On Good Lighting (Blog #707)

I spent this afternoon and evening helping a friend put their living room back in order. They recently had it painted. And whereas most of the work was already done, I helped hang a few photos and installed those rolly switch thingies on a couple lamp cords. The rolly switch thingies were the hardest part. In theory it’s a simple operation, but as you know, dear reader, theory and reality are two different things. At least tonight they were. It took over an hour–and not a few curse words–to get the switches installed.

Recently my friend Kim told me that if someone asks you to help them and you think it’s going to take three hours, assume that it will take six, then decide if you want to help or not. Well, the point is the same for redecorating your living room or any sort of repair project–it always takes longer than you think it will. Thankfully, my friend and I had a great time visiting while things were slowly getting done. We chatted and laughed; we ate dinner. When the food arrived (we ordered in), my friend said, “Okay, everything stops.” And it did–we put aside every half-done project and sat down at the dinner table.

The point–few things in life can’t wait until after you eat.

After dinner we finished up in the living room, then I helped my friend with a couple computer problems. Then we returned to the living room because something was bothering us. I’ll explain. When I moved one of the rolly switch thingies from low on a particular lamp cord to up higher, I had to splice the wire where the rolly switch thingy had been before and wrap it with electrical tape. Since the cord was hanging off the back of a pedestal table, you could see the repair, tape and all. Ick, gross. Anyway, we ended up moving lamps around, switching out the one on the pedestal table with another that sat on top of a wine rack. This ended up being the perfect thing, since the wine rack had a back that hid the unsightly cord.

Well, this started something, so we switched out two other lamps–one in the computer room for one in the living room. However, I personally found myself in a quandary–I liked the new lamp in the living room but thought it made the room look too white, too bright, too stark. At first I thought this was because of the shade. The old one had a red shade, and the new one had a white linen one. But then I thought to simply change the bulbs, since the too bright lamp had an LED bulb, and the other one had an incandescent. Voila! This did the trick. The previously too bright lamp immediately took on a warmer, softer tone, and the white linen shade now appeared more tan, khaki.

Again, this started something, so we began changing out all the light bulbs in the living room lamps (there were a lot of them). One by one, we pulled out LED bulbs and put in incandescent ones. And just like that, the entire living room became warmer, calmer, friendlier. It was like the room itself heaved a collective sigh and relaxed its shoulders.

Energy efficiency be damned!

After we finished this project, my friend pulled out an old photo of me. It’s at the top of tonight’s blog, and I think it was taken when I was about twenty-five, when I opened my dance studio. I know for sure it was taken at the studio; I’d recognize that wall anywhere. Anyway, I love that photo. Not because I think I looked THAT much different when I was twenty-five, per say, but because the photo was taken by a large glass window and I had good lighting (fabulous really), like my friend’s living room has now. Yes, good lighting makes all the difference. So many times we cast our problems in this stark, bright light. Ick, gross. We think, I can’t do anything about this. But even if that’s true, even if our problems refuse to budge, it is possible to shift our perspective. Like changing a light bulb, we can change the way we look at things. We can take what once seemed unbearable and turn it into something warmer, something softer, something we can work with.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All emotions are useful.

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On Attention (Blog #706)

This afternoon I ran errands with my friend Bonnie. We picked out some yarn for my upcoming knitting project, a beanie. The next step will be to find a pattern, then I’ll be off and knitting. Out of my way, Grandma. The last thing Bonnie and I did was eat at Village Inn. I made a mistake and looked at the calories in my favorite meal there–the California Skillet. (It was a lot.) Oh well, I was already committed; I ordered and ate it anyway. I did, however, manage to keep myself from eating the entire stack of pancakes that came as a side. Way to make good choices, Marcus. But then (because it was free slice Wednesday), I ordered and ate an entire piece of pie. Out of my way, willpower.

At some point today I got a headache. It started this morning but was low-level, nothing too threatening. However, as Bonnie and I went here and there, the tension in the back of my head grew and grew. Alas, by the time I got home it was ugly, so I took a nap in hopes that it would go away. And whereas the nap was lovely, the headache remained. I hate it when that happens. So when I woke up, I took some pills. Now I’m sipping hot tea, and I think it’s backing off–a little. Ugh, it’s really difficult to think or pay attention to anything else when your head is pounding. However, I’m learning that this is important to do.

I’ll explain.

Lately I’ve been reading about attention. One of the ideas that fascinates me is that most of us, most the time, are focused on one thing–a headache, a writing project, a television program we’re watching. However, despite the fact that we’re essentially tuned to one channel, our minds and bodies are receiving signals from countless sources. For example, yes, I have a headache now. I’m aware of that fact. But if I slow down for a minute, I’m also aware of the temperature of my skin, the coolness of the air as I breathe in through my nostrils, and a number of different sounds–the music in my earbuds, the clack-clack-clack of the keys on my keyboard, and the talent show competition on the television in my parents’ living room.

One of the points of the material I’m reading is that when we focus on one thing to the exclusion of others, it makes that thing seem bigger than it really is. I do this with health problems (well, most problems) a lot. Consequently, they get blown out of proportion. Not that a headache is fun when it’s going on, but even then, it’s not the only thing happening. In terms of perspective, I could say, “Today sucked. I had a headache.” Or I could widen my viewpoint and realize, “Today was super. I spent time with a friend. I ate a piece of apple pie. I took a nap.” And not that this makes my headache magically disappear, but it does help restore a certain amount of balance to my reality.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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On Playing the Long Game (Blog #704)

Lately I’ve been thinking about The Long Game. In terms of business, Amazon is playing a long game. That is, they’re not in a hurry; they’re not going anywhere fast. This is why their prices are so competitive; they don’t have to make a profit right this very minute (although they probably are). I’ve been thinking there are a lot of advantages to The Long Game, to not being in a rush or not being a fly-by-night operation. Take this blog project, for instance. Because I consistently do a little bit at a time, over time it adds up to a lot–a lot of words, a lot of sentences, a lot of paragraphs.

A lot of damn navel-gazing, if you want to know the truth.

The Long Game has been on my mind because I’ve recently undertaken a number of projects that can’t–no way, no how–be completed in a day, a week, or even a month. For example, rehab-ing the knee I injured three months ago–that’s a six-month project at least. Or running a half marathon, a goal I initially set a year and a half ago before I got so sick and then the knee thing happened and have just this last week recommitted to–that’ll take some time to get ready for, especially since I haven’t jogged in months and have never run more than eight miles (like Eminem).

This afternoon I went to the gym and did the elliptical. While bouncing up and down, my long hair kept getting in my face. This afternoon while my chiropractor was doing ultrasound on my neck (I apparently have a pinched nerve–yippee), he gave me a ponytail holder to pull my hair back. And whereas I appreciated the thought, my hair isn’t quite long enough for a ponytail. Or maybe I just don’t know how to bunch everything right. Anyway, while on the elliptical I kept thinking about cutting all my hair off. But then I remembered The Long Game, that in just another month or two it won’t be so awkward and I can pull it back if I want to.

I’ve been saying for a while that most everything takes time. More than trying to convince you of this fact, dear reader, I’m trying to convince myself. Thankfully, it’s sinking in. This evening I taught a dance lesson at my friends Todd and Bonnie’s house. It was for a couple getting married in a few months. Tonight was their second lesson. And whereas they’re catching on quickly and doing well, learning to dance doesn’t happen in an hour. It doesn’t (really) happen in a hundred hours. It takes thousands. It’s a long game. If you truly want to do it, at some point you have to get okay with that fact.

After the dance lesson, Bonnie helped me finish my first official knitting project–a potholder that says HI. I sort of  finished it last week, but I didn’t know how to “bind off” or wrap up the last row. Anyway, Bonnie taught me tonight, and now it’s done, kind of. Bonnie said there was ONE MORE step–blocking, which means soaking the project in warm, slightly soapy water, then letting it air dry in order to get the “waves” or unevenness out. Here’s a picture of the warm-water-soaking.

Here’s a picture of the air-drying, which is what’s happening as we speak (don’t you feel included?).

I’ve blogged before about making a few mistakes while working on this project, about how they sort of drove me crazy. However, as I finished tonight, I fell in love with my mistakes. After all, this is my first knitting project. It’s like my first child. I’m a proud papa. I think my kid is beautiful. (Don’t make fun of his birthmarks, or I’ll kick your ass.) But seriously, I think those mistakes are like the scars on my knee. They tell a story. Also, like the mistakes my dance students made this evening, they’re an important part of the learning process.

Bonnie says my next project should probably be a beanie, a cap. For sure, I’m excited to get started and to get finished. However, I really am getting okay with The Long Game, the idea that most things worth doing–working out, learning to dance, learning to knit, um, sorting out your past or healing your body–take committed and sustained effort. Not that you have to do whatever it is every day, every damn day (this blog even by my standards is excessive), but you do have to keep showing up. That and, I think, give yourself more time than you think you need. Say, I’m going to take a year, maybe two, to do this–get myself in shape, learn a new skill, write a book. Tell yourself, I’m going to play The Long Game.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Simple Pleasures (Blog #703)

Today I was supposed to go to Tulsa to see friends, but this morning decided not because of the weather. Last night it sleeted and snowed in Oklahoma. And whereas the roads would probably have been clear(er) this afternoon, my gut said no. Weird, because I usually don’t get in a twist about weather conditions. But since I had knee surgery, I’m especially cautions of slick surfaces. That’s the last thing I need, to make it all the way to Tulsa just to slip on a restaurant sidewalk. What’s the saying? Better safe than sorry.

In lieu of traveling today, I stayed home–fixed myself a nice oatmeal breakfast, then spent the afternoon reading a book by Robert Sapolsky called Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst, about why people commit acts of aggression and violence. Apparently the answer isn’t simple; the book is over 700 pages. Also, it’s dense. I’m on page 62, and so far all I’ve taken away is a vague understanding of what a neurotransmitter is. Well, that’s not true. I’ve also learned about the prefrontal cortex (PFC), which is the part of my brain apparently responsible for my eating kale salads. That is, the PFC helps us choose what is “best” over what is fun, expedient, or titillating. It’s the reason we set our alarms to go to work or the reason we don’t hit on the hot guy at the gym, even if we fantasize about it (a lot).

By the way, the PFC doesn’t fully develop until a person’s mid to late twenties, which explains a lot and is one of the reasons my therapist recommends my dating someone over thirty.

Earlier this evening my PFC, always doing its job, took me to the gym. Dad went with me. I’ll spare you every little detail, but I cycled then followed along with a yoga video on my laptop, which I brought with me. However, I couldn’t do everything the video asked me to, like rest my weight on my left knee. I’m getting really excited to start using my body like I used to, but I figured better safe than sorry. So I modified. As the yoga instructor said, “We work with the bodies we have.”

We work with the bodies we have. Amen.

I don’t have much else to say. I’m excited to hit “publish” and, I don’t know, watch a movie. Historically I’d be bemoaning what didn’t happen today, thinking I could have gone to dinner with my friends instead of to the gym (woo, exercise). But lately I’ve been trying to find joy being right here, right now, whether that means breaking a sweat or sitting at home in my sweat-pants. I’ve been trying to bask in simple pleasures–a good story, a hot cup of tea–hell, walking, which I’ve found is especially enjoyable if you haven’t been able to do it in a while.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

My “Too Much” Gene (Blog #702)

Last night I went to bed at two, a little sooner than normal, in order to wake up early this morning to help my friends Todd and Bonnie pack. (They’re getting ready to move.) And whereas I’d hoped to doze right off, I tossed and turned for over two hours. I finally fell asleep about four-thirty. For thirty minutes. (Not funny, Mr. Sandman.) I lay awake until six, at which point I drifted off into blissful sleep. When the alarm went off three hours later, I was like, What the hell? You know how it is when your brain and body are exhausted, the way it takes concentrated effort and three repetitions of The Lord’s Prayer to simply put on your socks. That was me this morning. Foggy. I swear, if someone had seen me stumbling around trying to tie my shoes they would have said, “His cornbread ain’t done in the middle.”

Speaking of bread, Todd and Bonnie provided donuts for breakfast. Oh my gosh, y’all, I only had two (I’m not a complete animal), but they were delicious. This is why one should periodically eat healthy. Sweets taste even sweeter, and whole milk tastes even, um, whole-er when you haven’t had them in a while. Anyway, all of it did the trick, perked me right up. For fifteen minutes. Thankfully, I didn’t have to be fully awake to work, just awake enough to move furniture and bubble wrap a few other things.

Since Todd and Bonnie had invited several friends and relatives to their “packing party,” things went quickly. “Many hands make light work,” Bonnie said. No kidding, we were done in less than three hours–just in time for pizza. That’s how Todd and Bonnie got all of us there, by the way; they promised us carbohydrates for breakfast and lunch (and they delivered).

Confession: I ate four pieces of pizza.

This afternoon my regular gym buddy (my dad) went to work out with my aunt, so after I got home from packing I went by myself. And get this shit. The girl at the front desk, who’s almost always there when I am, greeted me when I walked through the door by saying, “Your father was here earlier!” Oh my gosh, y’all, talk about embarrassing. People are associating us together! (Also, they’re apparently not buying my “he’s my roommate” story.) Anyway, my neck and shoulder have been giving me hell lately, so I didn’t do any upper body work today. Rather, I did knee rehab. My physical therapist cleared me to start using the elliptical machine, so for twenty minutes I pretended I was a gazelle prancing through the grasslands of Africa.

Granted, a gazelle probably wouldn’t grip the stationary handlebars for fear it would fall over, but it probably wouldn’t have broken its knee trying to jump over another gazelle’s head either.

Now it’s nine-thirty, and my brain and body are mush. With any luck, I’ll be in bed and passed out before midnight. All afternoon I’ve been thinking about something my friend Corban, who helped Todd and Bonnie today, said. We were packing an antique rocking chair, and he was really going after the legs with the bubble wrap. He kept going around and around with the stuff. Finally I said, “That should do it,” and he said, “My ‘too much’ gene may have taken over.”

My “too much” gene. Is that perfect, or what? I completely relate to having it. When given a task, I almost always feel like I have to knock it out of the park no matter what. Consequently, I often wear my mind and body down in my attempt to overachieve. Honestly, it’s probably why my neck and shoulder hurt–because I got obsessive, because I did something “too much.” God knows I’ve gained weight in the past not because I ate too much donuts and pizza one day, but because I ate too much donuts and pizza too many days. Too much, too much. So again, this is my reminder to myself to slow down and take the middle path, to trust that moderation can get me where I want to go, to let my “that’s enough, that’s more than enough for now” gene take over.

Surely I have one of those.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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On Being More Certain (Blog #700)

After two days of feeling like crud, this morning I woke up–worse. However, when I got up and took my temperature–96.6, a degree lower than what’s normal for me–I convinced myself I didn’t have the flu. No fever. No aches and pains. Rather, I decided it was my old “friend” Mr. Sinus Infection. And whereas I wasn’t thrilled about his showing back up uninvited (who would be?), I figured I’ve dealt with his sorry ass before. Plus, almost anything is better than the flu.

Can I get an amen?

A year ago I had a sinus infection that lasted over three months. It was disgusting. Who knew one person could produce that much mucus? It was the biggest and most discouraging health thing I’d ever dealt with, and I tried everything under the sun to get it to go away–antibiotics, nasal irrigations, vitamins and supplements. Nothing touched it. But then I stumbled upon a website that said many chronic sinus infection sufferers had found relief by swabbing a particular probiotic (L. Sakei) in their nostrils (I’m not kidding), the idea being that L. Sakei eats, kills, or otherwise balances out the bad bacteria that’s up there running rampant and causing all the grief. Anyway, this theory made sense to me (and I was desperate), so I tried it. And get this shit. After three months of being sick day in and day out, I was better in forty-eight hours.

Just like that.

For the last year, I’ve used this strategy anytime I’ve felt something coming on. Unfortunately, sometimes it hasn’t worked. I’ll explain. L. Sakei is a bacteria or probiotic that’s not only difficult to come by, but also picky about where and how long it lives. That is, it’s only in one probiotic pill that I’m aware of, and then it’s mixed in with other little critters. There’s a company that sell the probiotic by itself (as a powder), but it’s thirty bucks for a little bag, and you have to keep it in the freezer. Otherwise, your best bet is kimchi. That’s right, kimchi, the Korean fermented cabbage stuff. That’s what initially did the trick for me. However, I had to try six or eight different brands before I found two that did the job, since L. Sakei doesn’t grow in every batch of kimchi, and when it does, it’s only between weeks two and ten after the date of production (which isn’t normally printed on the product). So it’s a crap shoot.

Because swabbing kimchi up your nose is 1) a crap shoot and 2) smells bad, for the last year I’ve kept the expensive probiotic powder on hand. My logic: I’ll gladly pay thirty bucks if it keeps me vertical and out of the doctor’s office. Anyway, for the last two days, ever since I started feeling like crap, I’ve been using it. However, I noticed this morning that my batch had expired over two months ago. As I understand it, the bacteria can only live so long after being exposed to oxygen. Anyway, since it takes a solid week to get the stuff through the mail, this afternoon I showered and dragged my ass to the Asian food mart in search of kimchi.

Y’all, and I realize this is a dumb American thing to say, but the Asian food mart is super weird. Never mind their food. I walked in today, and right there on the other side of the sliding glass doors–in front of God and everybody–was a row of pedicure chairs. Thankfully, no one was in them, but still–pedicure chairs in a grocery store, right next to the fifty pound bags of rice. Can you imagine getting your calluses scrubbed while the scent of raw fish drifted across your nostrils (presuming you didn’t have a sinus infection and could smell the raw fish)? Ick.

Months ago, the Asian food mart only had one brand of kimchi, but today they had two, so I stood there examining everything, praying about which I should get. “I like this one,” an Asian woman told me. Then she smiled. “You like Korean food?”

“Uh, I like this stuff,” I said, smiling in return.

Don’t tell her you put it up your nose, I thought.

“You been Korea?” she said.

“No, I haven’t,” I said. Then I added, “Only Thailand.”

She frowned and walked away.

Dumb American.

Back at the house, I swabbed the kimchi up my nose. For two hours I off-and-on smelled cabbage, red peppers, and shrimp. Gross. But I have felt better tonight. This evening–while sitting up!–I read a wonderfully delightful and magical book about creativity (The Spark: Igniting the Creative Fire that Lives within Us All by Cirque de Soleil). Then I went to the gym with my dad for some “light” knee rehab. That is, I didn’t work out as long or as hard as normal. Now it’s midnight, and I’m obviously blogging. And whereas I don’t feel fabulous, I do think I’m on the mend. Granted, I could wake up tomorrow worse than ever, but I’m hoping that won’t be the case. I’m hoping those little fermented cabbage critters will do their job!

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Tonight’s blog is number 700 (in a row). Damn; that’s a lot. I’ve been wanting to do another live video to share an essay I wrote that helped me process selling most of my worldly possessions and begin living as a minimalist, so maybe I can do that tomorrow or this weekend as a way of celebrating almost two full years of daily blogging. (Two years exactly will fall in one more month, on the last day of March).

Life is good despite its difficulties.

I wish I had something more profound to say to wrap up tonight’s post. Thinking back to that sinus infection that lasted forever (at least it felt like forever), I’m reminded that relief comes. After days, weeks, or even years of a storm beating at or even tearing apart your door, eventually even the strongest winds must stop blowing. When I went through a breakup and started therapy five years ago, I was miserable. Fucking miserable. People said, “It gets better. You’ll feel differently one day.” I wanted to punch them in the face. Granted, it was true. That storm passed. Also, I’m better for having come through it, better for having come through all my storms. They’ve made me stronger and more hopeful–no–more certain that life is good despite its difficulties, kind despite its challenges.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

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99.85 Percent and the Pause (Blog #698)

This morning I woke up feeling crummy. Sinus junk. Shoulder pain. Consequently, I’ve spent the day trying to take care of myself. Eating right, beefing up on vitamins, using muscle rub creams. Currently I’m sipping bone broth and have a heating pad around my neck. It’s super sexy. Thankfully, things aren’t AWFUL (except in my mind), and I’m hoping I can head whatever this is off at the pass. I went to the gym to rehab my knee this afternoon instead of tonight, which is when I normally would have gone. Now I’m blogging earlier than normal so that I can go back to bed, get some rest.

When I went to the gym earlier, my dad and my aunt went with me. Dad’s been my gym buddy for a while now, and my aunt signed up while I was out-of-town this last weekend. We’re taking over. Afterwards we went to McDonald’s (don’t judge us just yet) for (wait for it) salads. When we walked in, a teenage boy held the door for us, and my dad told him what he tells every stranger (that’s a man) who holds the door for him–“You, sir, are a scholar and a gentleman. (Pause.) And there aren’t many of us left.” Ba-dum. I’ve heard this more times than I can count. It’s classic Dad. Right up there with what he says every time someone says something about a hormone. “Do you know how to make a hormone? (Pause.) Don’t pay her.”

Groan.

This evening while watching The Voice with my parents, I finished my first official knitting project–a pot holder that says HI. (It might as well say THIS HOMOSEXUAL IS SINGLE AND LIVES WITH HIS PARENTS.) When I sat down to complete the project, I only had six rows to go–six rows of thirty-six stitches each. There are a fifty-nine rows altogether. (Technically, there are sixty. The last row requires “binding off,” which I haven’t learned yet.) Anyway, whenever I finish a row, I count the stitches to make sure I didn’t screw up, and tonight after my first row (row fifty-four), I realized I did. There were thirty-five stitches instead of thirty-six. Crap, I thought, I don’t know how to fix this. But then I decided to carefully “undo” my last row and fix the “dropped” stitch, which I did.

Well, sort of.

For over an hour, I did my best to work in reverse. When it was all said and done–yippee–I ended up with the correct thirty-six stitches. However, there was still “a mistake.” This, I’m sure, was because I didn’t fix the dropped stitch correctly. Oh well, better luck next time. I added up the total number of stitches in the project, and it was 2,124. Of those, I think I screwed up three. That means, if I were getting a grade, it would be 99.85 percent. And whereas I hate that I actually took time to mentally give myself a grade, that’s a pretty damn good one.

I really am trying to get away from this, mentally giving myself a grade in every area of my life. Granted, I don’t normally give myself a percentage, but I do tend to feel like I “haven’t passed” whenever something goes wrong. For example, when I wake up not feeling well, I tend to feel responsible and self-flagellate. I think, I shouldn’t have had pancakes on Saturday. Never mind the fact that I’ve been eating like a health nut for the last month and it was only one exception.

One delicious exception.

Well, two, since I had pizza for lunch that same day.

Two delicious exceptions.

Really, I’m a better knitter now. Thanks to my mistake(s), I learned something about the way my project is put together that I didn’t know before. Likewise, I’m learning things about my body because it’s presenting me with certain challenges. Granted, I hate those challenges because they hurt, but I’m grateful for the lessons they bring with them. But back to my dad and his corny jokes. The secret to telling a good joke is largely in the delivery, the timing, THE PAUSE. That’s what I’m reminding myself, that it’s important to slow down in life, whether that’s to evaluate something that didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, to rest and let your body heal, or to give yourself a damn break for not getting a perfect grade.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Anything but a Setback (Blog #696)

This evening I drove home from Springfield, where I spent the weekend. Coming back I tried to take my time. I’m trying to be more mindful and not be in such a hurry all the damn time. This is a challenge for me; I’m always on the go-go. Anyway, when I stopped for dinner, I sipped my tea, read a book. When I got home, I methodically unpacked. This part was easy enough because I’m anal. Everything ALWAYS has its place. Now it’s ten-thirty, and I’m lying horizontal in bed because last night took it out of me. I’m hoping I can get this over with, do some leg exercises, and get straight to bed.

Crap, I’m in a hurry again.

Last night I attended a sock hop at my friends Anne and Andy’s dance studio. They host a sock hop every year, and last night was my third one to attend. Anyway, even though I knew I couldn’t do a lot of dancing, I figured it would be the perfect thing to get out-of-town, see friends, and move, even a little. As it turns out, I was right (this is often the case, ha). Everything about the sock hop was a blast–the music, the costumes, the people. Plus, my friend Matt, who used to live in Springfield but recently moved away, showed up to visit. Talk about a treat. Not only did we have good conversation, but we also laughed, laughed, laughed.

Every time someone asked me if I wanted to dance last night I said, “Yes, but I recently had knee surgery and need to stick to the basics,” which I did. When the dance first started, before I hit the floor, a couple friends asked if it was killing me to watch everyone else dance. Really, it wasn’t. I’ve watched people dance before. Plus, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to watch people with two functioning knees walk, run, and dance over the last three months, and I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m not currently there. That being said, it was frustrating for me to actually dance. For one thing, so many of my movements felt awkward and jerky. For another, there was so much that my body wanted to do (jump, spin, turn) that it couldn’t. That’s what sucked–to feel broken, to not be able to really cut loose and dance up a storm.

So many times over the years I’ve attended dances and wanted to look and dance like someone else. God, you can really get carried away comparing yourself to others. But last night I really just wanted to dance like me, to be able to do what I used to be able to. And I know–I’ll get back there. Baby steps. But until that happens, I’m going to try to be content with where I am and what I have. Ugh. This is the toughest thing, to accept life as it is, to not always be wanting something you ain’t got–to look like someone else, to dance like your former self. Some people say that’s the secret to happiness, to want what you have.

Lately my shoulder’s been hurting. For the most part it’s not dramatic, but it’s something I’m aware of almost constantly. On the way home today I listened to a podcast that said injuries and pain aren’t setbacks, they’re signals. That is, it’s easy when you’re hurting (or not dancing up to par with your former self) to think that you’ve somehow moved backwards in the grand scheme of things. As if life were a board game and, thanks to the roll of the dice, you’ve been asked to go back three squares and not collect two hundred dollars. But the podcast suggested that our problems are simply information, that pain is often the body’s way of saying, “Something’s up here. This could use a little attention.”

In terms of my knee, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, I’m glad I injured it like I did. Not that this has been a pleasant experience, but it has taught me how to be patient, how to accept help from others, how to better care for myself, and how to slow the fuck down. And that’s huge, learning all that stuff. Anything but a setback. But more on learning to slow down. I think that’s a message my body’s been trying to convey for a while now–slow down, chill out, relax. And whereas I hate it when my knee says it can’t spin or my shoulder says it doesn’t want to, I don’t know, lift weights at the gym, I’m learning to trust and listen to my body. Fine, you don’t feel like doing that, we won’t do that. Period. End of story.

Fine, you’re ready to bed. We’ll go to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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I Have No Objection to the Twist (Blog #695)

Things I’ve learned since we last spoke–

1. On caffeine

Yesterday after blogging I got caught up in an episode of Bull. My friends Anne and Andy were watching it. Then, about two in the morning, I went to bed and read a book. When I turned the light off about three, I couldn’t fall asleep. I finally realized it was because I’d been drinking green tea all night. This used to happen when I drank coffee, which I’m currently on hiatus from. (The break is sort of wonderful, sort of wretched.) Anyway, I forgot caffeine isn’t just in coffee and sodas; it’s in tea too.

Lesson learned.

2. On worrying about one’s health

Last night I read in Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs that it’s better to worry about your health (a little) than not worry about it at all. “Overoptimism is probably harmful,” he says. ” You have to be neurotic and realistic enough to go for regular checkups and take your meds.” For support he cites a ninety-year longevity study that found “a low but persistent level of worry” correlates to living longer. This is great news for a hypochondriac like me. Sure, I personally experience a high but persistent level of worry when it comes to my health, but hey–I’ve got the persistent part down!

3. On simple pleasures

This afternoon I strolled up and down Commercial Street here in Springfield. Talk about a darling place–there’s a wonderful used book store and even a steampunk shop where you can buy a leather corset if you’re into that sort of thing. Anyway, I was “oot and aboot” (that’s how Canadians say “out and about,” Mom) for two hours, and–believe it or not–didn’t buy a thing. And yet I still had a fabulous time–walking around (knees are great), seeing the sights, discovering.

4. On the Twist

Currently it’s five in the evening, and tonight’s sock hop starts in two hours. I’m blogging earlier than normal so I can enjoy the dance, visit with friends, and stay up late without worrying about writing. (Let’s hear it for advanced planning.) Anyway, last night Anne and Andy asked me to judge tonight’s Twist contest, so earlier I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube to see how people “Twisted” when the song/dance first came out. Talk about fun. I can’t wait to get my knees and hips moving like that again.

While researching, I came across a quote by President Dwight D. Eisenhower on the Twist. Get this shit, y’all. He said, “I have no objection to the Twist as such. But it does represent some kind of change in our standards. What has happened to our concepts of beauty and decency and morality?”

Wow. If he thought the Twist was indecent, imagine what he would have thought about leather corsets. Personally, I think it’s fabulous, that dances and all manner of things come along to challenge our ideas about what’s acceptable and decent in the world. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–what are those things we choose to be offended about? I say choose because I don’t think anything in life is inherently offensive. Granted, there are some pretty grotesque things that happen on this planet, but nothing comes stamped with a label that says, “Be disgusted when you look at me.” Even if something did, or even if everyone in the world said, “Yep, that is awful,” we as individual thinkers would still have the power to decide our personal attitude about that so-called awful thing. This is good news, that only we can decide whether or not we get our knickers in–well–a twist about something.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

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On Seeing More Light (Blog #694)

Today has been delightful. That’s two delightful days this week. Actually, come to think of it, I’m enjoying life more lately. For one thing, my leg’s been improving. I still have a lot of progress to make, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now. I can see more light, period, now. Spring is in four weeks, and before that, daylight savings. Plus, I feel better. After surgery I was definitely depressed, and I feel lighter now, more like myself. I have more energy. Plus, whether it’s my new diet (which my friend Bonnie recently referred to as Lazy Paleo because I make plenty of exceptions), some new supplements I started, or the fact that I’m exercising frequently, I have less gunk in my system. Normally I wake up with a snotty nose (just call me Marcus Mucus), but the last two days my sinuses have been clean as a whistle.

I’m glad we can talk about this.

This afternoon I had a lovely physical therapy appointment. It was lovely for two reasons. First, my therapist added new exercises, some balance things that really challenged me and caused me to break out in a sweat. This actually felt good, since I’ve been largely immobile for almost three months. Second, my therapist was kind and encouraging. “Good form. You’re really doing well, “he said. “Feel free to call me if you have any questions.” Ugh, it really does make the biggest difference when someone’s–I don’t know–friendly.

At therapy while my leg was being iced, I started a book Bonnie gave me called Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs, a nonfiction story about the author’s quest to be perfectly healthy in every way. Oh my gosh, y’all, I’m only a few chapters in (I kept reading after therapy when I went to lunch), but it’s hilarious. Not only is the author an entertaining writer, but I can see much of myself in his behaviors. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, I’ve tried so many diets, relaxation techniques, and exercises programs it’s not even funny. (Well, it’s a little bit funny.) And whereas I often approach lifestyle changes with an all-or-nothing attitude, I’m learning that moderation still provides results. For example, I’ve been doing Lazy Paleo for almost a month now and can already tell a difference. Not that I’ve lost a ton of weight (a few pounds on a good day), but my body feels better, more vibrant.

This is no small thing.

This evening I drove to Springfield, Missouri, where I am now. I came up for a dance tomorrow and am staying with my friends Anne and Andy. On the way here I listened to a podcast that talked about the benefits of cold exposure–keeping your thermostat set on 62 in the winter, going outside with fewer layers on, taking a cold shower (even for a few moments). This idea is that our bodies need to be challenged, and one way we can work out our cardiovascular systems is by exposing them to a wider range of temperatures. This actually makes sense to me, that we can exercise our blood vessels and capillaries like muscles. So although I still hate winter (I hate winter), I’m now considering hating it less, since the cold apparently has its benefits.

There I said it.

I’ve talked a lot recently about my skin allergies, about how I’ve had to buy special soaps and shampoos because my skin reacts to several common household ingredients. This all started when I had a huge flare-up last year when my parents changed their laundry soap. Anyway, when I got to Anne and Andy’s, Anne said, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t wash the sheets on your bed in cage-free, free-range detergent.” Oh my gosh, is that great or what? I couldn’t stop laughing, both at Anne’s cleverness and the fact that I’m now officially one of those people.

Also, I should say–thankfully–my skin’s not THAT picky.

Now it’s after midnight. Earlier Anne and Andy and I went out to eat, and I’ve been blogging and sipping hot tea since we got back. Well, cold tea because I apparently don’t sip fast enough. Anyway, I’m looking forward to this weekend. I won’t be able to dance much tomorrow night, but I’m excited about seeing my friends, hearing some good music, and simply being on a dance floor. My physical therapist said I’ll be cleared to do some light jogging at my next appointment (in two weeks), so the milestones (running, jumping, dancing) are in sight. Yes, I can see more light now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself an abundance of grace.

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