On Being a Nervous “Wreck” (Blog #439)

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It’s five-thirty in the evening, and I’ve hijacked the porch of my friends Bonnie and Todd. We have a dance lesson in an hour, so I showed up early to chill out. (I don’t know where they are, but they said to make myself welcome.) I’ve spent the day being a grown up (boo hiss), scheduling an appointment with an allergist next week, making copies of my blood work for the doctor, paying bills (ick), and writing a blog post for a client. For most of the day, I’ve been nervous, which happens a lot when I have things “to do.” This is a real irony in my life. I don’t function well without a to-do list yet get anxious when I have one.

This is me AFTER four years of therapy.

I don’t remember feeling this way when I was younger. As a teenager I got up early every day during the summer to work as a camp counselor. I interacted with people–with children. In college I worked in a law office–answered the phone, made copies, handled finances. Maybe I was repressed, but I really don’t recall being so on-edge about everyday activities. Of course, I did nearly shit my pants when the attorney I worked for asked me to drive his standard pickup truck across town. Because back then I didn’t know how to drive a standard.

And I agreed to do it anyway.

Nothing to worry about.

Talk about being a people pleaser. There I was, maybe nineteen, willing to risk my life and the life of everyone on Rogers Avenue in Fort Smith because I was too afraid to admit I didn’t know something. What the hell, Younger Marcus? Thankfully, at some point, after stalling out several times in the middle of traffic, I did speak up. “Um, sir, I honestly don’t feel comfortable with a stick shift.” And it was that easy. “That’s okay,” he said, “nothing to worry about. You can take the other car next time.”

Looking back, I really have had some great employers and mentors. Lately I get all twitterpated around matters of business and adult responsibilities, but I’ve truly been encouraged my entire life. Like, I’ve never had a boss yell at me or bitch. I’ve had jobs that didn’t work out, but I’ve never been fired, never been told, “You let me down.” Well, there was that one time in high school when a friend of mine and I got carried away during a roast. Turns out you can’t insinuate that someone at a Christian school is gay or sleeping around. (People cry.) That was one of the worst nights of my life. I felt bad about it for a decade or more. (Guilt should have an expiration date.) Several teachers pulled us aside and said, “We’re so disappointed in you.”

Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of, disappointing someone. Granted, I’m not technically under anyone’s authority at this point in my life, but it’s hard to grow up in the Christian faith and not feel like SOMEONE’S looking over your shoulder at all times. I realize I’m about to touch on a sensitive subject, but there’s a lot of fear in faith, at least the faith I grew up in. There were all these rules to follow, literally hell to pay if you didn’t get it right the first time. (By first time, I mean this lifetime).

I think I’ve come a long way in this regard. I’m not afraid of God or the universe as I see them. I don’t think I’m going to burn for all eternity because I kiss boys or eat a piece of catfish. I just don’t. And yet I still have this leftover fear or anxiety about life in general. It’s that other shoe dropping thing, like something bad is going to happen. Like I’m going to be handed the keys to a car I’m not ready to drive. I’m so afraid of stalling out on life’s highway. So many days it feels like I already have stalled out. Me stuck on the side of the road, the rest of life whizzing by me. Whoosh!

I’m a nervous “wreck.”

Things are just fine.

In my calmer moments, I realize things are just fine. Having been pulled over on the side of the road for the last year or so, it’s natural for me to feel nervous about getting back on the road. I think that’s part of what’s happening lately. Life is starting to pick up. Opportunities are coming my way, and part of me isn’t sure I can handle them. So I have to take a deep breath, remind myself that I’ve always risen to the occasion before. Twenty years later, I can drive a stick shift. I’m careful about what I say about others AND I know when people are overreacting. (Some of those jokes would have KILLED with a different audience.) More than anything else, I know that I can’t beat myself up for things I don’t know or am still learning. I have to give myself some grace. In terms of my life right now, I’m in uncharted territory. It’s okay to feel nervous, to have butterflies as I figure things out.

And I will figure things out. I will get back on the road. I’m sure of it. Just as I’m sure there’s no god or universe judging me for where I am or how fast I’m getting “there.” For surely there is no “there” to get to. Either we’re loved and accepted as we are right here, right now (nervous, broken down on the side of the road, whatever), or we’re not loved and accepted at all. Isn’t that what unconditional love is–love without conditions? Personally, I believe this is how life loves us, so I’m working on loving myself this way, loving others this way, embracing all that is, as it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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You Should Use That Thing (Blog #433)

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It’s just before one in the morning, and it’s been a long day. A good day, a fun day, but a long day. Several hours ago I started getting tired, and now my allergies are acting up “just enough.” For these reasons, I hope to keep tonight’s blog quick and to the point. You can do this, Marcus, you can do this.

This afternoon I saw my therapist and read her last night’s blog about my wanting to go easier on myself. She said that voice I have in my head, my inner coach, critic, or asshole that’s always demanding more is essentially my inner child, that part of me that developed early in life and has the need or drive to be constantly productive and perfect. “That strategy was really helpful when you were younger and had a lot of responsibility on your shoulders,” she said. “And you can still rock out perfection if you need to redecorate a house or perform a dance routine. But you don’t have to rock it out every minute of every day.”

My therapist’s suggestion for responding to my inner child was to use compassion. Like, I shouldn’t say, “Listen here, you little shit,” then tell that demanding part of me to screw off. Rather, I should reach for understanding and actually dialogue with myself. (“I’m not encouraging schizophrenia,” she said.) Something like, “I know you think we need to be ‘doing something’ constantly, but we are doing something–we’re watching a movie. I hear you, baby, and I’m making a different choice.”

Sounds easy enough, but changing my mind and thought patterns (like for real) often sounds too good to be true. “And this can happen?” I asked. “It’s possible to live one way for thirty years then effectively turn things around?”

“Yes, I see it every day,” she answered. “Well, sometimes every other day, but still–people can change.”

So that’s good news.

My therapist and I also talked about me finding my voice. (Where did I put that thing?) The conversation was in the context of my saying that I’d started sticking up for myself with the car insurance company of the guy who rammed into my last year, telling the agent that what she was offering to settle the case was “pitiful” and “unacceptable.” I told my therapist I was weary of being nervous both generally and whenever I have to confront someone, of acting like I don’t belong here, of feeling unimportant or small (like I don’t have anything to contribute).

“You’re tired of not being heard,” she said.

“Yes, I’m tired of not being heard.”

I SAID I’M TIRED OF NOT BEING HEARD.

(That was a joke.)

After therapy I ran some errands and ended up at a used bookstore. (I’m prone to do this sort of thing.) And whereas I hardly ever get into good, engaging, balanced conversations with total strangers, especially other guys, especially guys sort-of my age, I did while at the bookstore. I’m mentioning this fact for two reasons. First, life is full of surprises, and–apparently–kind people. Two, just one hour after leaving therapy and talking about wanting to be heard, I was randomly told by a complete stranger, “You have a great voice. You should use that thing.” This was said in reference to my potentially doing voice work (radio, advertising, etc.), but I took it as further confirmation from the universe–Speak up, speak out, you’re on the right track.

Give yourself an abundance of grace.

This evening I stopped by to see my aunt, who’s getting ready for a yard sale. Sitting down in an old chair on her lawn, I propped my feet up on an ottoman, and the neighborhood stray cat jumped up in my lap. Y’all, this never happens with me and cats, but this fella rubbed his head all around me, stretched out, made himself at home. I kept thinking, God, I hope he doesn’t have fleas, but it really was adorable, the sweetest thing. Thankfully, I’m beginning to enjoy moments like these more. Sitting there this evening, I never once considered that I needed to be elsewhere, doing other things. My therapist says we think of abundance as strictly about money, but it’s also about moments like these and receiving all the love and encouragement life has to offer. It’s about having an abundance of self-acceptance, an abundance of compassion for your inner child. It’s about giving yourself an abundance of grace to grow, to learn, to change, to find your voice.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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My Inner Coach (Blog #431)

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It’s two in the morning, and Daddy is ready for bed. It hasn’t been a particularly difficult day, but it has been a long one. This morning I ate breakfast then read a hundred pages in a book, which was relaxing. Then I walked to the bank and am pretty sure I missed the opportunity to speak to my future husband as I passed him on the sidewalk because I had my damn earphones in. (Oh well, maybe next time.) Afterwards I spoke to the insurance agent of the guy who hit my car (with me in it) almost a year ago, and that was my big accomplishment for the day. I had a confrontation.

“I don’t need you to understand,” I said, “I need you to do something about it.”

Needing to cool off after the phone call, I went for a run in the middle of the hot, humid day. (Ironic, I know, cooling off by getting hot.) Anyway, it must have worked. Forty-five minutes later, I didn’t give a shit about the insurance company–all I wanted was a glass of water.

And by water I mean Heineken.

This evening I hung out with my friend and former roommate Justin. We went to dinner with some mutual friends, then back to his house for drinks, conversation, and more conversation. (We both like to talk.) Get this shit–we were together for seven hours tonight. Seven hours! Y’all, that’s like a job–practically a full day’s work. But really, that’s pretty typical for me and Justin. We’ve known each other forever and usually have marathon catch-up sessions.

Tonight at dinner I gave Justin a look about something, and later he told me what he got from it. Y’all, he nailed it–like three things I was thinking from one look. I know I’m being vague about it now, but the point is that we decided the reason Justin could read me so well was because we’ve spent so much time together. Whether non-verbally or in conversation, we can cut through a lot crap with each other because we’ve invested time, money, and attention into our friendship for well over a decade now.

High price, but high payoff.

I share this story because the idea of work and reward has been on my mind recently. I have new dance students who get frustrated that they can’t spin as well as I can. I try to explain that I’ve been working on my spins for nearly twenty years now (holy shit, I’m old), but I don’t think the gravity of that statement really sinks in. For twenty years–off and on–I’ve been spinning in my kitchen, across my living room, up and down various dance floors. When I had the studio, students would come in an hour a week, but I’d be there ten or twenty, practicing while I taught. It’s not that I consider myself a fabulous spinner–I could be A LOT better–but the idea that someone coming in “off the street” should get the reward of good spins (if you want to call it a reward) without putting in the work–ridiculous.

Personally, I too get frustrated when I don’t get results as soon as I want them–in writing, in health, in relationships. And yet the things and people who mean the most to me are the ones that have grown slowly, a little here, a little there. Perhaps I’m starting to get okay with this, starting to show myself some grace. Last night I dreamed that I was playing baseball as an adult. (I haven’t played since I was kid.) My coach in the dream was screaming at me, “You should be doing this better. You should know more.” And whereas I’d normally agree with him (I’m a recovering perfectionist), I said, “Hey, asshole, calm down. I haven’t played baseball in thirty frickin’ years. I think I’m doing pretty great, all things considered.”

My inner coach–what an asshole, indeed. Maybe we all have that, that voice that tells us we should be doing better than we are, that inner jerk who compares us-just-starting-out to someone else who’s been doing it for decades. I’m growing weary of that voice that demands perfection right this minute. And since I can’t find a single person or thing that I value in my life that hasn’t required slow, consistent hard work and practice, I’m less and less interested in quick payoffs and instant benefits anyway. Plus, it’s just not possible for me to be any better (or worse) than I am in this moment. So I’m working on acceptance. Because all things considered, I am doing pretty great. We all are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And whereas it's just a single step, it's a really important one.

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Like the Rose (Blog #430)

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I just took the above picture with Oscar, one of the two cats I’m taking care of this week and my current favorite because he didn’t throw up six times in the middle of the night–well, seven if you count the incident on the stairs–like his brother did. No kidding, I cleaned up three messes before I went to bed, then woke up this morning to four more, the most notable of which was smack-dab in the middle of the dining room table. Not exactly what you want to see just before your first meal of the day.

Inconsiderate, I know.

Later while scrubbing a vomit spot on a rug in the living room, I thought, I don’t blame you for having a sensitive stomach, Riley. (That’s the other cat’s name, Riley.) But for crying out loud, you little shit, you could at least have the decency to throw up in a trash can or an otherwise designated location. (That’s what I do.) What, you think you own this whole house, that you can just stroll from room to room VOMITING anywhere you gosh-darn please, that I’m just here to pick up after you and your hairballs?!

I know, I know–that’s exactly why I’m here.

Other than cleaning up after the cat, I haven’t done much today. Rather, I’ve taken it easy, as much as I have in the longest time. During breakfast I watched a standup comedian on Netflix, then I walked to a friend’s house to feed their dogs. They’d left a note that said I could raid their fridge, so I did, especially once I saw that it was mostly full of beer. (Diet starts tomorrow.) For well over an hour, I sat on their porch–eating, drinking, sun bathing. My mind kept saying, “Hurry up, you’ve got things to do, Marcus.” But then I’d answer, “No, actually, I don’t have ANYTHING to do. Now go fetch me another Heineken.”

Of course, I had to get it myself.

This evening I read the script for an off-broadway play that a writer friend recommended. Then I lay down to take a nap but ended up watching a movie instead. Now I’m obviously blogging. Yesterday I was worried I’d have to blog on my phone because the charging cord for my laptop had a short in it. But then after a full evening of fretting about the matter, I managed to fix the cord today after breakfast.

Phew. Another crisis averted.

It occurred to me this afternoon that life doesn’t completely suck. I’ve thought this before, but thought it a lot today while I was sitting on my friend’s porch, even while I was walking from one home to the other. At one point I literally stopped and smelled some roses. Later I thought, Those roses are content to simply be, okay whether or not someone notices their beauty, okay whether or not someone puts their nose in their business. Why can’t I be like the rose? So often I’m concerned with wanting to be (wanting to grow) somewhere I’m not, wanting to be noticed, wanting someone’s nose–uh–in my business. Thankfully, today has been different. (At least most of it has.) Like the rose, I’ve been content to be right here, right now, perfectly satisfied with life as it is, never questioning the world’s beauty, or even my own.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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My Recharging Strategy (Blog #429)

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Last night I went to an outdoor fundraiser with my former student and current friend Marcie, and it was hot as all get-out. (The event was appropriately termed Havana Nights). Thank God there was an open bar with plenty of cold beverages to cool us down. Y’all, it was a great time–tons of music and food (including cupcakes), and even a little dancing. But the big deal–the really big deal–was the Taco Bell food truck. Who knew that such a magical thing even existed? (The truck came all the way from California.) I asked the guy at the window, “How’s this work?” He said, “You tell me what you want, I give it to you, and you eat it.”

And that’s exactly what happened–to the tune of three crunchy tacos and a bean burrito.

They were so good.

Today I’ve spent the day recovering, trying to eat sensibly, trying to rest like my therapist has been suggesting for–oh–four years now. I slept in this morning then spent the entire day in front of Netflix watching an animated movie, a comedy special, and two documentaries. Simultaneously, I factory reset my phone because the battery has been draining faster than normal lately and I thought that might help. (I’m not sure it did.) Y’all, it took multiple attempts to properly re-sync my contacts because–technology–and a total of three hours to get all my applications re-downloaded and logged into.

It was highly stressful, everything temporarily out-of-place.

I guess today is technology day, since this evening I updated the operating system on my laptop. While that was installing, I went for a run to make myself feel better about my decisions at the taco truck last night, and when I got back about an hour later, the software was installed, but my laptop suddenly shut off while I was getting ready to blog. I turned it back on, but then the keyboard lights were off and the internal fan was blowing, blowing, blowing. (It’s normally not.) Well, shit, I thought. Anyway, after some Googling, I did a reset and a restart, and now things are working fine, except–did I mention?–my power cord has a short in it.

I’ve been so frustrated today–my day of rest!–because of the issues with my laptop and phone battery, the fact that they won’t charge or won’t hold a charge. Maybe I’m hypersensitive to these power issues because my personal energy levels have been so unpredictable lately. Most days it feels as if I’ve been unplugged in one way or another, all my systems operating on reserves that are being rapidly depleted. (Going down, going down!) I want to plug myself back in, of course, which is part of the reason I’m trying to rest more, but I think my recharging strategy should also include paying attention to those things that drain me. For example, today before the last documentary finished, I thought, That’s enough television, but went ahead and watched the rest of the program. Why? (Because I like to check things off my to-do list.) But then tonight on my run I stopped jogging when I got tired and simply walked the rest of the way home. So I don’t always force myself when I’m tired–I do have moments of grace. Ultimately, I think that’s what my body is needing when it’s feeling drained–compassion, not compulsion.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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On Being Rooted (Blog #428)

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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.

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.

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On Serenity (Blog #427)

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This morning I woke up at nine to the sound of a lawnmower outside my window. It might as well have been a freight train it was so loud. One minute I was sleeping soundly, and the next I was jumping out of my skin. Honestly, I thought it was the rapture, that the good lord was returning and the Archangel Gabriel had–I don’t know–lost his trumpet in a hand of blackjack and therefore was forced to use a weed whacker to announce the end of the world. Wouldn’t THAT be funny?

“Really, Gabriel?” the lord would huff. “Today is my big day! Is this the best you could do–A MOWER? I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sorry about the whole trumpet thing, lord, but how was I supposed to know Michael used to deal cards in a Las Vegas casino?” Gabriel would reply. “Plus, I really didn’t have time to adequately prepare. ‘No one knows the hour’ and all that. This took me COMPLETELY by surprise. I was in a pinch. It was either a mower or a kazoo, and since you were too busy putting on your white robes to weigh in on the matter, I made a last-judgment call. So sue me! Seriously, have some mercy–isn’t that your thing? I’m doing the best I can here.”

Twisted, I know.

Anyway, this morning after the mower woke me up, I put some earplugs in and went back to sleep. A few hours later I got up “for the day,” made breakfast, and read a chapter–a single chapter–in a book about healing. But then I got tired and took a nap. Then I read some more and went to Fort Smith to have dinner with friends and do some handyman work for my aunt. (You’d think I were a lesbian, what with my toolbox and all.) Then I taught a dance lesson, and now I’m home again, exhausted. I keep telling myself I’m going to keep these posts short so I can sleep. But then I get carried away–you know, imagining conversations between Jesus and the Archangels.

Jesus and the Archangels. Sounds like a band name. A gospel band name, of course.

On the heels of yesterday’s therapy session about rewiring my brain, I’ve been hyper-focused on being gentle with myself today. That’s why I took that nap this afternoon. Normally I would have powered through in order to keep reading, to learn something, to be “productive.” But shit, my body is tired. (There, I said it.) Even now I’m wiped out. And let me be clear–I hate that–I hate that my body has been so tired these last several months, that my skin is all freaked-out, that my muscles sometimes shake without my permission. Hate it. But it’s the truth, so this is me doing my best to accept it.

Fine.

Every experience is helpful.

In addition to trying to rest and take things easier, I’ve also been trying to be kinder to myself in my thoughts today. Like, whenever I’ve gotten frustrated about my health, I’ve reminded myself that my body is stronger and wiser than I give it credit for. In the book I read today, a word popped out to me–serenity. And whereas serenity is not what I felt this morning when the mower cranked up, it is what I feel when I show myself mercy and place fewer demands on myself, my body, and my life. It’s that feeling of calm I have when I know and trust that every experience I have is helping me somehow, that all things are working together for good (as they say), that they have to work together for good because–well–they just have to. For me, serenity starts whenever I acknowledge that, like Gabriel in the above scenario, I’m doing the best I can here.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Uptown Girl (Blog #422)

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With any luck today’s blog will be my shortest (or at least quickest written) one ever. It’s five in the afternoon, and I’ve only got an hour before me and my crew, The Nashville Seven (I just made that up; I’m trying it out), hit the town to celebrate Bonnie’s birthday. Honestly, I’m still fried from last night’s shenanigans (and brisket nachos). I woke up today at noon for my “forced feeding” and have yet to get my engine going. It’s like I’m extremely sluggish and slightly disoriented.

It’s called a hangover, Marcus.

That’s just a joke. I’m not hung over. Carbed-over, maybe. Last week I got into my smallest pair of shorts just fine. But today I had to lie down on the bed, suck in my stomach, and use both biceps to get those same shorts buttoned. Y’all, it was a miracle. When I stood up and they didn’t bust at the seams, I sang the doxology. Bonnie, Mallory, and I went shopping this afternoon, and because one of the antique stores had free raspberry-filled donuts and I have no self-control, my shorts were working overtime trying to keep me in them. When we got home and I took them off, I swear I heard them breathe a sigh of relief. Now I’m in a pair of gym shorts, and my belly feels gloriously free and unconfined. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I need more elastic in my life.

Since not much has happened today, I’m not sure what to write about. While vintage shopping, I bought a pair of clear sunglasses, which I realize sounds like witchcraft, but it’s an actual thing–they’re a hundred percent UV resistant. (They won’t stand for those UV rays!) Y’all, I love the way they look, but the coating on the lenses and the glare on the sides make me feel like I’m in one of those hall-of-mirrors funhouses. I kept stumbling around the antique stores reaching for items and misjudging how far away they were. My poor eyes, I really shouldn’t make them work so hard. But as my Aunt Terri taught me, “Form over function.”

Life is a funhouse.

Now it’s time to clean up and get ready. We leave in an hour, and I still need to shower and pick out an outfit that will allow me to both dance and eat any carbs that come my way. I don’t know what that outfit will be, but I’m planning to incorporate a new button I picked up in an antique store this afternoon. It’s just bigger than a quarter and blue with red writing. It says simply, “Uptown Girl,” and I can’t tell you how much I love it. For most of my life I would have been too afraid to wear it, thinking, What if people think I’m a homosexual? Consequently, for the longest time, I tried to play it straight by creating an illusion, a not-really-me. Now I think, I AM a homosexual. What if people think I’m NOT? Honestly, it’s not about what other people think of me. That’s their business. Or, if life is a funhouse, that’s their hall-of-mirrors. But my own hall-of-mirrors, that’s what I’m concerned about, whether or not I can see myself clearly, making sure I don’t personally mistake any of the illusions I’ve created for the real me.

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.

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The Most Important Lesson (Blog #359)

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Currently it’s just after midnight, and I’m in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve stayed here, sometimes in the spare bedroom upstairs, sometimes on the couch downstairs. (I’ll be on the couch tonight.) When I was in my twenties and traveling to various dance events, I used to pit-stop here a lot. At some point my aunt just gave me a key, like, come and go as you please. You know how it is when you’re part of the furniture. You walk in, throw your keys on the table, and immediately relax. No matter what kind of day you’ve had, it’s okay because–well–you’re home.

Y’all, I’ve had the best day. Spring is in the air, the weather is glorious, and Tom Collins (my car) and I had a great drive into town this morning. Right off the bat, my friend Frank and I had coffee. Frank and I met each other through our Reiki group and keep up by email. Plus, Frank reads the blog and regularly sends me encouraging messages, like, You’re not alone–I feel that way too. Well, we had a delightful chat, and get this shit. As we left the diner where we met, Frank said, “I was cleaning my closets out recently and–I don’t even know where I got it–but I found something I don’t think you can live without.” Naturally intrigued, I said, “I can’t WAIT to see it.”

Y’all–it was a 2009 High School Musical (Zac Efron!) wall calendar! Talk about the perfect gift. I seriously couldn’t stop smiling.

I can’t wait to hang it up.

And yes, I’m a 37-year-old man.

Well, as if that weren’t enough, I then met my friends Kara and Amber for dinner. We were supposed to meet recently in Fayetteville (we all live in different cities), but I got stuck in a bad traffic jam and couldn’t make it, so we rescheduled for today. And whereas the company was amazing–like, it really was great, and I love, love, love our talks–what I’d really like to discuss now is the desserts. We split this chocolate cake and gelato thing that was UH-MAZING, as well as a gooey blueberry cake situation that was better than any one-night stand or long-term relationship I’ve ever had. I’m not even a big fruity cake fan, but this thing knocked my socks off. I mean, it was a huge FO.

FO (pronounced eff-oh) stands for Food Orgasm, Mom.

After dinner I attended a local swing dance. I didn’t tell any of my Tulsa dancer friends that I was coming, so I got to surprise a few of them. Plus, some of my Arkansas dancer friends were in town, so it felt like a little reunion. Y’all, I had some great dances. By the time the night was over, my shirt was dripping wet. Plus, it turned out to be my friend Marina’s birthday. No kidding, she turned 96 today. 96, and this woman was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Where’s the WIFI at?” Talk about an inspiration.

For me, there’s something about dancing in Tulsa. When I was cutting my teeth as a young swing dancer, my friends and I used to drive to Tulsa to learn how to Lindy Hop. (When it comes to dancing, Oklahoma is “slightly” more progressive than Arkansas.) Anyway, that’s how I met my friends Gregg and Rita (whom I’ve traveled with over the years), and that’s how I (eventually) met Marina. And no kidding–as much fun as dancing can be with a stranger, it’s even better with your friends. Really, there’s nothing like it, moving to the music while you’re holding hands with someone who’s known you and loved you through all of life’s peaks and valleys.

Tonight’s blog is number 359, which means that I only have seven more posts to go (including this one) in order to reach a solid year of daily writing. Just thinking about this fact, about crossing the one-year finish line, makes me emotional. A year ago this was just an idea. I remember exactly where I was standing and what was going on when it came to me. And whereas I was excited about this blog, I had no clue (none) how it would change me for the better. Closing in on “year one,” I can honestly say this is both the most difficult and simultaneously most rewarding project I have ever undertaken.

No exceptions.

In the beginning of this project, there was a part of me that imagined my life would look different by now, that I’d either have more readers or a book deal, or that I’d be living in a different city. Now I think it’s safe to say that none of those fantasies will materialize within the next week. But honestly, that’s okay. You see, the universe likes to play tricks on people. A year ago I thought I was starting this blog in order to get something, like a ticket to a better life. Perhaps I wouldn’t have started it any other way. But somewhere along this journey, I realized that a deeper, wiser part of me actually started this blog in oder to BECOME something.

In almost a year, I’ve written over 350,000 words, each one as honest as I could make it. Some of you–God bless your hearts–have been there for every frickin’ one. And yet despite all these honest words, this is where words fail me, since I can’t find a way to properly describe what a beneficial thing this strange trip has been (and is). I can try (I have tried and will continue to try), but I really believe that if you want to know, you have to take the trip for yourself. You have to go where your spirit calls you.

When I talk about “becoming something,” what I really mean is “becoming someone,” specifically–yourself. And that’s the weird thing–a year ago I wouldn’t have said that I wasn’t me. And yet there were so many places in my life where I was intimidated or afraid, places where I felt “less than.” Likewise, there were so many times that I’d bite my tongue or people please, hide my truth or shut myself down in some way. And all of that is different now. I can’t say exactly when it happened, but I can say exactly where it happened–right here at this laptop. This is where I’ve sat down 359 times in order to–often unknowingly–discover and meet myself, to get honest about what I want, what I feel, and what’s happening inside.

Of all the lessons I’ve learned, perhaps this is the most important…

But back to words failing. When I walk into my aunt’s house, I know I’m part of the furniture. Likewise, when I sit down to dinner with my friends Kara and Amber, I know I can let my hair down. It’s the same when I’m on the dance floor with my friends Greg, Rita, and Marina. In these moments, these fleeting moments, I’m home. But after this strange trip, now it’s like I’m home all the time. Somehow I got a ticket to a better life, but it’s not an external one–it’s an internal one. Now no matter where I am or whom I’m with, not only am I less intimidated and less afraid, I’m also more comfortable in my skin. Less and less do I feel “less than.” More importantly, I know that no matter what happens, I’ll always have one person on my side, one person who will be there for me and love me unconditionally. This one person, of course, is me. Of all the lessons I’ve learned in the last year, perhaps this is the most important–this one person is enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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A Still, Small Something (Blog #358)

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Today I’ve felt great, almost normal, whatever that is. My skin rash barely itched at all this afternoon and evening, and the redness continues to fade. My parents are convinced it was all just a reaction to our changed laundry detergent, an argument my dermatologist didn’t buy when I saw him two days ago. Because of this difference of opinion, a chunk of my skin is now missing, on its way to Texas to be (as far as I’m concerned) unnecessarily examined under a microscope. Whatever the results, I suppose the scar on my skin will long serve to remind me that I once had a very miserable two weeks full of itching and burning (where no one wants to itch and burn). What’s more, I’m reminded that just as a problem or illness can show up without warning, it can just as quickly turn around or disappear.

Presto change-o.

In other news, my energy level has been pretty solid and consistent today. I have a lingering cough from the last time I had the flu, but it’s really nothing serious. Granted, I could find more things “wrong” if I wanted to, but–all in all– I feel basically human and can’t tell you how exciting that is. Seriously, y’all, I spent the day doing nothing special–I wrote a blog post for a friend/client, ate with my parents, read a book, taught a dance lesson, and washed Tom Collins (my car) in preparation for going out-of-town tomorrow. No big deal, right? But having spent these lasts several months up and down with my health, I feel like I just climbed Mt. Everest–super proud! I’m actually tickled shitless to just go to work and do everyday things. And whereas I used to take these “average” activities for granted, now I’m grateful for them.

Like, thank you, Lord Jesus, that I was able to tie my shoes today.

The book I read this afternoon, written by The Disney Institute, is called Be Our Guest and specifically deals with the Disney business model and the company’s superior customer service practices. Y’all, it’s fascinating. Walt Disney (the man) apparently used to be concerned with “infinite details.” To this end, doors in Disney hotels have two peepholes–one at an adult’s level, one at a child’s. Additionally, the texture of the streets change from one area of the park to another. Likewise, even the trash cans (which are spaced 27 steps apart because Walt noticed that was how far people would walk before throwing their trash on the ground) are designed to match their surroundings.

All evening I’ve been thinking about this phrase, infinite details. Tonight I taught a dance lesson to a new student. This was only their third lesson, but they’ve already picked up on the fact that I, too, am concerned with infinite details. (The term most my students use is “picky.”) But with this student, my pickiness doesn’t seem to be a problem, since at some point during tonight’s lesson they said, “I’m a bit of a perfectionist too.”

Perfection is technically impossible.

I bring these two things up–being concerned with infinite details and being a perfectionist–because I’m beginning to think there’s a significant difference. In my experience, being a perfectionist is hell. I can’t speak for anyone else, but when I’m in perfectionist mood, I’m not happy unless everything is “just so.” And whenever I demand “perfection” from either myself or another, I never end up satisfied because “perfection” doesn’t exist in the way most of us think about it. 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.

As I see it, the idea of perfection inevitably is linked to inherent value. In other words, we perfectionists believe that if we get all our ducks in a row we’re somehow worth more as a person or somehow more lovable. But having spent the last year basically living everything I previously considered “un-perfect” in life–not having a job, being constantly sick, and, uh, living with my parents–I now believe that my inherent value (or anyone else’s) has absolutely nothing to do with station, situation, or specific skill sets. More and more, I accept and love myself “as is.” So one day I’m sick as a dog and don’t “produce” a thing. The next I’m fit as a fiddle and busy from dawn til dusk. How is one version of me any more perfect than the other?

Perfection has little to do with that which changes.

This is an idea I’d like to hold on to going forward. I’d like to drop the idea of perfection, or at least the idea that it’s something that I don’t already have and need to strive for. Sure, I imagine I’ll always be concerned with infinite details, little ways I can improve my dancing, my writing, and even my health. But if all the details don’t come together, if I don’t get everything “right,” I no longer want to believe that that makes me “wrong.” After all, don’t details come and go? One minute you get a dance move, and the next you don’t. One day you’re sick, and the next you’re not. Suddenly you have a scar on your skin. Is there anything in our lives that can’t turn on a dime, presto change-o? Of course not. So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn’t. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable–something perfect.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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