Today has been a long day, but a good day. Like yesterday, I’ve spent the day cussing and discussing swing dance. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do with the data I’ve gathered, but I’m trusting that it will make sense soon enough. Earlier I got the image that I’m shoving all this information in my brain, and that it will later “filter down” like Plinko or Connect Four. Eventually, everything will land where it needs to.
This afternoon my friend and I ate at a sushi restaurant, and I had avocado soup. Stop whatever you’re doing and go find some. (It’s magical.) I don’t remember the name of the place where we ate, but this spot had it going on. First, there was a sign as we walked in that said, “We love you for being here.” This is now my message to the rest of the world–I love you for being here.
Well, I might make an exception or two. (I’m not a saint YET.)
As we left the restaurant, there was a plate of mints–Jolly Rancher-type things–arranged By COLOR. This made my OCD brain completely soar. I practically squealed out loud.
Now it’s eleven in the evening. Tomorrow I have a short meeting at ten, then I’m hitting the road for Arkansas. There’s a chance I could get distracted along the way, maybe stop over in Dallas. I can’t decide. I’m exhausted now, ready to go to bed. (I’m going to bed. My brain is mush.) Who knows what will happen tomorrow? You don’t have to have a plan, Marcus. Everything will land where it needs to.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.
Last night I slept six hours, then was up this morning (at ten) to do last-day-house-sitting chores before heading to Northwest Arkansas to see a play. The play was called Until Just Moistened. I could have sworn it was going to be about something sexual, but it was actually about cornbread. That being said, cornbread and many other carbohydrates have served as substitutes for my sex life more than once, so maybe it’s all the same. Regardless, the play was by Crescent Dragonwagon and was part of the Arkansas New Play Festival, put on by Theater Squared. The festival is this weekend and next, and since I have an all-access pass, I’m sure I’ll be talking about it off and on for the next week.
After the play, I killed some time in a new-to-me bookstore, then met my friend Sydnie to teach dance at a wedding reception. (Dancers get asked to do all sorts of things. When there’s food and an open bar involved, we often say yes.) Y’all, as a former wedding photographer (assistant), I’ve been to A LOT of weddings. But this one was in an old airport hangar. And whereas it was hotter than Satan’s front yard on an August afternoon, the atmosphere was killer and the food (Brazilian) was delicious. Granted, getting people to dance felt like pulling teeth, but those that participated did a wonderful job, and it all goes with the territory.
Fresh off last week’s house sitting and cat wrangling gig, tonight I picked up a friend’s dog to watch for the week. I normally don’t bring animals home, but I LOVE this dog. A standard poodle, she’s a total sweetheart, and not only do we get along famously, but we also have the same name (CoCo). Well get this. As soon as I got CoCo to Mom and Dad’s, she quickly ate our dog Ella’s food–the dry and the wet–then promptly defecated all over the carpet. (I had actually just let her outside, but she waited until she was inside to go.) Y’all, it looked like a dinosaur with diarrhea had been through the living room.
And smelled like it too.
A friend I was texting suggested it was just nerves, which I guess makes sense. It’s a new environment. Plus she did eat some foreign food, so it’s not like I can blame her. Still, it was no fun dealing with the mess, which took an entire roll of paper towels and a half a bottle of Resolve to–well–resolve. But now it’s done, and CoCo is in her kennel, resting.
Personally, I can’t wait to go to my kennel.
When I finished dealing with CoCo’s mess earlier, my mom said, “You’re really good at cleaning up shit, Marcus.” This isn’t the type of compliment one goes around looking for, but I guess it’s a compliment nonetheless. Marcus Coker, good shit cleaner-upper. What can I say? I’ve had a lot of practice. Last night while looking behind a couch, I found two cat-vomit spots several days old. They were absolutely hard as a rock, concretized to the floor. Seriously y’all, they should use that stuff to repair interstates. But I digress. I suppose this is life, full of messes and clean-up jobs. Sometimes it’s your mess you’re cleaning up, sometimes it’s somebody else’s. I’m talking about emotional messes, the damage another human can cause. Often in therapy I’ve thought, I didn’t create this problem–my parents did–my ex did–whatever–why should I have to clean it up? But of course, we all cause damage we don’t mean to. And what are you gonna do, leave shit on your carpet?
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.
It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, and for the next week I’ll be house sitting for friends, which means that not only will my upcoming posts be uploaded faster (WIFI!), they’ll also include cats. So prepare yourselves. Currently I’m on their back porch, and it’s hot as balls. It’s not even summer, and Arkansas is already doing it’s humidity thing. I could go inside, of course, but I’m thinking it wouldn’t hurt me to stay out here and sweat. With any luck I’ll cleanse myself of that chocolate pudding I ate earlier today.
Change of plans. I just noticed there’s a fan.
In a few hours I’m planning to attend a fundraiser/dance with one of my former students and current friends. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve heard there will be drinks, dancing, and even a food truck. (Diet starts tomorrow.) That being said, it should be an all-night affair, and that’s why I’m blogging now. (I’ll schedule this to post later.) I’ve only been up for a few hours and already want a nap, so I just can’t write late tonight. Granted, I could–I have before–but more and more, I’m considering “write first, play later” an exercise in self-kindness.
You have everything you need.
Along this line of thinking, after tonight, at least for a few days, I’m hoping to leave the house as little as possible. Rather, I’d like to lounge around, read, write, and Netflix. I need to take it easy. I brought several books, but I’m telling myself I don’t HAVE to read them. I don’t HAVE to finish even one. I’m always thinking that healing or self-knowledge is at the end of “the next” book, but yesterday I thought, Enough, Marcus. You’ve read enough. Keep reading if you want to, but you already have everything you need to succeed in life.
One of my goals while house sitting this week is to do some writing outside of the blog, some more inner work. Sometimes I tell people that I think it’s interesting the way the subconscious works. For over a year I’ve been sitting down to spill my guts on the internet, and more often than not, I have no idea what’s going to land on the page. Consequently, one of the most fascinating things that’s happened this last year has been for me to see what “themes” have organically come up in my life as a result of this project–themes like abundance, self-acceptance, and trust in both my body and life, the universe, or God.
You know, little things like that.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve spent a lot of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. As a result, when I see things like the above-mentioned themes “pop up” in my life,” sometimes it feels like seeds are being planted here (in me) that won’t grow. On one hand I can see clearly that I’m being invited to see and experience the world differently than I have for the last three decades, but on the other it feels like a tease, something that’s too good to be true.
Ultimately, I think that’s the struggle I deal with on the daily–whether or not life itself is fundamentally good. Of course, this isn’t a question to be taken lightly, something you figure out over a plate of fried mozzarella sticks or a glass of beer. It’s a serious question.
Recently I was discussing with a friend the difference between believing something in your head and believing it in your heart. Personally, I think that any good idea or life philosophy starts out as just an idea, something that sounds good or maybe even something that doesn’t. Either way, I see it as a seed that has the potential to grow. Given the right care, attention, and enough experiences to back it up, I think a thought can eventually become a belief that’s so deeply rooted in your body and soul that nothing–nothing–can ever shake it. And if it’s “the right” belief, nothing can ever shake you either.
I mean, how different would your life be if you believed from the top of your head to the tips of your toes that life itself was not just good but really good? What if that belief pervaded your entire being? Imagine how it could anchor you in a storm.
You’re more rooted than you realize.
I think I’m in the process of trying out my thoughts and beliefs, of figuring out scientifically, Is the universe abundant? Is it possible to have peace in the midst of chaos? How does my world change when I’m brave enough to let love in and out of my heart? These are the issues I’d like to explore this next week in my non-blog writing. I’m sure some of it will make it onto the web, but I’d like to sit down and start listing–recognizing for myself–all the seeds that have been planted in my life that are currently growing or have already becoming towering trees. I think that would remind me that I’m more rooted than I realize. I think looking back and seeing my slow path of growth would affirm what I know to be true deep down in my being–that all things in good time–bloom.
It’s ten in the evening, and Bonnie and I are driving back from Nashville. Well, she’s driving, I’m riding. We got a slow start this afternoon, largely because I wanted to stop downtown and get my picture taken by the famous angel-wings mural, then stop again at McKay’s, a warehouse-sized bookstore outside of town. So we’re just now coming into Little Rock, which means we should be home close to midnight. And whereas I’m wired with coffee and could blog when I get home, I have to be up early tomorrow, so I’m trying to knock this out now.
When Bonnie and got downtown today, there was a long line of people waiting to have their pictures taken with the mural. So we waited. Here’s a picture of the whole sitch. (That means situation, Mom.)
While waiting in line, I was sort of eavesdropping on the people around us, sort of checking myself out in the shop windows, trying out poses for the angel wings–arms spread out like I’m flying, hands on hips like a sorority girl, legs crossed like I don’t give a fuck–you know, possibilities. This went on for a while, everyone talking–Oh my god, it was so nice to meet you!–then Bonnie and I rounded a corner and saw a Rolling Stones lips-and-tongue sculpture like the one we saw a couple days ago. (It must be a thing.) Well, since I’d naughtily sat on the first tongue, I immediately thought, I’ve GOT to sit on this one. I could start a–what’s the word?–tradition.
Ooh-la-la.
So I casually inch closer to this big pair of lips, while Bonnie’s getting the camera out and scooting closer to me in order to crop out the other people who are standing around and not taking advantage of such a great photo opportunity. Then I quietly put my hands on my knees and push my butt toward the giant tongue, like I might for a spanking. (Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not into spankings.) Y’all, up until now, everyone is yak-yak-yaking. But as soon as my butt touches that tongue, everyone shuts up. Then I open my mouth, like “oh my gosh,” or “my, that feels nice,” Bonnie takes the picture, and everyone starts talking again. Later Bonnie said, “You effectively silenced the whole crowd.” Mission accomplished.
Look at the top of the blog for this morning’s photo, below for the one that “started it all.”
The drive home has gone well. I read for a while, first in a book about stand-up comedy (which I finished), then in a book about writing (which I just picked up today at McKay’s). Then it got dark, and Bonnie and I listened to a podcast called Really Dirty Words, about–you guessed it–really dirty words and their histories. I realize this might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it was right up my alley. Today Bonnie and I Iearned about the origins of the c-word and the other f-word, one a derogatory term for women, the other a derogatory term for homosexuals. Both have fascinating stories, like the fact that the c-word was once associated with status, power, and influence, and the fact that the other f-word is now being “taken back” by many in the gay community. (You can’t insult me with a name I call myself). My big takeaway was that what’s unacceptable in speech to one person is often more-than-acceptable to another and that intent can make a big difference.
Here’s something I forgot to mention yesterday. A couple nights ago, we all went out for Bonnie’s birthday. First, we ate at a rooftop bar (very cool, very Nashville), then we went to see a 90s cover band. Y’all, talk about a retro-fabulous time. These guys sang the music I grew up on. I sent my sister a video of the group singing “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls” by TLC, and she replied, “Fun. Also–because we old.” So that felt good. Anyway, in between the rooftop bar and the concert, our group piled onto an elevator with a couple strangers, and I pulled out my camera and said, “Elevator selfie! Everyone in who wants in.”
And just like that, we all crammed together, and it was this beautiful, exciting moment–so exciting I cut half my own face out of the picture. But it was SO MUCH MORE FUN than your normal elevator ride. One of the strangers even asked if I could text her the photo, and I hope even now she’s showing her friends, saying, “You won’t believe what happened to us the other day on an elevator.”
Any mundane thing can be turned into something joyous.
Today while waiting in line with Bonnie, we noticed that almost everyone was doing THE SAME THING at the angel-wing mural. They just stood there and smiled. But once I heard a magician say that if you want to reconnect with wonder and awe, which you only find in the present moment, you have to break up your routines. You have to do something unexpected. For me, this looks like squatting in front of a mural instead of standing, or sticking my rear-end on a humongous tongue, or taking an elevator selfie with strangers. Granted, these are small acts, but this life-long planner is finding that there’s often more joy to be found in small acts of the spontaneous than in big acts of the perfunctory. I’m trying to remember this, that any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous, that “really dirty words” and even life itself aren’t inherently good or bad or boring or fun, that these are things we decide–we decide–in each present moment.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.
Well shit. It’s three in the morning, and I have been up all–freaking–day. Like, since 9:30, which is super-duper early in my world. When I woke up this morning, it was to 1960s groove music blaring over a Bose speaker just outside my door, which was technically my friend Bonnie’s door, since I stayed in her guest room last night so we could go on a road trip today. Last night I told Bonnie, “Just knock on my door thirty minutes before you’re ready to hit the road.” But instead of knocking, Bonnie did the loud music thing. There I was in the middle of a dream, and the next thing I knew I was jumping out of my skin as a saxophone blared and Junior Walker and the All Stars sang, “PUT ON YOUR WIG, WOMAN, goin’ out to shake and fingerpop.”
I screamed, “I’m awake! I’m awake!” (And I’ll get my wig.)
After getting around and eating breakfast, Bonnie and I left town for Nashville, which is where her sons live, where her (currently traveling) husband is meeting all of us tomorrow, and where we’re celebrating her birthday. We were on the road all day, and whereas I thought I’d sleep at least a little, I didn’t sleep a bit. Rather, Bonnie and I visited, and I read a book. The drive itself was great, about eight hours, including two stops–one for Waffle House, one for gasoline.
We rolled into town about 7:30 and visited briefly with Bonnie’s son Ben and his wife Mallory. (We’re staying with them.) But then I showered and took off to meet another friend of mine who happens to be in town this weekend. (A happy coincidence.) So we caught up for a couple hours, then I came back to Ben and Mal’s and visited some more. (So much visiting today.) Now it’s three in the morning, and I’m flat wore out. My skull has been mildly throbbing all day, and I’m more over this headache than Dorothy was over the rainbow. I mean, WAY over it. But other than that, it’s been a fabulous day. God knows I love a good road trip, and, y’all, Nashville is a happening place. Even before we got to Little Rock today, I thought, This is going to be a good weekend. Can’t say why, it’s just a feeling.
HOWEVER, Mallory does keep her house the temperature of a meat locker, so I’m currently freezing my ass off. Like, in this moment, as we speak, and right now, I have a blanket around my shoulders. I look like my grandma, all wrapped up with a shawl about my neck. I’m shivering. This doesn’t change my good feeling about the weekend, but I am going to need to keep this blanket with me in order to stay warm.
Or more tequila.
Go easier on yourself.
Okay, that’s it. I’ve got to get some rest. Almost a year ago I was here in Nashville celebrating Bonnie’s birthday (it’s an annual occurrence) and was just starting this blog. We’d tour around the city, party all night, then I’d stay up until sunrise writing. And whereas I could do that night, I won’t do that tonight. I NEED to sleep. So I’m going to sleep, even though I haven’t spilled every detail about today or shared every thought in my head. Because here’s what I’ve learned in a year. It’s okay to go easier on yourself, to not push-push-push, to wake up to dance music, simply have a good day, and not make it any more complicated than that.
It’s one in the morning, and I’m at my friend Bonnie’s house using her fancy, in-the-air, high-speed internet. I just finished working on a travel writing story and am now onto the blog. I keep getting distracted by QVC and the Home Shopping Network, two channels that Bonnie is flipping back and forth between on the big screen TV on the other side of the room. Thank God I’m not a girl or into drag because I’d be buying one of everything–little strappy sandals, dangly earrings–and all of it on sale for five easy payments of $29.99.
Look away, Marcus, look away.
The travel writing story I’m working on is due tomorrow, so naturally I didn’t start working on it until yesterday. I put it off, put it off, and really worked the whole thing up to be a big monster in my head. I thought, This is going to be awful. I mean, I’ve never written a travel writing story before now. That being said, I have WRITTEN before, so yesterday I just dug right in–and it wasn’t that bad. Three hours later, I was more than halfway done. But then I did the same thing today, practically convinced myself, I can’t do this. But then I did. Except for changes that come back from my editor, I’m done. (Phew.)
Although I do have to get pictures together, and that terrifies me.
I’m not sure why I scare the shit out of myself about everything even remotely new–writing a travel story, meeting a stranger, hell, taking a trip down the vegetable aisle. I’ve never picked out an eggplant before! I’m sure this started somewhere in my childhood, thinking that something was going to go wrong. And yet I have years of evidence that something–most things, actually–are going to go right. Sure, I’ve never written a travel story before, but I’ve written plenty of other stories, and all of them have been “good enough” or better. Even the ones that came back from my editor marked “start over” were stories that I learned from.
Like, don’t do that again.
Earlier tonight I taught a dance lesson and showed a couple how to do a dip, a move that’s almost always a disaster initially. Everyone has to figure our how to hold their own body, then the guy has to support the girl, and the girl has to trust the guy to support her. It’s a lot. But after a while, things start to come together, and I guess it’s that way with everything new in life–awkward at first, but then you find your rhythm. That’s how it’s been with this blog. I used to sit down petrified. What am I going to say now? And whereas I occasionally still think that, for the most part, this project has become a lot like brushing my teeth–a routine.
It’s a big deal.
Maybe I’ll always have a trepidation about new things–job opportunities, improv shows, visiting foreign cities. But more and more I’m trying to interpret that feeling not as my body’s way of saying, “Don’t do this,” but rather my body’s way of saying, “You HAVE to do this.” Because now that I’ve written the story I’m thinking, What was all the fuss about? That was easy! That was even fun. I’m proud of myself. It may seem like a little thing, writing a thousand-word story, but I think it’s a big deal anytime you do something you’ve been scared of doing, anytime you prove to yourself that you’re more capable than you previously thought you were.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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For I am a universe–large–like you are, and there is room here for all that we contain. An ego, of course, is small, and it is disgusted and humiliated by the smallest of things. But a universe is bigger than that, much too big to judge itself or another, much too big to ever question how bright it is shining.
I don’t even know where to start with this blog, so I’ll start with the truth. I woke up early this morning to talk to a psychic. This isn’t something I make a habit of–getting up early, or talking to psychics–but I did it nonetheless. And whereas I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes trying to figure out what to say about the experience, I’ve yet to come up with anything coherent. Maybe this is because my fifth chakra (my throat) is APPARENTLY “clogged like a drain pipe.” (This is what I woke up to hear.)
Does anyone know where I can get some energetic Drano?
More likely I can’t figure out what to say because I’m hesitant to discuss the topic. First of all, even though it wasn’t weird for me, I get that psychics or intuitives are a stretch for a lot of people. They’re not mainstream. And yet all of us–all of us–are intuitive. Any of us can walk into our homes and instantly tell if a loved one is down or upset or over the moon, and that’s basically what professional intuitives do–they read people. Anyway, I’m also hesitant to discuss the experience because I’m still processing it. There weren’t a lot of surprises, but it was still a lot of information. Five years ago I would have taken all of it as gospel and been done with it, but now I see it as something that needs to be “sifted” through.
Y’all, I tried to take a nap after my appointment with the psychic, but get this shit. There was a knock at the door, and the next thing I knew, my dad started talking to two Mormons right outside my bedroom window (and not quietly). And then–and then–he invited them inside. “They were FEMALE Mormons,” Dad said later. “That’s not something you see every day!” Well, our walls are paper-thin, so there was no way I was going back to sleep, what with Dad and his big, booming voice. “You’re gonna need all the luck you can get around here–this is Southern Baptist territory! But don’t worry about me–I was in prison with a Mormon!”
Meet my father.
Surely, I thought, these ladies will leave now. But oh no–they stayed. Seriously, it went on–and on–and on. They talked, Dad talked, our dog barked, Dad talked some more. At one point I strongly considered walking into the living room in my underwear and introducing myself as a homosexual who consults mediums, just to see if they would be horrified and leave, but I didn’t–I controlled myself. Later, when the Mormons left for lunch and I got out of bed, Dad said, “Marcus, they had to walk to Wendy’s–on foot. Can you believe that? I guess the bicycles are just for the boys.”
Rubbing my tired eyes, I said, “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”
This afternoon I went to Fayetteville to have more blood drawn for tests regarding my immune system, something I asked the psychic about this morning. She said the only thing she got was the word “exposure,” and took this to mean that perhaps I’d been exposed to chemicals or mold (or both) at some point in my (current) lifetime. I hope she’s wrong, but really–exposure–what a funny word–as if our bodies were like film in a camera and could be forever altered by something they’ve come in contact with. Anyway, I had my blood drawn, then–because I’ve been on the internet again–picked up a new supplement (an amino acid) to hopefully help with my histamine-laden skin.
Afterwards I ate the first of my three dinners for the evening at a food truck (pictured above), then I met some friends for drinks and dinner number two. THEN I came home, had a short business meeting, and met another friend for drinks and dinner number three. At this point I’d like to point out that NONE of the meals I ate were on my “good in theory” Autoimmune Paleo diet. However, I feel justified in deviating (a lot) from my original plan, since the psychic told me I “may” have food sensitivities, and there’s obviously only one way to find out.
So as far as I can tell, I’m not immediately or deathly allergic to hot chicken, macaroni and cheese, beef sliders, cheese fries, or chicken barbecue pizza. Nor am I allergic to beer with blueberries, which–by the way–are apparently good for my fifth chakra problem because they are blue and so is the fifth chakra. (Again, I got out of bed for this wisdom.) Anyway, THEN I went to see a drag show because, hell, why not? Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m done, ready to sleep. Still, I’m grateful for this day and my exposure to Psychics, Mormons, and Drag Queens. I feel ever-so-slightly changed by them–more open, tolerant, and kind. So perhaps our bodies are like film, all of us constantly redeveloping from one exposure to the next.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.
Today I don’t feel a hundred percent. You know those days when you think, I should have stayed in bed. I can’t say exactly what’s wrong. I feel anxious, off. I had it in my head that I was going to do two things–two whole things–I didn’t want to do today. First, I was going to call the insurance company of the guy who hit me. I hate adult things like this. Second, I was going to choreograph a dance for a group of teenagers who are taking a lesson tomorrow. I hate choreographing. And not that I hate teenagers, but they’re usually awkward and I’m usually awkward, so when we get together it’s just–well–usually awkward.
However, despite my feelings of impending doom, I called the insurance company earlier today. Just get it over with, I thought, get it the fuck over with. So I did. Before breakfast even. I left a voicemail. Like an adult who’s not afraid of his own shadow or making a damn phone call. As it turns out, sometimes I can pretend. Then after breakfast I actually sat down–well, stood up–to choreograph that dance for the awkward teenagers. Just get it over with, I thought, get it the fuck over with. But I couldn’t because APPARENTLY I threw away the slip of paper with the name of the song on it that the awkward teenagers want to dance to. Something about Cinderella, I remembered. So I started looking online.
Do you know how many freaking Cinderella songs there are!?
And not one of them rang a bell.
Well shit, I thought. Immediately I started shallow breathing and breaking out in a heavy sweat, as if the wheels were coming off. It’s okay, Marcus, I tried to tell myself. But lately it’s felt like so many things are going “wrong,” that my baseline of pressure is so high, that any little thing can send me right over the edge. A small dip in energy, another bill in the mail–any sort of disappointment–and there I go, tumbling down.
You’d better drop it like a hot potato.
Last week after writing about improv comedy, it occurred to me that my “life strategy” of getting butthurt when things don’t go my way would never work on the stage. There you might have it in your mind that a scene is going to go one way, like that you’re going to be an elephant. But if the other guy on stage opens his mouth first and refers to you as his pet monkey, well, you’d better start waving your arms over your head or pretending to eat a banana. Because in that moment it doesn’t matter what you’d intended, that elephant plan is over, and you’d better drop it like a hot potato, mister, if you don’t want to be left behind.
Changing directions at a moment’s notice is really easy to do on statge. But I’m finding it harder to do in real life. Today when I couldn’t find that song I was looking for, I just kept looking, sometimes blankly staring at the screen in astonishment. I can’t believe this is my fricking life, I thought. Eventually, I snapped myself out of it and thought, I’ll do something else. So I decided to clean out my voicemails. Y’all, as much as I bitch about the importance of good customer service, I’m terrible at calling people back. (I’m working on it.) Today I called one girl back who left me a message two weeks ago wanting dance lessons for her wedding, and when we spoke, she said, “Oh–the wedding’s tomorrow.”
Well, shit.
Now I’m trying not to self-flagellate, beat myself up for not calling her back sooner or not remembering the name of that song. I keep telling myself, You’ve had a lot going on, Marcus. It’s not like your life has been a cake walk lately (God knows). I really am doing the best I can to not hang on to my elephants, those things in the past that are over, those ideas about how life should have been or how I should have acted. Because–shit–they weigh a lot, and I’m reminding myself that when you’re in a storm you’ve got to throw everything overboard that weighs you down. That’s the only way you and your ship can survive, by getting light and dealing with what’s happening now–not what you wanted to happen now.
As the ocean of life changes, we must too.
So that’s why I’m currently writing. This blog is number #400 (in a row!), and despite my plan that I was going to choreograph AND THEN write, that’s not what’s happening. Rather, I’m writing, and then “we’ll see.” Looking back over the last 400 days, I’m reminded that I’ve made it through rough ones before, days when nothing went my way or at least not as planned. If I’m being completely honest, which is the point here, no day ever goes completely as I plan it. That’s simply not how sailing works. No, the ocean of life is unpredictable, and as it changes, we must to. One day the wind will fill our sails and carry us along, another it will nearly turn us over. So we buckle down our hatches and adjust course when necessary. From one day to the next, we somehow learn to navigate.
This morning I woke up at eight and couldn’t go back to sleep because I was worrying–well, thinking intently–about my bank deposit that magically disappeared yesterday. I spoke with customer service last night, but my plan today was to show up to the branch where I made the night drop and, if necessary, raise hell. You know, flip tables, use words like “preposterous” and “unacceptable,” ask, “Just what kind of institution are you running here–losing people’s hard-earned money?” I actually envisioned this scene unfolding as I lay in bed this morning, all the tellers standing around stunned and apologetic as I’m threatening to “take my money elsewhere.” Then, after a moment of appropriate silence, the manager would grovel–
“Would you like that in nickels or quarters, Mr. Coker?”
Fortunately, this didn’t have to happen in reality, since just before I crawled out of bed at nine, I checked my account online one final time. A friend had messaged during the night and told me that their deposits had frequently gotten “stuck” in the night drop, so I thought, Maybe the bank will find it first thing this morning. And y’all, just like that, after all my worrying and convincing myself that the universe hated me, the money was there. Phew, that was close. Another crisis averted.
I guess you’re okay, universe. But let’s not make a habit of this behavior.
In addition to (apparently) needing time to worry about nothing, I got up early this morning to attend a three-year-old’s birthday party. When I asked his parents, my friends Aaron and Kate, why they were having a birthday party at ten in the freaking morning, Aaron said in complete seriousness, “All of his friends have naps later in the day.”
You should have heard him wail.
The party itself was great. It was outside at a local park, and the weather was glorious. (It’s beautiful today.) And whereas I’d planned on not eating anything at the party and generally feeling sorry for myself for being on a restrictive diet (Autoimmune Paleo), that didn’t happen either–there were plenty of fruits and vegetables for me to snack on. (Once again, life doesn’t totally blow.) However, there was one problem at the party. Aaron and Kate’s kid had a TOTAL meltdown, all due to the fact that his cake looked like a puppy dog and he didn’t think it was at all cute when his mother put a carving knife through the little doggie’s face. You should have heard him wail as Kate sliced that little sugary pooch into several (what I’m assuming were delicious) pieces. “No, Mama, no!” he cried.
“It’s okay, baby,” Kate soothed him. (Slice, slice.) “It’s not real.”
Eventually, Aaron and Kate’s boy calmed down. I think he got distracted by a football. Later when I was talking to Kate, she said, “He was up late last night.” I replied, “See, this just goes to prove my theory–nothing good happens before noon.”
When the party ended, I spent part of the afternoon overanalyzing the situation (like I do). Y’all, nobody knows what to do when a child cries. Hell, when anyone cries. For example, the whole time this adorable child was bawling and squalling, most the adults were laughing, like, “Isn’t that precious? He thinks it’s a real puppy dog. (Nom, nom, nom.)” Not that I knew what to do, but I did remember a time when I was little that something similar happened. I was maybe six or seven, and the family had gathered at the dinner table to eat cornish hens. Baby hens! Well, I was undone. I couldn’t imagine such a thing–eating an adolescent bird.
I left the table crying.
When you believe something, you’re locked in.
My family and I joke about this story even now, but y’all, I can still remember what it felt like to believe that we were EATING something that I thought should be my little feathery friend. (It didn’t feel good.) And if Aaron and Kate’s boy this morning felt even part of what I felt all those decades ago, then it’s no wonder he went from demure to Defcon 1 in 3.2 seconds. I mean, when you BELIEVE something, you’re locked in. (My puppy friend is being cut up and devoured!) For you, the world is falling apart, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or does. As Byron Katie says, “That’s the power of imagination.”
Thirty years after the cornish hen incident (or, “the cornish hencident”), I guess I still get caught up in imagination. Last night I was convinced that the money I deposited in the bank had been lost, that my world was falling apart. This morning I was sure I needed to have a confrontation, that my oratory skills and powers of vocal projection would be best used by me walking into a local bank and proceeding to flip my shit. And sure, I assume several people who read about this predicament last night thought, It’ll be fine, Marcus. There’s nothing to worry about. Maybe they even laughed, just like part of me did, the part that “knows better.” I look at what happened now and think, That’s the universe for you, once again proving to me that it’s not such a bad place to live, that things really do work out. And yet for a while most of me was caught up in a dream. Not unlike my young friend this morning with his birthday cake, I was looking at something intended by life as a gift and innocently terrifying myself instead of seeing it for what it was–something sweet indeed.
Since moving in with my parents over a year ago, I’ve developed this nasty habit–I can’t walk out the door to go somewhere without walking back in. Like, I get to my car and realize I’ve forgotten something–my car keys, my laptop or phone, my coffee mug. It drives me crazy. My dad says I’d forget my head if it weren’t screwed on. (Everyone’s a comedian.) This is my dad’s way. He’s taken to making jokes, at least laughing, every time I say goodbye and fifteen seconds later say hello again. “I forgot something,” I always say. “Who does THAT surprise!” he responds.
Y’all, I guess this really has become a thing, since I even did it in one of my dreams last night. I was leaving some sort of convention, already on the outside of the building, and remembered I’d forgotten something. (I don’t know what it was.) Sometimes in dreams I’m trying-trying-trying to run, but I can’t. Instead I move in slow motion. (My therapist says this is about my feeling that my life isn’t moving fast enough.) Well, in last night’s dream, I RAN back inside the building, looking for whatever it was I forgot. The building was huge with lots of levels and stairs, and I ran down every one. On the way back up and out, however, I crawled.
A weird thing happened this morning while I was getting ready to make breakfast. My mom started radiation this week, so she and my dad were gone and I had the house to myself. I know, I thought, I’ll put on some music–I’ll listen to a CD. Well, our stereo system is older than Moses, and I guess it has a short in it, and I couldn’t get the CD option to work. So I started futzing with the wires, and a song crackled through the speakers. I only caught a few words, but they sounded familiar. Moving me down the highway. Figuring I’d briefly tuned into the radio somehow, I switched the function button on the stereo from “CD” to “Radio,” but a different song was playing. Go figure, I thought. Still, all during breakfast, that lyric kept running through my head. Moving me down the highway.
Each person is important.
Y’all, thank God for the internet (and peanut butter). That lyric–Moving me down the highway–is from a song called “I Got a Name” by Jim Croce. It’s beautiful. As soon as I looked it up and played the full version, I started crying. I’ve had it on repeat for the last two hours. The first verse of the song starts off like this–Like the pine trees lining the winding road, I got a name, I got a name. Like the singing bird and the croaking toad, I got a name, I got a name. To me this means that I am equal to, just as important as, any other one of God’s creations. To me this means that each person, including me, is important.
Talk about a hand-delivered message from the universe.
Today’s blog is number 365 (in a row). Tomorrow (March 31) is technically my “blog birthday” or “blogiversary,” but as soon as I hit “publish” today, I’ve officially crossed the digital finish line and completed one full year of daily writing. Holy crap, y’all, I did it. It took a ton of time, a lot of tears, and not a little frustration, but I did it. (Way to go, me.) Honestly, I don’t know what to say. Earlier today my dad said, “It’s got to feel good.” And he’s right, it does. I feel happy, proud, nostalgic, hopeful, and even sad. It’s everything.
Big dreams take commitment.
As I’ve said before, when I started this project a year ago, it was mostly to establish a daily writing practice. I truly believe that writing is part of the reason I’ve been put on this planet, and I’m not ashamed to say that I have a lot of big dreams around the topic I’d like to see come true. Therefore, my logic when I started this blog was the same as it is now–if you want to see your dreams come true, you’ve got to be willing to consistently do your part. Several times over the last year, my friends and family have referred to me as “disciplined.” Personally, I think that word makes it sound like I’m punishing myself over here, that every day I sit down and grit my way through a thousand-word blog. Not that every blog is easy, but overall gritting my way through is not my experience. So a better word for me is “determined” or “focused.” The way I see it, I’ve got a big dream over here, and big dreams take commitment. It’s that simple.
If I’ve learned anything over the last year, it’s that big dreams (and life in general) may “happen,” but they don’t happen the way you think they’re going to. (What would be the fun in that?) Another thing I’ve learned is that as long as you’re working on your dream or–better said–doing the thing you believe you’re called to do, it matters less and less whether or not your dream actually comes true. In “I Got a Name,” Jim Croce says it like this–Like the north wind whistlin’ down the sky, I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song. Like the whippoorwill and the baby’s cry, I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song. And I carry it with me and I sing it loud. If it gets me nowhere, I go there proud. In other words, at some point it becomes enough to try. So long as you’re following YOUR path, it doesn’t matter where it leads you.
But back to my forgetting things. Just like in last night’s dream, when I started the blog a year ago, I thought I was ready to go “outside,” to step out into the world and make a way for myself. But true to life, I forgot something. I forgot to go “inside” first. In the dream I RAN inside and down (into my unconscious), which I think represents my last four years in therapy and all the work I’ve done on this blog. In the beginning, I was “gung-ho.” But as anyone who has walked this path knows, going inside takes a lot of hard work. Just like daily writing, it takes determination, focus, and commitment. Also, most the time you feel like you’re going nowhere, which is what it felt like in my dream as I was crawling. (Encouraging, I know.) But the point, I think, is that I was moving. Moving me down the highway, slowly working my way up and out.
In the dream, I never found whatever it was I was looking for. Perhaps this means that whatever it was wasn’t important, but I think it means that as I pursue my real-life dreams, the point is not to find something or get something. Rather, the point is to go inside before you go outside. This has been my experience in my first year with this blog. A year ago I thought I was looking for something external, but what I found was something better, something internal. 365 days ago, I thought I was sitting down to write about me, but now I know I was actually sitting down to MEET me, to get to know my authentic self and remember to take him along no matter where I go. As it turns out, what I was looking for was myself. All this time, the thing I was forgetting–was me.
Freedom is everyone’s birthright.
In “I Got a Name,” Jim Croce never says where the highway he’s moving down leads. But he does say this–I’m gonna go there free. More than any other goal I have or dream I’d like to see come true, this is my determination–freedom. And after a full year of going “in and down,” here’s what I know–if you’re stuck in a bad relationship, if you’re constantly worried, if you can’t let go, or if you don’t fully love and accept yourself–you’re not as free as you could be. But more and more I believe we live in a universe where freedom is not only possible, but also inevitable. Indeed, no matter how deep your wounds or how profound your pain, I believe freedom is everyone’s birthright, that even if you have to crawl, you will somehow find your way out of the darkness and into the bright light of day.
[To any and everyone who has spent any amount of your time on this blog these last 365 days, to anyone who has offered a kind word or thought in my direction, to anyone who has given me their support and encouragement–I am profoundly grateful. May all good things be yours, and wherever life takes you, may you go there free.]
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.
