual-routine time on a business call. Well, before I knew it, it was time to teach dance for a few hours, then I spent time visiting with my friend Bonnie, since I think it’s important to have a freakin’ social life. At home, my mom and got in a long conversation, which hasn’t happened in a while. “I just love talking to you,” she said.
Isn’t that adorable?
In short, even though I still have things to do and my brain currently feels like Cream of Wheat, it’s been a great day. I mean, it’s winter (which I hate, or at least strongly dislike), and I don’t feel well. (I may have mentioned this last part before. I can’t remember.) So it wasn’t THAT GREAT. But at least I got out of the house. Sometimes my dad says this, and I’m like, “Dad, going to the mailbox doesn’t count as getting out of the house.” But seriously, I can’t tell you what a difference this made, just a brief change of location. Also, it didn’t hurt that I was able to teach for a few hours, to focus on somebody else and help them in some way.
Today has been a shot in the arm in this respect. During the business call I had today, a friend asked me about marketing. “That’s not really my specialty,” I said. “I don’t think I have much to offer you.” But then we talked for a while, and they ended up saying, “I think you know more than you think you do. I’m really glad we talked.” Since then, I’ve been thinking about the marketing stuff, and maybe I do know more than I give myself credit for. I know a good bit about design and I’ve certainly read a lot about human behavior and how to communicate, which I guess is what marketing is. But the point is that for an hour on the phone this afternoon and three hours teaching dance this evening, I felt useful, like I was making a difference.
I think this is something we all need to be reminded of from time to time. I know it was a big reason why I closed the studio over a year ago. I wrote an essay in order to process my feelings and realized in the process that I felt like I had a lot to offer, but my particular community wasn’t interested, at least enough for me to pay my bills. I mean, let’s face it–Arkansas isn’t a dancing mecca. ‘Round these parts, it’s football over cha-cha every single time. Either way, having something to give but no one to receive it feels like shit.
It’s never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.
More and more, I’m convinced we all have something to give, and it’s probably something most of us take for granted. You know, something that makes the biggest difference to someone else that we’re almost oblivious to. It’s a Wonderful Life and all that. Like, as much as my mom loves talking to me, I love talking to her. She’s a fabulous listener, like a really, really good one. She could get an award for paying attention. (Unless my dad’s talking, of course.) But really, she doesn’t interrupt, and that’s–oh my god–so rare these days, to actually be heard, to be able to talk about anything and know you’ll be accepted. Likewise, Bonnie and Todd’s house has become a place I can put my feet up. Tonight Bonnie fed me and gave me a glass of wine. Once Todd told me, “Just come on in. You know you don’t have to knock here.” For me, these gestures are anything but small. I guess it’s never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person, to make someone else feel welcome, to make someone else feel valuable and important.
It’s late in the day, even for me, and I’m just starting to blog. I’ve spent most the day in bed cuddled up with my Kindle, feeling generally–meh. I think that’s a technical term. In addition to having little energy, I’ve felt light-headed and shaky. I keep telling myself it could be worse–it could be a lot worse. Whenever I stand up and the room spins ever so slightly, I think, Enjoy the trip, Marcus. People spend money on drugs to experience the world this way.
Lucky me–I get the experience for free.
Yesterday when I went to Walmart to pick up my prescriptions (plural), the pharmacy only had one of them. “I think the doctor was supposed to call in two,” I said. The girl at the cash register checked with the pharmacist, and he said–nope–they only had one listed. “That’s okay,” I said, “I’ll just take the one and call the doctor’s office to see what’s up.” Well, I guess basic human kindness and understanding are in short supply these days, since the girl looked me right in the eyes and said, “Thank you for being pleasant.”
Assuming she was having a bad day, I said, “Are most people not?”
“No,” she said. “So thank you for being pleasant and good-looking.”
Talk about making my day. Two compliments at the same time, from a total stranger. I laughed and said, “You’re welcome.” Still, I thought, I only have control over one of those things, you know.
The book I started reading this afternoon is called Learning to Breathe Again: My Yearlong Quest to Bring Calm to My Life by Priscilla Warner. I’m halfway through, and so far it’s about meditation and other peace-of-mind and trauma-healing techniques the author explored in her effort to stop or minimize her panic attacks. In the beginning of the book, she says that everything started when a lady in a new age bookstore held her hands and told her was a calm person. Her friend that was with her laughed, but she realized the lady was right. Despite her panic attacks, she knew she was capable of stillness.
This part of the book touched me, since I think sometimes someone else has to see something in us before we can see it in ourselves. (Look, Ma, I’m pleasant and good-looking!) Once my massage therapist Rod told me that according to tantric numerology, my soul number is 4, which means I have a “neutral mind.” In tantric numerology, a person’s soul number is the day of the month they were born reduced to a single digit, meaning anyone born on the 4th, 13th (like me), 22nd, or 31st would also have a neutral mind. Whether this theory is true or not, I do think it’s true for me. I didn’t realize it until Rod pointed it out and I’m not always in touch with it, but now I absolutely know I have a neutral mind. I have the ability to be detached from things, other people, and results. I can take life as it comes.
(If you’re curious about what your soul number is and what it means, click here.)
The key phrase for someone with a neutral mind is “cup of prayer.” This means that if life hands you a cup, you don’t argue about whether it’s too full or not full enough–you’re simply glad that it exists and has been given to you. This can be difficult to do, of course, especially when life kicks you in the nuts and your body feels like crap. Like, Can I give this cup back? Is there an exchange policy? I’d really prefer something different.
A couple days ago I had dinner with my friend Marla, and during a conversation about difficult childhoods, I said that I often compared myself to friends who grew up “better off,” that sometimes I felt “less than.” Marla said, “Consider how deep and kind your childhood has made you, Marcus. It turned you into who you are, in a good way. Not everyone can say that. I think you were given a gift.” I said, “I like thinking of it that way–a gift.” Since then, I’ve been trying to see the gifts in my current circumstances, like all the time I’ve been given to finally get myself sorted out and heal on the inside. Sure, my body’s been sick lately, but I’m getting good help, most of it’s being paid for, and I don’t have other demands on me, so I can give this problem my full attention. This is the cup of prayer thing, being grateful for whatever your circumstances are, knowing that even if the cup you’ve been given is full of sour lemons, it can still be turned into something sweet to drink.
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.
I swear I didn’t intend for this to become a blog about my health problems. Whatever–this shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me–I’m a hypochondriac. Plus, life isn’t predictable–you gotta go where it takes you. Anyway, here we go (again). Last night I only slept a couple hours and woke up at six-thirty this morning to drag my ass to see my new medical doctor, an internist. Thinking she might want to draw blood, knowing that blood is best drawn on an empty stomach, and not wanting to make the early-morning haul to her out-of-town office any more than I have to, I decided to skip breakfast. Y’all, sick, sleep-deprived, food-deprived Marcus is not a pretty picture. But what do you do?
I got to the doctor’s office about eight-thirty, a little earlier than my appointment time in order to check in. Folks, this clinic was pretty so-phis-ti-cated. I got to use an electronic device, a tablet, to fill out all the standard new-patient forms. Talk about fancy. They had free WIFI! (The password was–are you ready for this?–care4you.) Anyway, I was impressed from the get-go. There was even a human anatomy book in the exam room that I got to thumb through while I waited for the doctor. Seriously, there’s so much I never knew, like apparently the correct term for my butt crack is “intergluteal sulcus.” And that horizontal fold that divides your butt from your thighs, the one my friend Kenny calls your “undercut”? Well, that’s actually called your gluteal fold.
Isn’t medical science fun?
Just as I was learning all the proper terms for the parts of my butt, my new doctor showed up. By this time I’d convinced myself she was going to be like everyone else, that she’d just suggest more steroids and antibiotics for all my sinus issues. But that’s not what happened. For over an hour we talked about my medical history–constant sinus infections, body odor, warts, prostatitis–everything I’ve talked about on this blog and more. Even before our time was up, I was completely impressed. She listened, asked questions, patted my back in encouragement, and never talked down to me or used five-dollar words. She didn’t even make fun of me for taking a dozen vitamins or going to see a Native American witch doctor.
In terms of my sinus issues, which have been my major health complaint for twenty years, she said that if you took the germs in your nose and compared them to the germs in your butt hole (my phrase, not hers), the germs in your nose would be grosser. “It can get pretty filthy up there,” she said. “And some of your nasal passages are no wider than the tip of a ballpoint pen, so when things get inflamed, it’s no wonder they get clogged up and disgusting.” Anyway, her immediate prescription for my sinus (and allergy) issues was to put me on a different anti-histamine, as well as a histamine blocker, since apparently anti-histamines only stop histamine symptoms and not histamines themselves. (No one’s ever told me this before.)
She also started me on probiotics and wrote down the names of specific strands and brands to buy that target the sinuses. She said my bacterial biome was probably all fucked up from all the damn antibiotics over the years (again, I’m paraphrasing), and that was most likely the root cause of my body odor issue. I’ll spare you the point-by-point details, but for each health issue discussed, she either gave me specific things to do or told me not to worry.
In terms of my overall health, she ordered some blood work, and I had my blood drawn before I left. But the big thank-you-Jesus moment was when she said she’d like to refer me to an immunologist. “I don’t think you have a serious disease or disorder,” she said. “But some people are born with a part of their immune system missing or not working, and sometimes that shows up as chronic sinus infections or other problems like prostatitis, which is an odd thing for someone your age to have had. If that is the case, you can take shots, maybe just for a while.”
“Let’s do it,” I said.
Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.
That’s where we left it. I got back in six weeks. She said I should hear from the immunologist within two weeks– that if I don’t, call her. So even though I don’t have an immediate answer and don’t feel physically any different than I have recently, I feel extremely hopeful because it’s like I finally have someone squarely in my corner who’s willing to look at my overall health and address my issues in both a different and aggressive manner. I don’t love the idea of having a substandard immune system, but I’m excited about a possible explanation. Plus, I feel validated. Like, I’ve had sinus infections for twenty years, and someone is finally agreeing that that’s not normal. I’m not a hypochondriac! I feel like that dead guy with the headstone that says, “I told y’all I was sick.” More than anything else, I feel grateful, glad to have some solid help and solid hope, which I’m learning are quite the same thing.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.
Yesterday I drove to Sapulpa, Oklahoma, to meet my friend Elisabeth and visit The Eyeball Oracle, an iridologist named Phyllis who owns and works at Rock Creek Herb and Vitamin Company. An iridologist is someone who identifies problems in your body by looking at your eyeballs. (I’m not making this up. It’s on Google.) Since I arrived early, I was the first in line. When Phyllis showed up two hours later, there were at least a dozen other people behind me. As I understand it, this is pretty common with Phyllis, who’s been practicing iridology for over forty years (she learned from her grandfather, who learned from his father) and never charges for her services.
Y’all, it was fascinating–and easy enough, at least for me. After introductions, I sat in a chair and stared out a window while Phyllis looked at my eyes from a few feet away. For maybe a minute or two, Phyllis took notes, stating that we’d first talk about what she observed, then there’d be time for questions. Get this shit. The first thing she said was, “Have you ever had an injury to your left leg or had pain in your right hip?” I said, “Well, the right hip has been a major problem these last several years, and when I was a kid my left leg was twisted, although it never hurts now.” She said, “That’s what created the imbalance, though.”
Phyllis recommended two products for my muscles and ligaments, one of which was a blend of calcium and magnesium and came up later when we discussed my sometimes-nightly leg jerks. In addition to my left leg/right hip issue, Phyllis and I went through eight things or categories she observed in my eyes–thyroid, pancreas, PH of colon, left kidney, stomach/digestion, right adrenal, heart, and (I think) memory/focus. (That was a joke.) For each thing we talked about, Phyllis had recommendations. For my thyroid, which she said contributed to my feeling of being overwhelmed at times, it was two supplements (amino acids) and one vitamin (D3). For my colon, it was black cherry juice (1/3 cup a day). This is something I appreciated, that there was just as much advice about diet (eat things that are red, green, and purple, not things that are white and yellow) as there was about herbs and vitamins.
The diet recommendations, Phyllis said, came from the Blood Type Diet, a theory which proposes that each blood type (A, B, AB, and O) should eat differently. She said, “When I was a child, my grandfather would put all this food on the table and say, ‘What does YOUR body want?'” Phyllis guessed my blood type as A. It’s actually O. There were a couple things like this, observations she had that didn’t “hit home” for me. For example, when she talked about my pancreas and asked if I ever felt my blood sugar drop, I said, “Not really. Sometimes I get light-headed, but it’s better when I stay hydrated and keep my electrolytes, like salt, up.” Phyllis didn’t seem fazed by this, and she wasn’t pushy, which I respected. On my paper under pancreas/blood sugar, she wrote, “Good.”
By the time we got to the end of Phyllis’s list, nothing had been said about my sinuses, which have been my major complaint these last few months and, well, my entire life. When I asked about them, Phyllis–first of all–didn’t say any of the things I’ve been afraid of hearing, things like, “You’re covered in mold,” “You have a yeast infection,” or, “You have an auto-immune disorder.” She didn’t tell me I was beyond hope or repair. Rather, she said that following the Blood Type Diet should help with allergies and mucus production, and the other products already discussed should help with overall immune function. Then she recommended a few products, two of which I’ve never tried before. At the end of the session, she gave me all her notes, on which she’d starred the “priority items.” She said, “Start with your sinuses if you want. Work on your muscles and ligaments later. Come back in six weeks, and we’ll see where you’re at.”
Here’s one of the four pages Phyllis gave me. I chose this one to share because I spent all day yesterday thinking she’d written “Carlos” under “Right Adrenal.” I kept thinking, What’s he doing there? Is that the guy who started The Blood Type Diet? Then last night I realized she’d actually written “Carbs,” as in, eat the good ones–not the bad ones. Carbs, Marcus, not Carlos. But I guess the advice would apply either way.
After I saw Phyllis, a couple other people went, then Elisabeth did. “She told me I had eyes that were sweet and kind,” Elisabeth said. “Well,” I replied, “She certainly didn’t tell me that.”
Not that I’m bitter.
The entire time I was with Phyllis, I never felt pressured to buy any products from her shop. That’s something a lot of the online reviews are clear about. If you want to go and just get your eyes read, you’re more than welcome to. That being said, I did end up buying five things Phyllis recommended–two for my sinuses, two for my thyroid, one for my muscles. I’d told Elisabeth, “Please don’t let me buy the entire store,” and she came through. She said, “You already have that and that, just different brands, and you can wait on that and that and try them later if you want.” By the time it was all over, I spent about as much as I would to see a doctor at a walk-in clinic, a little more than a hundred bucks. At Phyllis’s suggested dosages, I’ll need to restock some of the products in two or three weeks, but that won’t cost any more than all of the other shit I’ve tried these past few months, certainly not more than some antibiotics. None of those things, by the way, have made a remarkable impact on my health.
Phyllis said I should notice a difference within 72 hours, so I started taking the pills before I left the parking lot. One of the ones for my sinuses had eucalyptus in it, and within twenty minutes I could not only smell it, but also taste it when I burped. Now it’s less than twenty-four hours later, and whereas my sinuses aren’t completely dried up, they are better. Likewise, the dark circles under my eyes are lighter, and (I think) there’s less histamine in my face. Maybe I’m just hoping, but I can definitely tell something’s going on–there are sensations, pulses, in my legs and feet that aren’t normally there. I don’t know another way to say it.
I’ll continue to keep you posted, but here’s this, maybe the most notable difference–I woke up feeling great today. I’ve been off-and-on sick, gross, and dragging ass for over ninety days, but–simply put–I’ve been happy today. I’ve had good energy, I haven’t been tired behind my eyes, and I’ve felt like my problems are manageable, my body is capable of health, and the world is full of possibilities. This is no small thing, of course–huge progress. While making breakfast I was singing and dancing along with Macklemore. I feel glorious–glorious–got a chance to start again.
Part of me is dismissing what happened yesterday, thinking I wasted my time and threw my money away–again. I’ve been thinking, It’s just a coincidence, Marcus. You woke up feeling pretty decent yesterday. Maybe you were already healing. Still, here’s what I know. I’ve been working my ass off for over three months trying to get better–reading books, buying vitamins, doing visualizations. Most of this has been on my own, and it’s been exhausting. But this week is about changing that. Yesterday I saw Phyllis, and I see a new medical doctor later this week in order to cover all my bases. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the help and guidance, from wherever it comes–from a lady who looks into my eyes, from a bottle of vitamins, whatever. From above. It’s good to feel better, of course, but it’s even better to know you’re not alone down here.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.
[This morning my sister sent me some family photos she took while she was in town, so I’m sprinkling them throughout today’s blog, even though they aren’t “on topic.” The last one is my favorite, since it didn’t really turn out but is completely authentic, at least for my nephews.]
Yesterday my dad started coming down with a cold–a common cold. Since I’m both already sick and a hypochondriac, I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours absolutely paranoid that I’ll catch whatever he’s got, wiping down every surface he touches with soap and water, hearing him cough and imaging his germs traveling through the air ducts and into my susceptible sinus cavities while I sleep. We’re all going to die keeps running through my head. Now all I can think about is whether I need to get out of the house and buy some more vitamins, search the internet for additional home remedies, or just pray to god I live long enough to see my new doctor next week.
This is me WITH a therapist.
It seriously blows to wake up and start the day overwhelmed. Even before my feet hit the floor this morning, I was obsessing about my physical health, wondering if I’ll ever feel like myself again or if this is just my “new normal.” Then I started worrying about money, being single, and male-pattern baldness, every problem for which I don’t have an immediate answer. Stumbling into the kitchen, I noticed I was low on groceries, which only further added to my anxiety, since groceries cost money. Finally I had this thought–Would you just calm the fuck down, Marcus? Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee AND THEN see what the world looks like?
As it turns out, the world is better caffeinated, and after breakfast I decided to take a closer look at some of my “problems,” meaning I organized a stack of paperwork that’s been piling up since the middle of last year. Specifically, I sorted through medical bills, since I went to the emergency room a few months ago for a skin infection and my insurance didn’t pay for a dime of it. Well, I spoke to the hospital a while back, and they said they’d put in a request to charity services and that I should hear something within thirty days. So far, all I’ve gotten is more bills, so this afternoon I figured I needed to call them again. But before I did, I reread the letter the same hospital sent me earlier this year, the one that granted me financial assistance with the sinus surgery I had almost a year ago.
Y’all.
I don’t know how I missed it before, but the letter said that ALL hospital services received through the middle of November last year would be covered at–um–one hundred percent, meaning the emergency room visit should be covered too. Optimistic, I called customer service, spoke to the nicest lady, and told her what was going on. Praise god and all the saints, she confirmed that the services would be covered, that there was only confusion because the two places I received treatment (for the sinus surgery and the skin infection) were in different regions of the country and therefore in different computer programs. But no problem, she said, we’re getting it sorted out, and please ignore any further bills.
“Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”
And get this shit. Then she started updating my profile, asking about my current (and basically nonexistent) income. “I’m confused,” I said. “If the previous assistance covers the emergency room services, why do you need additional information?”
“Oh,” she said, “that’s because the financial assistance program expired for you in November, so I’d like to re-up your enrollment in order to cover future medical costs.”
Wow.
How do you even respond to kindness like this? My first thought was to say, Holy crap, I don’t like girls, but would you go on a date with me? But then I realized you don’t have to sleep with every person who does something nice for you, so I simply said, “Thank you so very much. I really appreciate all your help.”
After the good news earlier today, I started to worry again, to re-focus on my health and other financial problems. (It’s a bad habit.) But then I remembered that in my journal this morning I told the universe I needed a break, that I could use a win. Well, obviously, I got one. (That was fast.) So now I’m trying to simply enjoy it, to bask in the relief, to show some damn gratitude for one big problem solved.
Like, thank you, Jesus.
But seriously, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm this news is. Having worried about this medical bill for weeks now, it’s really a load off. My therapist says this is how you start believing in good things again, how hope begins to grow. You live most your years disappointed, really convinced that life isn’t on your side, that things will never get better. But however slowly, case-by-case, life starts to prove you wrong. Despite all your worrying and thinking This situation is impossible, miracles start to show up. You begin to believe you’re not in this all by yourself. Moved to the point of tears, you think, Healing really is possible.
It’s nice living back home for the holidays. Today is Thanksgiving, and this morning I could hear my parents up and about before I got out of bed. Having not quite figured out the power of technology, Dad was yelling into the phone as if it were a tin can with a string attached to the bottom. Mom was running up and down the hallway. Ten minutes after my alarm had gone off, she knocked on my door–time to get up. If it’d been any other day, I would have headed straight for the kitchen. Instead I took a shower and put on some clean clothes, intentionally starving myself in preparation for The Big Meal.
When I was a kid we used to pile in the car and spend Thanksgiving at Grandma and Grandpa’s. The adults would sit at one table, the kids would sit at another, and I can still taste the deviled eggs. Grandpa always made oyster dressing, Grandma made a mean pumpkin pie, and at least once it was all served up on paper plates with plastic forks. It made for easy cleanup, of course, but it was anything but fancy. If only I’d come out sooner, I could have insisted on china and proper flatware.
In the grand scheme of things, it’s a small regret.
I do think there’s something magical about the holidays, and I don’t just mean the deals on Black Friday. I think there’s literally something in the air. Even if there’s family drama, families get together and people try. Sometimes they fail miserably, of course, but at the very least, they eat together. More often than not, everyone is on their best behavior, the food is delicious, and no one’s in a hurry to leave. This is the magic I’m talking about–it’s like time slows down. Cars linger in the driveway, eating gets stretched out for hours, fathers fall asleep on couches.
This year my family opted for eating out, which–if you think about it–is a convenient way to celebrate the pilgrims without having having to clean the oven. Anyway, we piled as many people as we could into my car, Tom Collins, and pulled into the parking lot of Furr’s Fresh Buffet in Fort Smith at 2:23 PM. Y’all, there were so many people there was a line out the double doors. It took fifteen minutes just to make it inside, and then the lady behind the cash register said, “I’m going to need you to stand against the wall while you wait.” It was like she was herding cattle. I could have sworn I was at the state fair. The only thing missing was a sign that said, “Must be this tall to ride” in front of the salad bar.
It took a while, but our party of eight eventually got seated together. One by one we took to the crowded buffet lines, filling our plates with turkey, corn on the cob, and mashed potatoes, all warmed by high-powered heat lamps. Back at the table, my Aunt Tudie had a plate full of stuffing. My dad (her brother) said, “Why did you put ranch dressing on that?”
“Well shit,” she said, “I thought it was gravy.”
For over an hour we ate and visited, ate and visited. Our drink waiter–a guy–kept calling the women at our table “honey,” so I made the assumption that he was gay. Not really something you hear many straight men say in the south. (Right, sugar?) Anyway, I did a lot of people watching. Just in the time we were at the restaurant, there must have been hundreds of customers come and go. It was like every person in the tri-state area had come out for the mediocre pumpkin pie and endless refills of soft-serve ice cream. I kept thinking, Was NO ONE here willing to cook?
My Aunt Carla (my dad’s other sister) said, “I just want to know what I have to do to get on your blog.”
“Just take a selfie with me,” I said. “It’s really that simple.”
After The Big Meal, everyone else went their separate ways, and Mom, Dad, Aunt Tudie, and I came back to our house for coffee and pie. Y’all, this was the first dessert I’ve had in three weeks–so good. My insulin didn’t know what to do. Anyway, for a couple hours, Dad and Aunt Tudie talked, Mom surfed the internet, and I read a book in the oversized chair I’m about to pass out in now. (It’s four in the morning.) Then my aunt went home, and Mom and Dad and I binge-watched recorded episodes of Will and Grace for over two hours. Considering we’re all pretty much retired, this is something we could technically have done any day of the year. Still, since we did it on Thanksgiving, it felt special.
It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.
Again, this is the magic I’m talking about, the way we slow down and spend time with each other. All my grandparents are gone now, and it’s funny–sometimes I don’t remember what their voices sounded like. But I remember Grandpa called everyone “children,” and Grandma kept her teeth on the bathroom counter just as much as she kept them in her mouth. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me what kind of plates we ate on back then. Twenty years from now I won’t care whether we ate at home or went to a buffet this afternoon. I didn’t care this afternoon–we were together. What’s important is not where you are, but whom you are there with. This is what makes some days more special than others, the thing that makes time slow down, the thing that makes the taste of deviled eggs stay with you.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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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.
Believe it or not, I’ve been awake since 9:30 this morning. Is this what normal people do? Now it’s 1:20, also in the morning, and I’ve had so much coffee that my legs are periodically going into twitching fits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I were having a religious experience, a la big tent revival. I really think I’ve been overdoing it on the caffeine lately, but considering it’s been two weeks since I’ve had a piece of bread and even longer since I’ve heard from Zac Efron, a cup of joe is about the only fun left in my life. Still, I should probably drink some water, maybe say a prayer to help get me off the ceiling and balance things out. But so long as I’m all jittery, I plan to use the extra energy to get me through tonight’s blog.
This afternoon I saw my therapist, and during a discussion about personality traits that I might have but not be aware of, my therapist mentioned Johari’s window. Johari’s window is “a therapy thing” that says each of us is divided into four basic sections, which are: 1) the parts we know that others know too, called the arena, 2) the parts we know that others don’t, called the facade, 3) the parts others know that we don’t, called the blind spot, and 4) the parts nobody knows, called the unknown. As I understand it, the arena is where we’re authentic, the facade is where we’re “fake as hell,” and the blind spot and the unknown are where we don’t know our own shit from Shinola. And whereas I guess we all hang out in each quadrant from time to time, I’m assuming the goal is to know and be open about as much as yourself as possible and, therefore, spend most your time in the arena.
After therapy I spent the day at the library. Y’all, I honestly think the library is a sacred space for me. While I was there today, I started and finished a book about forgiveness, but I kept getting up every so often just to roam the aisles and be near the other books. I even explored the children’s section, where I ended up reading two books on the floor with my legs criss-cross, applesauce. Just before I left, I checked out two adult books, so now my pile of “books I’m currently reading” makes me look like a post-graduate student.
One of the books I checked out was called Expect Great Things. Having such clear instructions, I deliberately got my hopes up. Well, the book is about Henry David Thoreau, I’m already fifty pages in, and I honestly think it would have been better to call it Expect Mediocre Things. I mean, it’s well done and I’m enjoying it–don’t get me wrong–I just think the author could have set the bar lower and left more room for being pleasantly surprised. But I guess a book with “mediocre” in the title wouldn’t have exactly flown off the shelf and into my hands.
Honestly, I don’t know that much about Thoreau, so I’m excited to read the rest of the book. I do know that he went to the woods because he wanted to live deliberately and that he said, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer,” and these facts alone make him a hero in my world. I used to have this fantasy that one day I’d do something like going to the woods–pack it all up, live in a log cabin, and spend all day reading. You know, keep away the neighbors by never bathing. Okay, maybe not that last part, but I have always loved the idea of being in nature and getting to know myself, looking through as many of my window panes as possible. But that’s not gonna happen, I’d think. Who has time to read all day?
Maybe you see where this is going.
Sometime between checking out the book on Thoreau and writing tonight’s blog, I realized that in a lot of respects, I’m currently doing what Thoreau was doing. Granted, the spare bedroom at my parents’ house isn’t exactly Walden Pond, but it is the place where I’m learning to live deliberately. Put another way, it’s where I’m learning to live in the arena of authenticity, to be myself. And I guess sometimes I give myself such a hard time about not doing what everyone else is doing the way everyone else is doing it that I forget they hear their drummers and I hear mine. Like, Wait a damn minute–I’m not supposed to do things like other people–because I’m not other people–I’m me.
When we expect great things, we see great things.
As I’ve said before, I worry a lot about what’s going to come next and about earning a living, but my therapist says that when you follow your bliss, it always pays off. Not that I don’t believe her, but I’m curious to see how it worked out for Thoreau, if he had anything to say about the matter. But considering I’m already happier than I ever have been and am currently getting to spend my days as I want to, in sacred spaces with piles of books to read beside me, my sense is that things have already been paying off and I simply haven’t been acknowledging it. Maybe we all do this–wake up every day, go through our routines, and expect the mediocre. We say, Oh, that’s just my life, and we end up taking our Walden Ponds for granted. But I’m reminded tonight that when we expect great things, we see great things–great things that are right here, right now.
I haven’t done squat today but am worn out. Well, I did go for a walk and also went to Walmart to buy groceries. But otherwise I haven’t done much. Still, something has zapped my energy. Maybe it’s the junk hanging on, the change in my diet, or allergies and the weather. Regardless, I think God meant for us to hibernate during the winter–crawl in a cave with the bears, snuggle up, and snooze right through Christ’s birthday. I mean, the lord doesn’t seem like the type who’d want a piñata or any sort of big fuss made over him. But seriously, just imagine sleeping all winter–we could wake up refreshed in the spring, say, “Happy Belated, Jesus,” and pick up where we left off. Personally, I’d really enjoy that, even though it’s obviously not going to happen. A mere ten hours from now I have to wake up to get ready for therapy, then it’s just one damn thing after another.
Whenever I eat the way I’m currently eating, there comes a point at which I start getting light-headed. For the most part it’s not dramatic, simply something I notice when I first stand up or bend down. Well, it’s been happening today, this sense of dizziness whenever I change positions, and it’s starting to bother me. The internet says the wooziness is due to a decrease in carbohydrates and mild dehydration. So, despite the fact that I’m already drinking so many fluids that I’m going to the bathroom every fifteen minutes, I guess I’ll up my water intake. Also, one of my friends said to try salt because salt helps with fluid retention, so I’ll give that a whirl too.
Stuff like being low on energy and getting light-headed always freaks me out. Like, I should probably go ahead and see if the retirement center has a spare room, maybe even pick out a casket. God forbid I ever have something actually wrong with me. All that being said, I know I often bitch and joke about my health issues (if they could even be called issues), so I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge that although I have a few things I’d like to see improve, my body is actually knocking most things out of the park lately.
For example, for months I blogged off and on about body odor, but I haven’t had an issue with it in weeks. Whatever it was finally worked itself out. Also, since starting the diet a couple weeks ago, I don’t think I’ve had a headache one time, I’m not coughing up green junk every morning, and I can actually feel my hip bones! Anyway, I guess I have a tendency to look at all the things that aren’t working, so I’m trying not to forget what is working.
So, way to go, armpits–I’m proud of you!
This evening, in an effort to be a dutiful son, I helped my dad change a few light bulbs. However, while I was changing one of three bulbs in the light in my dad’s bedroom, the entire fixture flickered, then sizzled, then burned out. Well shit, I thought. Since other electrical items in the room also went out, it quickly became apparent that a fuse had been blown. Of course, something like this should be easy enough to fix–just walk out to the garage, flip a switch, and you’re back in business. But is that what happened tonight?
No, no it is not what happened.
Since our fuse box isn’t labeled, my first mistake was thinking my dad and I could easily make a chart of what does what. With this plan in mind, I called my dad on his house phone from my cell phone, marched out to the garage, and started flipping switches. Did that turn anything off? Did THAT turn anything off? I practically had my dad doing laps around the house playing What Light Bulb Is Off Now? (I’ll take The Laundry Room for a thousand.) And whereas my dad isn’t in the best shape and was breathing hard, he was a trooper–we were on the phone for twenty minutes. Well, we got most of the house electrically mapped out, but we couldn’t get the fuse for his room to come back on. Finally, it dawned on us that the light fixture itself had not only crapped out, but had also burned some wires in the process. So that’ll be a project for later.
About two paragraphs ago, my mom told me the link I posted to last night’s blog wasn’t working. Since a similar thing happened once before (on my birthday), I assumed it was the site’s security certificate, which is what allows for the more secure website prefix of https and not the oh-so-ordinary http. Anyway, for the last hour I’ve been chatting online with someone in India whose responses were coming so slowly that we might as well have been communicating by carrier pigeon. Unfortunately, things got worse before they got better–at first my site simply wasn’t working–then it was redirecting to an asbestos company–then I couldn’t sign in to post anything new. “But don’t worry,” the guy said, “it’ll all be working in 4 to 48 hours.”
Okay–uh–thanks for your help.
Nothing was made to last forever.
As my friend Matt said when I told him what was going on, “Technology is great when it works.” Well, thankfully, it only took thirty minutes for everything to go back to normal, which means I’ll be able to post this tonight and not have to wait. Honestly, I don’t know why shit like this happens. I don’t know why our bodies, light bulbs, and websites stop working at times. I guess nothing was made to last forever, to always operate smoothly without any hiccups. Earlier tonight I listened to a lecture by Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, and he said that the question we have to ask ourselves is whether or not we’re going to say yes to life the way it is and not the way we want it to be. This reminds me to take everything as it comes (one damn thing after another), to be grateful that most things work most of the time, and to label both the good and the bad as “just life.”
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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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.
Currently I’m in Carbondale, Colorado, at a place called True Nature Healing Arts. If you’ve ever been to a new age bookstore, organic smoothie bar, or upscale yoga center, this place is all of those things combined then multiplied by the third chakra. For sale, there are crystals of every color, mala beads, statues of deities–incense, of course–and t-shirts made from hemp fiber (half off). I’m making jokes because it’s one big, new-age/spiritual stereotype, but this is honestly the most warm, beautiful, and professional place of this type I’ve ever been to. (And I’ve been to a few of them.) Because everything is “just so,” I’m assuming a Virgo was involved in putting it all together.
The event I’m attending here started last night, and we just wrapped up the morning session and are on lunch break. I ate organic lamb curry, am sipping hot matcha tea, and am about to reach for an apple inside my bag. I feel so healthy I can’t stand myself. Granted, my insides are in shock, but I fed them Mexican food last night, so they’ll get over it. We’ve got two more sessions to go before the day is over, so I’m trying to knock out some blogging before I have a spiritual experience and–I don’t know–forget how to cuss or put a damn sentence together. (Obviously that hasn’t happened yet.)
I read somewhere that often spiritual disciplines simply become other ways of beating ourselves up. Like, if you feel like a piece of shit because you’ve recently gone up a pant size and then you join a yoga class to de-stress and drop a few pounds, you’ll probably end up feeling even more like a piece of shit because now you’re fat and can’t do downward-facing dog as well as that hot guy in the corner. (You know–the one with the really tight, spiritual stretch pants.) Well, just now I heard a man talking about his personal flotation chamber, which is sort of like a bathtub filled with Himalayan sea salt that helps desensitize the body and quiet the mind (I think). Anyway, part of me is thinking, He has a fancy woo-woo thing. I wonder if that makes him a better person than I am. But now he’s talking about dowsing, like how you walk around with a forked stick and wait for it to fall wherever there’s water, oil, or gold, and it’s all I can do to not roll my eyes. So maybe I’m a better person than he is.
I just put in my headphones and turned on my music so I’ll stop comparing myself to a total stranger.
Because I dragged my feet getting in the lunch line, there weren’t any tables left where I could sit and eat–at least without asking if I could sit down with someone I don’t know. (I don’t know anyone here. Well, I did meet one lovely lady named Wing–as in, and a prayer–in line for the bathroom. I’m assuming our bladders are on the same schedule, since we’ve chatted more than once.) Anyway, sometimes I feel bold and friendly, and other times, I’m all, Fuck that–I can take care of myself. I don’t need you and your–your–table space. Well, I ended up eating outside, and it was cold as a well-digger’s ass. That part wasn’t so bad, but the wind almost blew my table over. It actually turned the giant umbrella above me inside out. At that point, I finished my food, came inside, and sat down in a lone chair by a meditation corner. Then a girl who had a table all to herself asked if I wanted to join her. My knee-jerk reaction was to say, “No, thank you, I don’t need your charity,” but instead I paused and said, “Yes, yes I would.”
So that’s where I am now–across from Emily and her table. I’m trying not to stare, but I’m also trying to stare. You know how it’s fun to people watch. Well, so far I’ve noticed that Emily has a wedding ring, likes frothy tea or coffee, and has a laptop with a bigger screen than mine. She has a notebook beside her in which she’s drawn several hearts. Or someone has. I really (really) want to ask her what she’s working on just two feet away from me, but if she asked me the same question, I’d either have to lie or say, “Oh, just writing–about you–on the internet.” Jokes aside, I guess I could say, “Being grateful for an act of kindness I received today.”
Gotta go back to class.
Now it’s dinner time, and I’m eating at a restaurant called The Goat. I just had a mushroom and swiss burger that was delicious, and I think it had bacon on it. I haven’t blogged about it before, but I’m really not a bacon eater because I used to think pork was sin. I don’t think it’s a sin anymore, but sometimes it bothers my stomach, so I rarely eat it on purpose. When I do eat it, I usually freak out, like, What if I have the runs later? Still, what do yo do? In my case, I just ordered “warm chocolate cake” and coffee and tried to forget about it. Either way, what’s done is done. Things show up–fears, desires, experiences–then disappear, just like this dessert is about to.
I’m intentionally not saying much about the workshop I’m attending this weekend. For one, it’s pretty heavy stuff (my brain is tired and still digesting). At this point, I don’t think I could easily distill it down into blog form, make it understandable, and do it justice. For another, it feels personal. Maybe sacred is a better word. There’s a story about a journalist who waited years for a one-on-one interview with Padre Pio, the saint. When the big day arrived, he attended a group mass with Padre Pio, then canceled the interview. When asked why, he said, “I realized that man has the power to change my life, and I’m not ready for that to happen.” So that’s part of why I’m not running to the internet with a book report of what I’m learning. I want to share, of course, but this feels like it could be a game changer, so it’s something I want to treat with respect.
All that being said, I will say that one of the ideas I’ve been presented with this weekend is that nothing–no object–belongs to me. Having sold most of everything I used to “own,” I’m open to this way of thinking. But here’s the kicker–objects not only include physical items like my knickknacks and jewelry, but also include my body, thoughts, emotions, and experiences. This is because all these things were either given to me or simply appeared–only to disappear, of course. They aren’t permanent or things I can hold on to. The benefit to seeing all these things as borrowed is that I suffer less when something breaks, gets sick, or changes in some way. In short, I’m more free.
As I see it, another benefit to this way of thinking is that I don’t have to compare so much. After all, if everything I have is borrowed, then everything everyone else has is borrowed too. I can feel insecure that some guy has had an experience I haven’t, but that experience isn’t really his, especially once it’s over. This fact, I think, levels the playing field and makes us more alike. More than being our comparisons, our tight pants, or the bacon we accidentally ate, we’re really just all people looking for a place to sit. What’s more, no object, thing, or experience can add or subtract from our inherent value. Thankfully, our essence, our true nature, actually is ours, and I like to think it’s been there all along, just waiting for us to pull up a chair and get curious about it.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.
Tonight I had dinner with my friends Amber and Kara. The three of us have known each other since high school, but we’ve really connected since graduation. We all live in different cities, but a few times a year we travel to see each other, eat something delicious, and catch up. We’re all talkers, all listeners, so we always warn our waiter or waitress–we’re going to be here a while. Honestly, it’s usually a tour of emotions–we laugh, we cry, we make each other think.
Tonight we talked about high school more than usual. Never afraid to dive right in, Kara asked if I went to school the day after my dad was arrested, or maybe she said after he went to prison. Either way, I said, “I can’t remember. I think it was on a weekend.” Anyway, the question made me realize that there are definitely gaps in my memory during that period of time. I was a teenager. Looking back, it seems crazy that I would simply continue going to school, studying for tests, and making good grades as if my world wasn’t falling apart, since it was. My therapist says it’s a wonder I didn’t become a juvenile delinquent. My guess is that all the emotions just got shut down, along with my sexuality. At the time, it was all too much–too much stress, too much grief, too much religion–to handle consciously. As I think about it now, there were simply too many broken pieces to even try to put them back in place.
As the conversation continued, Kara asked if any of our teachers directly addressed the issue of my father, if any of them “stepped in.” I said, “Well, Mr. Saulsbery did.” Mr. Saulsbery was our Bible teacher, and I remember he’d specifically ask about Dad, even joke with me about the situation. He had a great laugh, and there was something about it that always put me at ease and made the world seem like a lighter place. Only recently have I realized what a mentor he was, as that was a word I didn’t understand when I was younger. Even after we graduated, “Saulz” and I would get together for lunch, and he’s the one who introduced me to Toastmasters, which is a community practice group of sorts for public speakers. He didn’t specifically say it at the time, but I can see now that he was saying by his actions, “I believe in you.”
This, of course, is not a little thing.
The last time I remember spending much time with Saulz, we were in a life-coach training seminar taught by my former life coach, Barbie. We were supposed to write a positive statement about someone in the class, and Saulz handed me a slip of paper that said, “Plays well with others,” except I thought it said, “Plays well with OTTERS,” so we laughed about that too.
A few months ago, Saulz passed away. I was going to his funeral when I had the car accident that totaled my Honda Civic. Well, I was late to the service and left early to begin self-care, but I later watched the whole thing online. Not surprisingly, everyone who spoke of him had similar stories to mine. Saulz had the mentor thing down. I guess he used to say, “You can’t speak into someone’s life if you don’t have a relationship with them.”
Amber, Kara, and I also talked about another Bible teacher of ours, Mr. Herrington. Mr. Herrington used to walk around with a straight back and a yard stick. Sometimes he would shout, “Amen!” if someone fell asleep in class. Kara reminded us that he made a big deal about mind, body, and spirit, and he was always drawing three circles to represent them. But the thing I remember is that he came over to our house one weekend to teach me and my sister how to change a flat tire, since Dad was gone (and probably could have used the lesson himself anyway). I don’t think I’ve spoken to Mr. Herrington since I was a teenager, but I wish I could tell him how handy that knowledge has been. It’s gotten me back on the road more times that I can count.
Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.
No one in high school ever brought up my sexuality, at least directly. Like, no one said, “It’s okay. Guys who wear high heels are welcome in heaven.” I mean, it was a Christian school, in the Bible Belt no less, so that’s to be expected. Unfortunately. Even if someone had said something, I probably would have lied. Regardless, those conversations and those role models would come much later. Getting comfortable in your own skin, it seems, takes time. Honestly, one of the biggest benefits I’ve realized from having both a life coach and a therapist has been being the recipient of what’s sometimes called “unconditional positive regard,” or simply, acceptance. In my experience, healing isn’t a straight line, but if there’s a starting point, I think it looks like being totally yourself in front of someone who doesn’t flinch when you share your secrets and still wants to see you again the next day.
Just to break things up a bit, here’s a card I received today from someone who “gets me.” My hope is that you have someone like this in your life too.
After dinner with Amber and Kara, I went to the last hour of a swing dance on the U of A campus, even though the shoes I was wearing didn’t have any laces and that makes dancing a challenge. We’ll see how my feet and body feel tomorrow, but I’m currently glad I went because I love (love) swing dancing. My friend Sydnie was there, and we probably danced together ten times. When everything was over, I was out of breath, a big ball of sweat, and–most importantly–happier than when I walked in. Like meeting up with my old friends from high school, I guess it was just another way to connect with someone, to accept each other in the moment.
Tonight Kara introduced me to a term I hadn’t heard before–FOMO. (Rhymes with Homo.) Anyway, it stands for Fear Of Missing Out, and I think that when I look back at high school, I often feel as if something important wasn’t there or that my life would have been better if. But when I left the dance, I saw a statue I hadn’t noticed before. Immediately, I thought it looked like a dancer, this brass lady with her head up and arms back, lit from the front by spotlights and behind by the moon. Then the word “surrender” came to mind. As I think about it now, I realize you can’t do anything about your past. It’s simply something you have to give up. But surely when you accept your entire life for what it’s been so far, this is healing and this is putting your broken pieces back in place. What’s more, those who play well with otters seem to be the glue that brings us back together, for no one is who they are today without the help of many compassionate hearts, those who believe in us and get us back on the road to ourselves.
