How to Be Okay with Fewer Pockets (Blog #708)

Leave a comment

When I was twenty-five, I went to New York City for the first time. To go on a date, if you must know. Because I didn’t have a carry-on bag, I borrowed a messenger bag, a man bag, a murse (that’s man purse, Mom), from my friend Justin. They were all the rage back then, and Justin, ever-trendy, had half a dozen to choose from. The one I picked out was navy blue with an orange accent stripe. This was perfect because I’d just opened my dance studio and the bag matched my logo and business card colors.

During my time in New York City, I fell in love in more than one way–with my date, with the city itself, and with Justin’s man bag, as silly as that sounds. But seriously, it was fabulous. Not only was it my favorite colors, but it had pockets for everything–business cards, four pens or pencils, you name it. Ugh, I’m a sucker for a good pocket. So when I got back to Arkansas I told Justin I was keeping the bag. Like the good friend that he is, Justin didn’t put up a fuss.

For the better part of a decade, my man bag and I were inseparable, outlasting that three-year relationship that began in New York City or any other I’ve ever had. My bag and I saw the world, went on dozens of trips together–to Denver, Baltimore, Toronto, Mexico, Abu Dhabi, and Thailand.

With time, my man bag began to show signs of wear. (Don’t we all?) But get this shit. Several years ago some of my friends and students, Joe and Loretta, gave me a new one–here comes the weird part–that looked EXACTLY like my old one. No kidding, I guess they found it stashed in a closet somewhere, but it was identical to mine and had never been used. The tags were still on it. I can’t tell you how over the moon I was. Later that night I switched everything from one bag to the other. Y’all, it was so easy; the pockets were all the same, and I already knew where everything went.

That’s one of the things I love about my man bag–I know where everything goes. Sometimes after a difficult day when nothing else in the world makes sense, I can organize my bag, and it’s like maybe I can’t control anything that matters in my life, but I can control this. I can control where I put my business cards and pens. I wonder how many times I’ve done this, pulled items out or shoved items into my bag–Tylenol, lip balm, audio cables for dance gigs. I’m sure it’s in the thousands. It’s weird. I’ve never thought of myself as being attached to that bag, since technically it’s been attached to me. But since it’s literally been a container for my life–it’s held my money, my lunches, and almost every book I’ve read in the last decade–I guess we’ve been attached to each other. I’ve carried it, and it’s carried my stuff. My friend Bonnie recently said it smells like me.

Also, I’m not sure that was a compliment.

Earlier this week Bonnie gave me a new man bag. Not because my old one smelled like me, but because she’d gotten me one for my birthday last September but the box had gotten lost in the shuffle of their packing. (She and her husband are getting ready to move.) Oh my gosh, y’all, the new man bag is so sexy. There’s leather and everything; my old one was just nylon and rubber. I really was/really am excited to have it. Still, when I switched all my stuff from one bag to the other yesterday, I didn’t know where everything went. The new bag, although technically larger than the old one, I think, doesn’t have nearly as many pockets. I thought, Where are my business cards and pens going to go? And what about my audio cables?

When that relationship that started in New York City fell apart, it was Memorial Day weekend, and I was in Tulsa with Justin. A friend called to tell me they’d heard my boyfriend had cheated. For hours I couldn’t reach him. During that time, Justin drove me home. Finally, I got my boyfriend on the phone. For two hours I paced the neighborhood, and we hashed it out. The entire time, Justin walked nearby, never saying a word. When the conversation was over, I was single again. I remember feeling like someone had punched me in the gut. I collapsed. Not knowing what else to do, I took a shower. Then I gathered everything my ex had ever given me, put it in a box, and shoved it in a drawer. It took years, but I eventually threw it all away.

Healing from that breakup took years too. I saw my ex a number of times after that and remember wanting everything to go back to the way things were before. Since we’d dated long-distance, we’d spent thousands of hours on the phone, and his voice was so comforting. He was a fabulous listener. Part of me always knew we wouldn’t last, and yet he was like that messenger bag I’ve slung over my shoulder for thirteen years–familiar, something I wanted to hold on to. But, of course, we don’t get to hold on to anything here. At some point, everything changes and you have to let go. For years you keep your glasses in a certain pocket, and then overnight there’s not a pocket for your glasses anymore. You think, What’s going to hold my glasses? When you’re suddenly single, you think, Who’s going to hold me? In time, you figure it out, how to take your old life that used to fit into that space and make it fit into this space, how to be okay with fewer pockets, how to carry and hold yourself instead of asking a bag or a boy to do that for you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

For all of the things life takes away, it gives so much more in return. Whether we realize it or not, there’s always grace available.

"

The Last Day (Blog #556)

Leave a comment

It’s day ten working for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s also the last day. This morning at nine, four dozen workers descended on the Alma Performing Arts Center and–in just under five hours–took down all the lights, backdrops, and prop boxes we put up ten days ago. We filled up four semi trailer trucks worth of Oz, and then they drove off. So now it’s over. And whereas my physical body is glad for the break–it was a long ten days–my heart is sad. This last week and a half was–well–quite magical. There were so many wonderful moments, so many wonderful people that I may never see again. And yet I’m grateful to have had these moments, to have met these people.

What I’m feeling is often called PMS–Post Musical Syndrome–that sad feeling you get when a show is over. You spend all this time together–you’re like a little family–and then it’s just–done. Everyone goes their separate ways. The stage is suddenly empty. It’s disorienting. You think, What will happen next? But perhaps the last day is also the best day, since all the hard work is over, there’s that feeling of satisfaction, and you realize, I got to be part of something beautiful. And maybe you appreciate something more when it’s over, since it helps you remember how quickly time passes, how precious each moment, each person, and each connection truly is.

I spent this evening with two of my dearest friends–Justin and Ashley–whom I used to live with. For me, it was the perfect way to celebrate this past week, a way to come back home, the way Dorothy did after visiting her magical land. This is important, I think–to visit magical lands and meet new people, but to also come back home to yourself and those who know you and love you unconditionally.

As we’re not known for our SHORT conversations, Justin and I stayed up until two-thirty. Now it’s three-thirty, and I’m at finally home and looking forward to going to bed. But obviously there’s this blog. Hum. How to keep it short?

In the Northern Hemisphere, there are two highly recognizable constellations–Ursa Major, which contains the Big Dipper, and Orion (the Hunter). And whereas the Big Dipper is visible year-round, Orion is only visible for about five months in the fall and winter. Well, two nights ago, Friday, while driving home at two-thirty in the morning, I saw Orion for the first time since I got interested in astronomy this last spring. Wow. There he was on the eastern horizon–unmistakable–big as day–well, big as night.

Gorgeous.

Opposite Orion, on the western horizon, was my dear Pegasus, the constellation that used to be on the eastern horizon at two-thirty in the morning a few months ago. Ugh, this is the way the universe works. For a while a star –a constellation–is rising, and then it’s overhead, and then it sets, gone for a season or perhaps forever. Likewise, we meet people, we dance together, and we say goodbye. Who’s to say if we will meet again? My therapist says that life is long–you never know who or what will cycle back around. Personally, I think it’s important to remember that for every setting star, there’s another on the horizon. In other words, life’s stage is never truly empty–there’s always something or someone to love or be grateful for. And–well–even if something were to happen and I NEVER saw Orion or my newfound friends again, I’ll ALWAYS remember that one night and that one time when we were together for one brief but beautiful magical moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Everything is all right and okay.

"

Finding Some Way to Un-clutch (Blog #523)

Leave a comment

This morning, after going to bed at 1:00 and sleeping for three short hours, I woke up at 4:00 and–I’m not kidding–got ready for the day, since Mom was scheduled to have surgery at the ungodly hour of 7:00 (AM). “Be there at 5:00,” they said, so we were–me, Dad, and of course Mom–who’s wanted this surgery since January when she had her double mastectomy and the doctor left “excess skin.” Obviously, it’s personal (and I’m my mom’s son), but she said things just haven’t “looked right,” and the doctor today was going to fix them. And I get that, the need to go back and clean things up, the need to have everything just so. But must we do these things so frickin’ early in the morning?!

The only consolation was the fact that Mom’s doctor was smoking hot.

But I digress.

The surgery itself went well, and everything–registration, prep, surgery, recovery–only took four hours, during which time Dad and I grabbed breakfast (and saw a full rainbow), read, and harassed the other people in the waiting room. Well, Dad did the harrassing. “Have you read that magazine?” he asked a complete stranger. “MY SON HERE wrote an article in it!” Not surprised by my father’s behavior, I looked up from my book to the lady before me and tried to manage a smile.

“Hi,” I said.

After leaving the hospital, Mom, Dad, and I ran a couple errands and came back home, and I went straight back to bed until one this afternoon. Then I went to a used book store, since–I thought–that would be a good thing to do on a Friday. However, I discovered upon arriving at the bookstore that today is, in fact, NOT Friday, but rather Tuesday (and the bookstore ISN’T open on Tuesdays). I swear, I felt so turned around and confused. How could I not know what day it was? That being said, I haven’t had a regular schedule in a while, we just came off a holiday weekend, and I WAS up EXTREMELY early this morning.

Already frustrated, I decided to use the rest of the afternoon doing everything I didn’t want to do but needed to do, things like requesting some of my personal medical records (from the car accident I was in last year) and paying my property taxes and other bills. Just get it all over with, I told myself.

Recently I wrote about the parking ticket I got when I visited San Francisco and the protest I filed in reply. Well, I got the city’s response today, and they didn’t buy it. “Screw you,” they said in not so many words. Well, to be fair, they said, “You should have known to turn your wheels when parking on a hill. That’s a thing. So pay up.” Anyway, again–in an effort to get something unpleasant over with–I paid the ticket today too. (The City of San Francisco conveniently takes payments online.) But still–I’ve been thinking a lot about it, since it really is drag. Part of life, maybe, but a drag nonetheless. $69 down the drain because I made an honest mistake.

But here’s the thing–a lot of shit things happen in life. Maybe you’re happy when you’re a small child. You’re happy for no reason, really. And then your mom gets sick, your house burns down, the neighbor kid’s an asshole, your dad goes to prison, you’re in a car wreck (or two), and–I don’t know–you fall in love with Satan. (I’m just pulling stuff out of the air here.) But you know, this is life. We accumulate baggage. And yeah, sometimes it’s big baggage; sometimes it’s little baggage, little things that get under your skin that you inevitably gripe about–things like living with your parents, not feeling well or not having a job, or the fact that you got a parking ticket.

Again, these are just random examples.

In my experience, somewhere along the way–because of the shit we go through and the shit we hang onto–we lose a certain amount of our childlike happiness. In exchange, we get our irritations, complaints, and things to bitch about. We get to “be right.” This is the ATTRACTIVE thing about baggage; it’s part of why we clutch tightly to it. We get to think or say, “Can you believe what those assholes did to me?” and “Fuck them AND the horse they rode in on.”

Like anyone rides in on horses anymore. But here’s my point–as much as baggage is kind of fun–as much as being upset about a parking ticket gives me something to blog and bitch about–baggage is baggage is baggage. In other words, baggage–big or small–is by definition heavy and weighs a person down. This is why, having protested and lost, I immediately paid the parking ticket this afternoon. I’m TIRED of CARRYING that issue or problem around. I was just fine before it showed up and DON’T want to carry that problem into tomorrow. Honestly, I don’t want to carry ANY of my past into my future.

The past is too heavy to carry around.

The past, after all, is simply too heavy to carry around. This is why Jesus said, “Let the dead bury the dead.” He wasn’t being unfeeling; he was being practical. It’s over. Let it go, Nancy. Forgive. (And if that doesn’t work, forgive again). Forgiveness–I don’t use that word very often on this blog, but I’ve used ever other word or combination of words that mean the same thing–letting go, patience, self-acceptance. Forgiveness is what I mean when I say that I get the need to go back and clean things up, to get everything just so. That’s what I’m doing here on this blog, after all–cleaning things up and forgiving the past, finding SOME WAY to look at all the shit and baggage in my life and NOT hang onto it, finding SOME WAY to un-clutch and start tomorrow lighter and more childlike, more free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

"

Another Star Rises (Blog #521)

Leave a comment

Last night before I left my cousin’s house, his daughter put my hair in a pony tail then put my t-shirt in one as well–by scrunching up one end and wrapping a pink rubber band around it. She thought it was so cute. Truth be told, I did too. “I feel like an 80s lady,” I beamed. Still, as Dad and I walked out the door, I removed the “pony tails” and gave my cousin’s daughter back her rubber bands. You know–

All good things must come to an end.

During the drive back to Arkansas, while we were passing through a particularly dark patch of road, I asked Dad if we could pull over and look at stars. (He said yes). Oh my gosh, y’all, there was my dear friend The Milky Way and her cast of characters all around her–The Big Dipper, Draco, Cassiopeia, The Northern Cross, Scorpius–each of them in all their glory. Considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen them so clearly, it really was the most refreshing thing, a much-needed site. “It truly is wonderful,” Dad said.

Recently my aunt asked me what I love about the stars, so I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. Obviously, if you’ve had a chance to see the stars lately, they’re stunning. What’s more, in our often chaotic world, they’re something predictable. They appear to move about, of course, and do, but I like the fact that I can consistently find the same stars and shapes basically “where I left them.” There’s a sense of surety in that. But mostly I love the stars because no matter what kind of day I’m having–a good day or a shit day–I can lie down under the heavens and find peace. It’s like a forgetting of all my problems and worries. At the same time, it’s like a remembering that not only is everything connected, but also that I’m not supposed to have all the answers.

Wonderful, after all, means “full of wonder.”

Today I have been impressed with the fear that there’s not enough time. This afternoon the fear showed up with regard to reading, since I realized I’ve started–but not finished–over a dozen books in my personal library. And, despite the fact that I’ve been in therapy for four years and have come a long way in this department, there’s still part of me that feels like I “should” finish them. Like, a “better” person probably would. And yet, I’m having so much fun starting NEW books. Anyway, then the fear showed up with regard to the stars this evening when I went for a walk, since I realized a number of stars I could find consistently earlier this summer are no longer visible. This is due, of course, to the earth’s trek around the sun, which blocks our view of stars on the other side of it. In other words, as summer disappears, certain stars and planets (my friends!) disappear too.

And just when I was getting to know them.

It’s this weird paradox I have inside me. On the one hand, I feel like my life isn’t moving fast enough. On the other hand, I feel like it’s moving too fast. I think, An entire day has gone by, and there’s so much of that book left to read. Or, Wait, come back! I LOVED that star.

Toward the end of my walk tonight, this frustration with the speed of life hit me like a ton of bricks. I turn 38 soon, and there’s so much I wished would happen by now that hasn’t. Will these things ever happen? I don’t know. So many of our hopes and dreams, it seems, are like stars that slip slowly below the horizon. Maybe next year they’ll return. Of course, we forget–I forget–that with each setting star, another star rises. Tonight I spotted Capella for the first time, the brightest star (or group of stars, rather) in the constellation Auriga. What a delight she was! And no way I could have seen her in the spring. Surely this is the gift of seasons that change, stars that set, and books that we put down–of all good things and even dreams that come to an end–that as one wonderful thing disappears, another wonderful thing begins to shine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can be more discriminating.

"

On Dreaming of Dead Bodies (Blog #519)

Leave a comment

I’d intended to do nothing today. Well, nothing except read, that is. You know, go easy on myself. Maybe take a nap, rest. And whereas that’s exactly what happened for the first part of the afternoon, the rest of the day has gone to pot. For one thing, our air conditioner broke, which means the house has been getting gradually hotter with each passing hour. And if that weren’t enough, our freezer stopped working too, which I noticed when I walked into the garage and stepped into the River Jordan.

“It probably just needs defrosting,” Dad said

“Like my sex life,” I replied.

So that’s been the evening. Right in the middle of dinner, the air-conditioner repair man showed up, then the freezer thing happened. So everyone’s been running inside and outside, the guy working on the air conditioner, and me, Mom, and Dad transferring all the food from the outside freezer to the inside one–cramming-cramming-cramming everything from TV dinners to chicken wings inside and–since all of it was covered in water–making a big damn mess in the process. Then we dragged the freezer into the driveway, hooked up the water hose, and sprayed the caked-up ice inside until it disappeared like all my hopes and dreams.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Now it’s seven in the evening, and I’m straight-up irritated, mostly because I’d rather be reading a book or visiting some friends who invited me over earlier. But instead there’s the freezer project and this, the blog project. I mean, some days writing is a real source of inspiration and relief for me, and other days it’s just a pain in my ass. Like, there are times I’d like to chunk my laptop across the room and give the internet my middle finger. Seriously, I don’t recommend trying to become a better person. Just watch Netflix. Self-help and personal growth, let along sharing your every thought with the entire virtual world, is for the fucking birds.

And as if ALL THIS weren’t enough to get me worked up, now there are a million flies circling around me, the result of the back door being opened and closed so many times this evening.

Shoo, fly, shoo.

For two out of the last three nights, I’ve dreamed about dead bodies. In last night’s dream, I was trying to dispose of a dead body, first in a large body of cold water, then in a trash can. And whereas my therapist says dreams like this are good because dead bodies represent the discarding of no-longer-useful parts of one’s personality, they’re still not fun dreams to have. Again, in last night’s dream, there was an entire row of giant trash bins filled with trash. That’s good because it means I’m discarding a lot mental and emotional junk I don’t need. But still, there was a dead body–and all that trash–there was even blood. Talk about gross. Not exactly the best way to start your morning.

I say all this to point out–once again–that personal growth isn’t everything the books in the self-help aisle make it out to be. It can be a real bitch at times–ugly and uncomfortable. Because what do you do when a part of you–even a not-so-useful part of you–dies? What do you do when you’re USED to having a lot of mental and emotional STUFF around, then suddenly it’s no longer there? Personally, I find that part of me wants to celebrate The Great Letting Go, and part of me wants to hang on. Ugh. It’s so disorienting, so frustrating. You think, If I’m not that person with all that trash, WHO am I? And WHAT exactly AM I becoming?

I still don’t have an answer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."

The Bright Side (Blog #515)

Leave a comment

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

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

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

Go to The Center first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I paused.

“Yes. Yes I do!”

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

"

People and Possessions (Blog #509)

Leave a comment

Last night I worked until three in the morning helping my friends pack for their upcoming move, then came home and went for a mile-and-a-half run. It’s weird how you can be absolutely exhausted and still feel like you’ve got to burn off some energy. Anyway, I went to bed about four-thirty, slept for four hours, then woke up to meet my friends at ten. (The movers came this morning to evaluate our progress, since the big “load up” is later this week.) And whereas the movers said we packed the dishes wrong (we stacked them like you would in a cabinet , on their bottoms, instead of on their apparently sturdier sides), they said we pretty much had it licked and that they could prepare the rest (furniture, lamps, etc.) on the day of the move.

Phew.

Running strictly on willpower and caffeine, my friends and I spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon finishing up. As we’ve been working in their bedroom and therefore dealing with their personal things, I’ve spent most the day looking under and behind furniture for lost whatevers, taking items to be donated, and hauling trash to the dump. (I snagged the sweet red bandana in today’s selfie from the giveaway pile.) This really is a fascinating gig, seeing what people choose to hang on to and choose to let go of. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure and all that. Of course, having been through this process, I get it. Possessions are personal.

Until they’re not anymore.

By far, the SWEETEST thing I’ve come across in over two weeks of helping my friends pack, I found this morning. Check it out. It’s an honest-to-god Jazzercise record that promises to condition your body, lift your spirits, and put a smile on your face and a bounce in your step!–pretty much everything except send you to heaven. Plus, it says it’s a “wild and woolly” workout. Talk about exciting!

That being said, “woolly” and workout are two words I would never use together if I were trying to promise someone a good time. But then again, I’m not into bears. (Extremely hairy gay men are called “bears,” Mom. Slightly hair gay men–now that we’re talking about it–are called “otters.”)

“The more you know.”

Now it’s nine in the evening, and I’m barely holding my head up. I’m still at my friends’ house working, although I’ve obviously taken a break to blog. I know I’ve been saying it for the last week, but we really are almost done. I think all that’s left to pack is their toiletries (probably not a job for me), then all the tape, tape guns, and magic markers we’ve been using TO pack and label everything.

(Oh shit–I just realized–however will we seal up and label THAT box!?)

For me, today has been bittersweet. On one hand, I’m happy this huge project is coming to a close. It’s been tough stuff, and my body is tired. But on the other hand, it’s been good–fun–working and being around my friends. Having spent most of my adult life working alone, I’ve really enjoyed laughing “on the job” and eating lunches WITH other people. Mostly, I’m simply grateful. These friends of mine started off as dance students. Some random day they wandered into my studio, and we’ve been in and out of each others’ lives ever since. I don’t know. I guess a part of me wants to hang on. But, of course, people and possessions have this one thing in common–

You can’t hang on to them forever.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

Love, Marcus (Blog #504)

Leave a comment

For lunch yesterday, I paid with cash, and my change was SUPPOSED TO BE $21.06. However, the waitress only brought back $21.00. No six cents. This is a HUGE pet peeve of mine, but still, I let it go. Or rather, I didn’t say anything at the restaurant then stewed about it for thirty minutes after. (Those pennies belong to me, damn it.) Anyway, last night I watched a movie with a friend of mine and picked up pizza on the way to his house. Well, get this shit. The pizza was $18.64, and I gave the girl $19.00. So I watched her go to the cash register, and the computer screen attached to it–in big, bold letters ANYONE could have read from the other side of a football field–said, “Change due: $0.36.” But the girl just shut the drawer and turned around, as if she were done. Seeing me still standing at the counter, she raised her eyebrows.

“May I have my change?” I said.

“Oh,” she said, and turned back to the cash register.

What the hell, people?!

The movie I watched last night was called Love, Simon and is the story of a high school senior (Simon) who is in the process of 1) coming to terms with his (homo)sexuality and 2) coming out. I honestly didn’t have high expectations. Maybe it’s because I’m thirty-seven, single AF (as fuck, Mom), and took forever to really come out, but I simply wasn’t jazzed about the idea of watching a tween with flawless skin discover his true self AND fall in love in the space of a calendar year. (Well that’s just great–FOR YOU!) That being said, I was pleasantly surprised. Not only was the movie adorable, it was also (mostly) “real” or true-to-life.

I laughed. I cried. It was better than Cats.

Toward the end of the movie, after Simon comes out to his family, he has a conversation with his mom and asks her if she knew. “I knew you had a secret,” she says. “You used to be so free–but these last few years I could almost hear you holding your breath.”

Wow. I know what that feels like, to not be able to fully relax, to always wonder what other people–your friends, your family–will think of you, to constantly feel as if you have to hide. (They don’t call it being in the closet for nothing.) With my journey, I first came out to my dad, then some friends, then my sister. Everyone said, “We know. It’s about time. Pass the ketchup.” It just wasn’t a big deal to them. But it was a big deal to me. It’s always a big deal to exhale, to realize that the world isn’t as scary as you made it out to be, to know that you are loved and accepted for who you are.

Personally, I think we’re all in the process of coming out and learning to exhale. Not necessarily with regard to sexuality, but with regard to something. Because we all have secrets, parts of ourselves and our lives that we’re ashamed of, things we’re deathly afraid to share with others. After all, what WILL people think? Plus, it’s difficult to live life without apology, to be willing to stand out in whatever way. In the movie, there’s a character who’s not only out, but also obvious, so he’s an easy target for high school bullies. To his credit, he always has a comeback, a witty retort. But surely it would take a lot of energy to live like that, always on the defense.

In my experience, my strength comes and goes. Plenty of days I feel like putting in my earrings, doing whatever the fuck I want to do with my hair, and strutting around in the shortest shorts I own. Yes, I’m gay. And this is how I dance, and this is how much I weigh, and this is how I live my life. And if you don’t like it, you can go get high. But plenty of days I feel like blending in and not being noticed. (Sometimes I feel like making a fuss about six cents; sometimes I don’t.) I just finished reading a book about the moon, and apparently the moon and I have this in common. Some days we shine brightly, some days we disappear completely. The book’s author, Carolyn McVickar Edwards, says it like this–“I bless my capacity to hold both the light and the dark.”

So.

In all things.

I’m trying to not hold my breath so much.

To breathe in AND out.

Just as the moon waxes AND wanes.

This is the change I’m really wanting.

To hold on to the light, then let go of it.

To gracefully move from one phase to the next.

To relax.

To move freely through the heavens.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can’t play small forever.

"

The Fires of Transformation (Blog #490)

Leave a comment

Last night I stayed up reading a book called A Headache in the Pelvis, about how tension in the muscles of the pelvis can cause (among other things) bacterial and non-bacterial prostatitis, frequent urination, and low-back and abdominal pain. The book proposes a number of relaxation and stretching exercises to help with these issues and says that the key to relaxation is (ironically) acceptance of tension. In other words, don’t fight it. Let it be. So both last night before going to bed and today while traveling, I’ve been trying this technique–paying attention to my aches and pains while breathing deeply and trying to listen to what they may be saying.

Slow down, baby. You don’t have to work so hard.

This morning, after packing all our shit into my car (Tom Collins), my aunt, my parents, their dog, and I left my sister’s in Albuquerque. (I stepped in the dog’s shit just before we left. That’s a good omen, right?) Now we’re at my cousin’s in Oklahoma City. Currently my mother and I are sitting in the dark in the living room, since my father’s sleeping in one of the recliners in here. I think we’re all a bit worn out from the trip. Tom Collins is a comfortable ride, but thanks to our massive amount of luggage (and the coolers of drinks and bags full of snacks), we were rather cramped. Plus, it was over eight hours on the road. And personally, I’m rather sick of the road.

As my aunt said, “Next time, we’re flying.” (My dad replied, “Donna Kay, you’re not flying anywhere. Do you know what it costs to check your baggage these days?! The way you pack, you’d have to win the lottery just to afford the luggage fees.”)

To my dad’s point, my aunt DOES have one carry-on-sized suitcase filled completely and exclusively with her makeup.

I spent the entire trip today with my nose in a book about alchemy and mysticism. The book itself is concerned with historical art that conveys alchemical and mystical ideas and concepts, but what’s particularly fascinating to me is the idea of transformation. Not literally turning lead into gold, but symbolically turning lead into gold–taking something base and ugly, something that at first weighs you down, and turning it into something pure and beautiful, something that sets you free or gives you new life.

Incidentally, in classical alchemy this process of transformation was sometimes seen as occurring in five specific stages that are depicted in many paintings as corresponding birds–the raven, the swan, the peacock, the pelican, and the phoenix. (How cool is that?)

Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

As I see it, we all have lead in our lives. Put another way, we all have emotional baggage we take everywhere we go. (Can you imagine if the airlines charged for THAT?) Here on earth, it’s simply the way it is; everyone gets weighed down. But honestly, I think we were meant to travel light, to let go of tension, of physical possessions, of emotional baggage. Think about it–we come here with nothing–we leave here with nothing. This is what turning lead into gold is about–traveling lighter–not lugging around more shit than you have to. And not that you suddenly forget your life experiences or magically make them disappear, but you find a way to process them so they don’t weigh you down like Jacob Marley’s chains. You take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths. Like the phoenix, you burn yourself up in the fires of transformation and rise anew from the ashes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Stop buying your own bullshit.

"

About What’s Important (Blog #489)

Leave a comment

Yesterday I spent the day with my great-aunt and great-uncle in California, then drove from 8:30 last night to 11:00 this morning back to Albuquerque, where I am now. Talk about being tired. Fourteen and a half freaking hours on the road. I saw the sun set AND rise. When I got here, I brought in my luggage then crashed hard until my not-so-quiet (but extremely beautiful) nephews woke me up around three this afternoon. Now it’s 10:00 in the evening, and I’m just okay, basically functional. As I’d still like to shower and finish reading a book that belongs to my sister’s local library (and which I started this afternoon), I need to keep this short.

Tomorrow morning my parents, my aunt, and I leave to go back to Oklahoma City (and then Arkansas the next day). Honestly, I love traveling but am weary of the road. Last night’s trip alone was 900 miles, and everything from Arkansas to California is starting to blur together. I’ve listened to more songs and more podcasts than I can stand. Also, I apparently left my phone charger in California, a fact that I hate. I normally have my shit more together, but–hell–it was a LONG weekend. These things happen.

They make more chargers, Marcus.

All that being said, I wouldn’t trade the time on the road. Even if I could go back and get a plane ticket for the dance event in California, I wouldn’t do it. Obviously, the driving has given me a lot of time to process and think–time to be alone–and this has been a good thing. Plus, I was able to see my relatives. Even driving out here with my parents and my aunt has been good. Just off seeing my great-aunt, whom I haven’t seen in 25 years, reminds me that our time together is limited. Last week after I posted about my dad farting in my car on the way out here, my friend Chelsea (whose father is no longer alive), said, “I would pay every dime I will ever earn to get one more ridiculous car trip.”

So let’s be clear about what’s important.

To me, it’s family and kindness, not phone chargers–although my hyper-organized, anal-retentive self often forgets this. Honestly, it’s sort-of better, sort-of worse since the estate sale and becoming a minimalist. On one hand I think, It’s just one more thing to let go of, Marcus. On the other I think, But I have so little now. I don’t want to lose anything else. Byron Katie says, “You don’t get to keep anything.” To me this means that when we die–sometimes even before that–we lose it all–possessions, relationships, even memories. So we have to make peace with where we are in this moment. Like, it has to be ENOUGH that I’m sitting here on a couch absolutely exhausted and that I’m no longer the owner of a phone charger, since–right here, right now–this IS my life.

And yes.

Right here, right now.

It’s enough.

I’m enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"