The Gifts You Give to Yourself (Blog #243)

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I feel like all I’ve talked about for the last six weeks has been my sinus infection and I’m really not sure what to discuss now that it’s gone. I mean, I’m still dealing with allergies–we could talk about that–but who isn’t dealing with allergies? Considering the fact that my health has come so so far in the last forty-eight hours, it seems like whining to even mention my red, watery eyes. Not that I’m above whining. (Did I mention my ears itch too?) Still, I’ve had plenty of energy today and am not coughing as much as before, so things are definitely on the upswing–or is it the downhill?

Either way, praise the lord (and bless my heart).

This afternoon I went to my aunt’s house to repair her Sleep Number mattress. Apparently, the air pump for the mattress has been working (inflating and deflating), but the display on the attached remote hasn’t been. Last week the company sent my aunt a whole new unit (pump and fancy wireless remote), and I guess they told her “anyone can install it” and “it’ll only take five minutes.” Perhaps you see where this is going. Y’all, it took closer to an hour, since I had to disassemble the entire mattress in order to detach the old pump hoses and attach the new ones. Honestly, this wasn’t a big deal, but the old pump had a total of four hoses (two for each side of the bed), and the new pump only had a total of two. Convinced I was looking at the wrong pump for the job, I called the company.

Well, the lady explained that the old pump was designed to inflate through one hose and deflate through the other, somewhat like a divided highway. But the new pump was designed to inflate and deflate through the same hose (talk about a traffic jam), so all I had to do was hook one hose to each side, then plug the two extra holes in the mattress with the end caps they sent in the box. “Oh, those end caps,” I said. The she said, “So yeah–don’t worry–one hose is all you need.”

All I could think was, Oh honey, if only that were true.

After that things were basically a breeze, although I did almost get stuck crawling under the bed to plug in the air pump. (Apparently I’m no longer the size of an eight-year-old child.) But everything else was fine, that is until I walked through the garage to get my toolbox out of my car and stepped on one of those glue trap used to catch mice. I thought, You’ve got to be kidding. Y’all, those things don’t come off easily, especially when you’re hopping around on one foot. I felt like I was in an episode of The Three Stooges. Later, when I finally got the glue pad pulled off, I texted my sister about it, and she said, “At least there wasn’t a dead mouse on it.” I replied, “No, just a cockroach–and my shoe.”

This evening I went to the library to read and spent half my time looking at new books to borrow. (I walked out with three I didn’t walk in with.) Considering I already have plenty of other books to read, I’m starting to see this behavior as a mild form of self-deception. Like, I’ll make time to read that. Or I guess it could simply be the thrill of acquiring something new. Yesterday, for Cyber Monday, I picked up a couple new books for my Kindle on Amazon. I only spent two dollars, but you’d have thought I’d won the lottery. (Two new books!) Whether I read them or not, it is fun having a collection. Granted, I have to return the library books, but at least they don’t cost anything.

The book I actually read tonight was the one I got last week about allergies and sinus problems. So far the author has listed plenty of good tips about air filtration, diet, and supplements, but tonight he also said that love is a healing power. To me this means that the body and immune system thrive in an environment of positive relationships, connectedness, and self-acceptance.

Along these lines, I’ve decided I’d like to reframe how I look at some of my “healthy behaviors.” For example, nine days ago I restarted my chi kung practice. Chi Kung is an ancient Chinese healing art, somewhat similar to tai chi. Well, whenever I restart my practice, it’s usually because there’s a problem (like a chronic sinus infection), and I’m wanting to do something–anything–to make that problem go away. But I realized tonight there’s a difference between doing something because I want a problem to go away and doing something because I want to feel as good as possible. Maybe either way I’m still doing chi kung, but when I focus on the problem, the practice seems aggressive, like me versus (the sick) me. But when I focus on wanting to feel good, the practice seems loving, like me supporting (the sick) me.

Honestly, I think I do a lot of things in the spirit of aggression. I’m not talking about fists-clenched aggression, I’m talking about subtle aggression that simple sounds like part of me needs to be different than it is–healthier, smarter, richer, more attractive. It’s as if one part of me is trying to change another. Of course, this is virtually impossible because, well, I’m one person. So tonight I started telling myself, I’m reading because I like to read and because I love myself. I’m doing chi kung because I love my body and want it to heal. I’m getting stuck under my aunt’s bed and stepping on a mouse trap because I love her. Honestly, I think these actions were loving before, I just wasn’t acknowledging them as such and giving credit where credit was due because I was too busy focusing on what was “wrong.” But I’m finding there’s relief in recognizing the gifts you give to yourself and others, a lot of “letting your guard down,” a lot of “not being so hard on yourself,” a lot of “isn’t it nice to be home again?”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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Trying to Give Myself a Break (Blog #234)

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This afternoon I had the intention of participating in two of Matt’s dance workshops. (He’s teaching the second one now.) However, my body had other plans. When I went to bed last night, I was itchy all over, tired. When I woke up this morning, my cough had gotten worse–dryer, deeper. I’m assuming all of this is due to allergies, perhaps a side effect of the steroid I’m taking. Either way, I’m not impressed and am writing now in hopes of getting home and going to bed as soon as possible. Since I’m teaching a private lesson in an hour, I’ll probably have to finish this later, but a start is a start. I guess some days the best you can do is go through the motions.

Yesterday during our dance lesson, Matt asked me how he could keep his feet under his body when dancing to fast music. I said, “Not to be a shitty dance instructor, but the answer to the question is within the question. In other words, when dancing to fast music, you keep your feet under your body.” Well, today when Matt asked me how I was feeling and I told him, I said, “I’m really not a good sick person. I wish I could stop whining, but I don’t know how to.” So he said, “The answer to the question is within the question–you stop whining.”

Don’t it suck when people use your own wisdom against you?

After the private lesson today, I’m looking at a three-hour drive home. Personally, I hate traveling when I’m sick. That being said, I’ve driven an entire day with a sinus infection before and have flown with a stomach flu of biblical proportions on more than one occasion, so I know that if I can fly with a virus six miles above the earth and not puke on a stranger, I can make it back to Arkansas with a cough. Really, when I start comparing this illness to others I’ve survived, it’s pretty small potatoes. What’s three hours in a car? I don’t have a fever and I’m certainly not throwing up. So even though this feels as if it’s going to last forever, it probably won’t.

Get a grip, Marcus.

Okay, it’s about time to teach.

All right, I’m back. The lesson went well, but I currently feel like death. In fact, here’s my latest selfie.

I remember getting the flu right after my first broken heart. I wasn’t out at the time, so when people asked me what happened to X, I just said our friendship didn’t work out. The downside to a lie like this, of course, is that a broken heart gets suffered alone. So this fever, body aching thing happened, and I was out for ten days. I didn’t leave the house once, just slept on the futon and watched Turner Classic Movies. And whereas I’m sure I had a virus, I don’t think the fact that it happened right after the secret breakup was a coincidence. As I think about it now, my heart was shattered, so how could my body not follow suite?

One of my favorite authors and speakers is a doctor named Gabor Mate, and he talks a lot about the connection between stress or trauma and the physical body, the fact that getting sick is often the body’s way of saying no to something the person (through no fault of their own) is unable to. Anyway, seen in this light, sickness could be seen as the organism’s way of communicating, “We can’t live like this anymore. Acknowledge your broken heart. Come out of the closet. Something’s got to change.”

I often hesitate to launch into theories like this one, since it could sound like people get sick because they are doing something wrong. (That’s what you get for being in the closet!) However, this isn’t what the theories are saying. The idea is that, for example, if a person grows up and doesn’t know about boundaries–say they’re always doing things for other people but never for themselves–then sometimes the body will develop an illness as a way of bringing attention back to the self and establishing proper relationships. It’s like an alarm saying, “Houston, we have a problem.” I realize this is a brief, unscientific explanation, but there’s actually a lot of research behind it. (If you’re interested, look for Gabor Mate’s book, When the Body Says No.)

Anyway, I’m not saying I want to rearrange my life every time I get a common cold, but since I’ve had this infection for five weeks, I am starting to wonder if my body is saying no to something. I know I spend a lot of time getting frustrated with my body–I want it to look or feel differently than it does. But I can only imagine how frustrated my body gets with me, since I’m constantly go-go-going, don’t always eat right, and don’t always sleep much. One of my friends said that once during meditation she got an image of her body wagging its finger at her, like, “You are not twenty anymore–you’ve got to take better care of us.” And maybe it’s that simple, this sickness, just my body’s way of saying, “Please rest–like for more than a weekend.

“And no, this is not our idea of resting.”

Another thing I think about is that perhaps sickness actually gives me permission to whine. Not that I think whining and complaining are good ideas, but sometimes I think they happen because there’s something else underneath them. I know that personally I spend a lot of time trying to be strong. That probably started when Mom got sick and really kicked into high gear when Dad went to prison. You’re the man of the house now. Talk about a shit job for a teenager. Anyway, now I’m thirty-seven, and it still feels like I keep my muscles slightly tensed on a daily basis because I’m waiting for something else to go wrong, something I won’t be prepared to handle. Consequently, I never can fully relax–it’s exhausting. So sometimes I think getting sick is not only a chance to rest, but also an opportunity to let my guard down, ask for help, and stop being so strong for once.

I guess we all want an explanation when we don’t feel well–this happened because of that. As if life were that simple. Obviously a lot more things play into health and wellness than can be explained in a paragraph, and even the experts say we’re just starting to get a glimpse of the mind-body connection. But I personally don’t think it has to be complicated, even if it is complex. For me getting better is starting to simply look like not demanding so much of myself, not pushing myself to heal when my body obviously needs more compassion than that. Right here, right now, it looks like finishing this blog, driving back to Arkansas, going to bed, and giving my body the rest it deserves.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

Normal People Don’t Walk on Water (Blog #231)

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Okay, screw technology. I’m ready to go to bed, and the internet is slow. All I want to do is post tonight’s selfie, get in a thousand words, and call it a day–now. I swear, sometimes patience is more difficult to come by than others. Maybe I should consider becoming one of those people who honk in traffic. (You know who you are.) I never honk in traffic, perhaps because I can still picture my college psychology teacher saying, “Road rage starts at home.” But maybe honking would be a slightly more respectable way to blow off some steam than punching pillows. Either way, I’m taking my upset over one picture’s failure to load quickly as a sign that I need to calm down, perhaps get back to yoga.

It’d probably help if I didn’t drink a pot of coffee every day. At the very least, I could throw some more water down my throat. Earlier tonight in improv class, I was literally shaking from too much caffeine. I’m surprised my eyes didn’t pop out of my head–AH-OOH-GAH! Still, despite the fact that my body was about to vibrate across the room, I couldn’t string two thoughts together. My brain was like, “Nope–try again next time.” Whenever I lose my car keys, I keep looking for them in the same spot I usually put them. I always think they’ll magically appear because they’re supposed to be there! Anyway, my brain was that spot I kept going back to tonight in my search for ideas. But alas, it was empty every time.

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

I’m quite sure the problem with both my mood and my mind is the fact that my body is worn out. I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for a month now, and I didn’t sleep much last night because I went to the doctor early this morning. Thus all the coffee to prop me up. (The nurse at the doctor’s office said, “Your blood pressure is a little high. Have you had an energy drink?”) Anyway, considering the fact that my body has been waving the white flag for a week or two now, seeing my ear, nose, and throat doctor was the right decision. That being said, I really think our bodies should come equipped with computer screens, at least a scrolling marquee to send us messages. I get that our bodies are talking to us all the time, but I for one lost my decoder ring a long time ago and would be thrilled with even a dot-matrix printout of daily instructions like, Hello, anybody home? We could use some help here! Go to the damn doctor already.

Y’all, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a sinus doctor before, but in order to open you up and see what’s going on, they spray jet fuel up your nose. This isn’t so bad, but the jet fuel is also a numbing agent, and when it runs down the back of your throat, you can’t swallow for thirty minutes. Not that they bother to give you cup to spit in or anything. Thank god I’ve been so many times that I felt comfortable enough to take one off the supply table. I mean, what was I gonna do–spit in my hand–asphyxiate?

But I digress.

The doctor listened to all my questions and concerns about taking medication and said, “Thank you for being honest.” When I told him I was embarrassed by all the things I’ve been squirting up my nose in an effort to find an effective home remedy, he said, “Don’t be embarrassed, although there is some evidence that some of those things can be more irritating that helpful.” Afterwards, he shoved a scope up my nostrils, took a look around, and said that post-surgery, things looked fabulous. No polyps, no scar tissue–just an obvious infection that was probably eighty percent over. Still, he suggested I take some drugs to get me over the hump and back to baseline.

“It’s your call,” he said.

“Let’s do it. I’m tired of feeling bad.”

Then he said the best thing ever–and I’ve been waiting all day to put it in writing on the internet. He said, “You just caught something like any other person would. If it keeps happening, come back and we’ll discuss options, but a lot of people get sinus infections in the spring and fall that last six weeks on average. [Here comes the good part.] So don’t worry–you’re normal.”

Phew. I’m normal. My doctor said so.

This afternoon I went to a couple bookstores, picked up my drugs, then came home and took a nap before improv class. Off and on I’ve been considering this idea of being normal. It’s something my therapist has proposed on more than one occasion, to which I typically reply, “I’m not so sure about that.” As I think about it now, I guess for the longest time it’s felt like I needed to fix something because I wasn’t okay the way I was. Maybe it was chronic sinus infections, maybe it was a relationship (even if that relationship was with me). Either way, this idea that something needed to change–specifically, me–is what’s been pushing me toward all the self-help and alternative healing material over the years. And whereas I’m grateful for everything I’ve learned and don’t regret my path, it does–sometimes–occur to me to wonder, How much progress do I really need to make here? Just how perfect do I need to be?

(Just the right amount to walk on water, I suppose.)

Normal people don’t walk on water.

My mom says, “You don’t have to be exceptional every minute of every day.” To me this means that it’s okay to get sick, it’s okay to try to get better on your own, it’s okay to fail, and it’s okay to ask for help. (My mom also says, “We’re all in this together.”) What’s more, not having to be exceptional every minute of every day means I don’t have to try so hard, and I don’t have to take it as a personal shortcoming whenever I get sick. Hell, being sick is hard enough without the “I did something wrong” record on repeat. So going forward, I hope to remind myself that normal people don’t walk on water. Rather, we roll in and out like the tide. Getting sick and getting better, losing our keys (and our minds) and finding them, expecting too much of ourselves and giving ourselves a break–these are things that normal people do.

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.

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Giving My Own Self Some Damn Grace (Blog #217)

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When I woke up this morning, I felt worse than I did yesterday. Low energy, coughed up some junk. It wasn’t pretty. For a while, I actually thought about going to the doctor, but I’m kind of tired of doctors and all the drugs, so I ate breakfast and took a shower instead. Along the way, I decided to try sinus rinsing again (which I stopped a couple days ago), this time with a garlic infusion. I’ll explain. My chi kung teacher swears the best way to heal your sinuses is by putting a salad up your nose–well, by running sterilized, hot saline water over a clove of garlic, then using that water to rinse out your sinuses. The idea is that garlic is a natural antibiotic and anti-fungal, so no matter what’s causing the problem, it’ll get rid of it.

As a bonus, it’ll also keep vampires out of your nostrils.

Anyway, I tried the garlic-water-up-my-nose thing. Also, I added garlic to my diet because a stranger on the internet said to. Whatever, we’ll see how it goes. I will say that I’ve felt better this afternoon, and I even went for an almost-two-hour walk tonight, something I haven’t felt like doing for the last three weeks. Granted, I’m currently tired and holding my body upright with willpower and ambition, but aren’t we all?

I read recently that scientific studies have shown that vague prayers such as, “Thy will be done,” are more effective in healing than specific ones like, “God, heal Marcus’s sinuses,” or, “God, give Marcus the wisdom to stop putting vegetables and baby shampoo up his nose.” I guess the idea is that vague prayers show concern and compassion but drop any personal agenda that might presume to know what’s best for yourself or someone else. Anyway, I can’t remember the last time I asked someone to pray for me, but if you’d like to say, “Thy will be done” on my behalf, I’d appreciate it.

In other news, this is day two of clean eating. I promise not to become one of those people who post pictures of their organic lunches on the internet, but I am going to talk about them sometimes. (Like now.) Today I ate turkey and vegetables twice and salmon and canned peaches once. This is why I could never be a chief, since I thought that last meal was a good idea. But in my defense, it was easy, and–having done this before–pulling out the skillet three times a day gets old real fast. As I sit here now (sipping on peppermint tea with apple cider vinegar), I feel the same way about the diet as I do about the garlic water nasal rinse–hopeful that it will “work,” fearful that it won’t.

I guess whenever I start a diet like this, I’m always looking for a miracle. Once I ate clean for thirty days and lost sixteen pounds, but that’s never happened since. But it’d be nice if it would, and it’d also be nice if at the end of this month I could fit into all my clothes, my back didn’t hurt, and I had x-ray vision. Le sigh. Some things–most things–take more time than thirty days.

Unrealistic expectations aside, I do feel better when I eat well. If nothing else, I never feel stuffed and bloated. Tonight I met with my friend Bonnie to hang curtains. (She finally found some for our mutual friend. I’ll post pictures after the big reveal.) Anyway, she’s been eating “right” for the last month, and when I told her that after only two days of dieting I already felt like a skinny bitch, she said, “It’s kind of disappointing how good it feels to not eat junk.”

I mean, is she right, or is she right?

While walking tonight, I listened to part five (of seven) in a lecture on trauma and transformation. The speaker, James Finley, is a therapist and said that one of the benefits to a good therapist is that they put the client back in touch with themselves. Like, maybe you have a breakthrough or moment of compassion for yourself, and at first you give the credit to the therapist or even the office space, thinking someone or something else needs to be present in order for that good feeling to happen. But that breakthrough or compassion came from inside you, so it’s available all the time.

I’ve been thinking about this for the last few hours. I brag on my therapist a lot–she deserves it. I know she’s not a blood relative or even a traditional friend, but she treats me just as good if not better than anyone I’ve ever known–she never interrupts, she never tells me what to do, and she never judges me. In short, she respects me. Even when we disagree about something, we talk about it calmly, and she says our relationship can act as a model or ideal for other relationships in my life. Like, if I’m being bossed around or judged, that’s a clue that’s something is off. Anyway, I’m eternally grateful for all of this, but it occurred to me tonight that the way she treats me is the way I could treat myself–I could take that feeling of unconditional acceptance I have in her office with me when I walk out the door because I’m the one that’s feeling it.

To borrow a phrase from Bonnie, this means “giving my own self some damn grace,” not beating myself up for taking time to heal or starting a diet–again. Because that’s how it feels, like, I’ve tried all of this so many times before. But–for crying out loud–I’m just a human, and it’s our nature to struggle and try, to fall down and get back up again, to start over. I guess it’s also our nature to judge ourselves, to think we should be one way when we’re actually another. But I think that part can change, for surely if we can be patient with someone else (and all of us can), we can turn that love around to where it’s most needed.

Surely.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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Just the Way You Are (Blog #216)

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It’s 3:08 in the morning. Where did the day go? More importantly, where is tonight’s blog going? I honestly have no idea. This is only a slight problem, of course, since I’m the one writing it. I spent most the day burning fat. Keep your seats–I didn’t run a marathon or anything–I just started eating better. That’s right, today was day one of what will hopefully be a four-week dietary reset involving no bread, no refined sugar, no alcohol, no happiness. So far it’s going pretty well, except for the fact that I’m hungry, cranky, and have a headache. (I guess that’s the no happiness part.) Regarding the headache, I wish my parents didn’t keep the Ibuprofen bottle right next to the stool-softener bottle.

They look VERY similar.

I don’t want to speak too soon, but I’ve actually felt better today. I’ve had more energy–at least putting my jeans on didn’t wear me out–so I’m taking that as a good sign. Still, I’ve told myself I’m going to take it easy for the rest of the week, so I spent the day lying on the futon, working my way through a book about the mythological figure Lilith, the first wife of Adam. Yes, you read that right–Eve was God’s second choice. Apparently, Lilith was a feminist from the start, and when Adam said he wanted to be “on top,” Lilith said SHE wanted to be on top. Well, as my dad would say, this went over like a fart in church, and there was a fight. In the end, Lilith spent the rest of her days destroying creation and devouring newborn children, and Adam settled down with the more agreeable, albeit hungry for apples, Eve.

Obviously, nobody’s perfect.

As I understand it, a lot of religions and mythologies have a goddess like Lilith. The book mentioned the Babylonian Ishtar, and I’m familiar with the Hindu Kali. Whatever the case, these ladies are almost always temptresses and destroyers. I guess they could be compared to Cinderella’s step-mother or Snow White’s Evil Queen, and they are usually juxtaposed to benevolent female characters such as Mother Mary or Cindy’s fairy godmother. We like to make these sorts “all bad,” of course, but it seems as if life itself is a constant interplay of forces that destroy and create, destroy and create. Where would one be without the other?

This evening I went to the grocery store with a list for my parents and a list for me. Since my list was for my diet, I don’t mind saying that their list was infinitely more appealing. I mean, it had french fries on it; mine had chicken and lemons. Y’all, going to the grocery store when you’re on a diet really is discouraging. EVERYTHING has corn syrup in it. There are literally like five healthy foods in the entire world, and only two of them taste good. I realize I’m not starting this transformational journey with the best attitude, but I’m assuming that will improve once my body adjusts to the shock of pancake withdrawal. Plus, it doesn’t help that my checkout girl looked at my selection of vegetables and said, “We never eat those at my house–it’s all Twinkies and potato chips.”

I mean, she didn’t have to brag.

Tonight I video chatted with my friend Matt. He ate Taco Bell while we talked, so that was only a little difficult to watch. I told Matt that whenever I start a diet, I immediately start thinking of everything else I need to start, like walking in the afternoons, doing yoga at night, and wearing my retainer when I go to bed. (Look, Ma, I’m self-improving in my sleep!) Even when I haven’t felt well, there’s part of me that wants to push-push-push for perfection. It’s exhausting. But Matt said, “Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?”

Well there’s a novel idea.

Here’s a picture I snapped while talking to Matt. We were talking about dance, and he was using the fan to ask me a question about his “partner.” If I’d been thinking, I would have said, “Tell her to chill out.'”

A couple years ago I’d stopped smoking cigarettes but picked them back up again. Prone to beat myself up about such things, I brought the topic up in therapy, and my therapist said, “You’re just upset because you expect things to always be the same. Just give it some time–it will change–and then it will probably change again.” I’ve been thinking and blogging about this a lot lately, the idea that everything comes and goes. So much of me wants to get my life and body a certain way and have them stay that way, but that’s not how things works. You get sick for a while, then you get better. You eat right, then you don’t, and then you do again. This, I’m learning, is normal and how life works. Habits are constantly created and destroyed, nobody is on top all the time, and aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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If at First You Don’t Succeed, Lower Your Standards (Blog #214)

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This morning while preparing breakfast I mistook my middle finger for a sweet potato and cut it with a serrated knife. This is the kind of shit that happens when you eat vegetables for breakfast. I mean, I didn’t expose any bones or sever anything important, and I can still give people the bird. (So don’t cut me off in traffic.) But I did leave a mark toward the top, not deep enough to hurt, but deep enough to bleed. Now I have two Bandaids wrapped around it, and I’m having trouble typing the letters E, D, and C, and the number 3. But don’t you worry–somehow I’ll survive.

Recently I did an exercise in a self-help book that involved circling statements that seemed true for me, things that held a charge like “I’m shameful” or “I’m not worthy of love.” Personally, the one that stood out the most was “I’m not good enough,” I guess because it always feels like life would be better or Zac Efron would propose if I were smarter, taller, or more-er than I currently am. Anyway, I had therapy this afternoon, so I told my therapist pretty much word-for-word what I just told you.

“Okay, I want evidence. Give me empirical data. How are you not good enough?”

“Uh–well–uh–hum–yeah.”

“That’s right. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

As we continued to talk, my therapist said that “not good enough” really wasn’t a feeling, so we agreed the word “inadequate” was a better description. I often feel–inadequate. But still, she shut down the pity party pretty promptly (tongue-twister!), simply by reminding me that sure, I’ll always have more to learn because I’m an eternal student–but that doesn’t mean I’m not up to whatever the task is in this moment. “You were fine the day you walked in here. You’d had some experiences that lead you to certain circumstances, and you wanted something different. You’ve come a long way. But you were fine then, and you’re fine now.”

Phew. That’s a relief.

After therapy I spent the entire day at the library. I went with intentions of cozying up to one of the several books I’d already started, but I ended up spending time with two new ones instead. For this reason, it felt as if I was having an affair. As I turned the pages of the new books, I hoped the old ones wouldn’t find out. But stories travel fast, especially in a library, so I imagined myself going home to my Kindle and having to apologize. Baby, that cheap library book didn’t mean a thing. It was an accident–I was drunk. You’re the one really love!

Anyway, I didn’t even check out (get it–check out?) the first book, The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. Rather, I just pulled it off the shelf, sat down in a chair, and read it straight through. Only stopped to go to the bathroom three times. I love it when this happens with a book–total immersion. It feels so decadent. And yes–I just used the word “decadent” to describe reading. And no–no, I’m not a virgin.

The second book I loved on today was Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine by Larry Dossey, MD. (I didn’t actually finish it at the library, which means I had to bring “the mistress” home.) Toward the beginning of the book, the author tells a story about a back pain he once had that left him bedridden. Involved in both western medicine and alternative healing practices, he had several friends who came to his side, laid their hands on him, and treated him with crystals and god knows what else. Well, he said he loved it, but it didn’t solve his problem. Eventually he had surgery, reasoning, I’ve given this a good shot, but I’m tired of the pain.

What I loved about this story is that I completely related to it. For twenty years I struggled with chronic sinus infections, and I tried every “natural” remedy under the sun. Because there’s a lot of new age and spiritual material that touts the power of the mind over the body, I not only felt sick, but I also felt bad for being sick. If I knew more, I wouldn’t have a fever. If I were more spiritual, I wouldn’t be hacking up a lung right now. It was like each infection was another reason to beat up on myself–to not feel good enough.

This, of course, sucked. (I finally had surgery earlier this year.)

But the book said sickness happens to plants and animals as well as humans–it’s just part of life, not something we can avoid if we eat enough wheatgrass. We can and should try to be healthy, of course, but at some point, enough is enough. This reminds me of a cartoon bookmark I used to have in elementary school. It said, “If at first you don’t succeed, lower your standards.” Clearly, my standards have been too high for too long–I’ve been asking too much of myself then feeling “not good enough” every time I get sick, get dumped, or don’t get asked to the prom. But as my therapist pointed out, “not good enough” is simply not reality.

In the story of Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin spins straw into gold in exchange for the queen’s firstborn child. When the child is born, Rumpelstiltskin comes to collect his wages, but says that if the queen can guess his name (which she does), she can keep her child. I heard once that one of the takeaways of this story is learning to speak your fears out loud, to name them. If you can do this, they’ll go running. Well, between what I learned from my therapist and the book today, I think an appropriate name for my fear of not being good enough would be–Bullshit. Regardless, I do think there’s power in stating your insecurities and realizing not only that you don’t have any proof to back them up, but also that you’re not the only one who has them. We all feel inadequate from time to time. But the truth is we’re fine right here, right now, and we always have been.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

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Time Well Spent (Blog #200)

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9:33 AM

I’ve been awake for an hour or so, and I just finished a continental breakfast here at the glorious Comfort Inn and Suites in Carbondale, Colorado. Check out is in an hour and a half, so I’m about to take a shower, pack up, and hit the road. (It’s been real.) My destination is Albuquerque, where my sister lives, and it should take about eight hours, stops included. Because I’m still feeling yuck, blah, and gross, I imagine it’s going to be a long day. Jesus, take the wheel. Still, at the end of the road will be the ones I love. All things considered, life is good.

If it’s not obvious, I’ll be writing the blog in “installments” today to make my life easier. If you can think of some little something to make your life easier today, do it–you have my full support.

4:12 PM

I think I just set a new personal record. I drove for five and a half hours without a pit stop. I didn’t realize that was possible, so I’m considering nicknaming my bladder Champ. Who knows why the sudden change in behavior? Usually I pee constantly. Maybe my kidneys got enlightened this weekend, or maybe I’m just dehydrated.

The drive so far has been surreal. For whatever reason, my mind is at ease, and my usual sense of nervousness is nowhere to be found. Even when driving along narrow roadways with steep drop-offs, I was like, Whatever. I’ve only taken one picture (at a stoplight in Aspen), but the scenery has been gorgeous–Colorado and New Mexico in the fall are basically God’s backyard. Anyway, I’m in road-warrior mode and ready to see my nephews, so I’ll write more later.

8:08 PM

I got to my sister’s a couple of hours ago. When I arrived, the nephews started bouncing off the walls, and even Ander (the younger one), who usually hides from me, went nuts. They were skipping, jumping, leading me outside then back in. Eventually I sat down for dinner (thanks, Dee-Anne) and visited with my sister and her husband while Ander scooted across the kitchen floor on his back and repeatedly said, “Ow, ow, ow.” My brother-in-law said, “Imagine this non-stop for seven years.” I said, “I can’t.”

Seriously, how do parents do it? Well, how do parents who don’t drink do it?

Before Christopher (the older nephew) went to bed, he put a craft book on the table and asked me to help him make a paper airplane.  Seriously, this kid is great with building and making things, so he probably could have done it himself, but I guess this was an “advanced” model. Y’all, uncle-ing is hard. The instructions had like ten steps–the plane had a tail fin and everything. It was super detailed, complicated actually, and a couple times I thought, I can’t figure this out. But then I did–it finally came together. What’s more, it flew!

That’s right, I’m thirty-seven and can make a paper airplane.

But get this shit. Christopher–that little turd–ran straight to my sister and said, “Mom–I made an airplane!”

(Awkward pause)

“Well, I helped make one.”

9:40 PM

We always have more support than we realize.

For the last hour I’ve been chatting with my sister, but she just went to bed because she’s a mom. Anyway, I really like her. We talked about our family, school, and our individual responses to some of the bullshit we went through as children–specifically the fact that she expressed her emotions back then and I stuffed mine way, way down. (It’s okay, they’ve been working their way back up–like they do.) Since Dee-Anne lives so far away and most of my healing progress has happened the last few years, sometimes I forget that she went through a lot of the same stuff I did. Of course, it’s always good to remember that you’re not alone. We always have more support than we realize.

10:08 PM

A couple hours ago I realized that today’s blog is number 200. That’s 200 days in a row of sitting down, more than once propping my eyelids open with toothpicks, and opening my mind and heart for both me and the world to see. The goal is every day for a year, and I recently hit the halfway mark (183 days), but I note it on the blog every fifty days if I remember. So that’s why we’re talking about it now.

When I started this blog over six months ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Since I’ve been living back at home, I was originally going to call the blog Me and My Parents, then Me, My Parents, and My Therapist. But I thought, Surely I’ll move out again one day, so I dropped my parents altogether (but just from the blog). Anyway, as I’m writing about the blog now, it makes me want to cry. Maybe that’s because I’ve come to think of it as a friend. We have all these memories together. Each night we cuddle up together, I talk about my day, and the blog listens, wraps me up in its arms, and tells me I’m okay.

I’ve said it before, but I can’t overemphasize what a positive journey this has been. I’m out of work, living with my parents, and really have no idea what the rest of my life will hold. On the surface, I don’t have a lot to show. But beneath the surface, where it counts, I’m better than I ever have been. I’m less afraid and more sure than ever before. I’m more self-confident, comfortable in my own skin. I’m not perfect, of course, but I own my shit and am either working on it or okay with saying, “I’m fine the way I am.” The reason I want to cry, of course, is because I realize it’s not the blog that’s been my friend these last 200 days–it’s me–I’m the one who’s been there for me.

10:31 PM

At the spiritual retreat this last weekend, the teacher was joking about how people approach their spiritual lives, like, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a few free hours between errands today, I’ll check out that meditation thing.” This attitude, of course, is ridiculous. After all, he said, what’s more important than your freedom?

Learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing.

I’ve thought about this question off and on today. I know I’ve worried a lot this last year about how I’m going to make a living or what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but when I consider how much freer, happier, and peaceful I am now as compared to six months ago, all that “worldly stuff” pales in comparison. I’m not saying this process has been easy. On the contrary, there have been plenty of days that it’s felt like making a complicated paper airplane and letting someone else take the credit for it. Often the road has been long, and I haven’t felt so great. Still, I’d recommend the journey to anyone. For surely learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing, and making time to be your own friend is time well spent. And here’s what I can promise–at the end of the road will be the ones you love (and that includes you), and things will finally come together.

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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Working on Crowd Control (Blog #188)

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Currently it’s after midnight, and I’m house sitting for some good friends who have two cats named Oscar and Riley. Just moments ago I sneaked a selfie with Riley, who’s hanging out on the dining room table. I’ll be here for a while, so expect a lot of pictures of me and cats. I mean, they’re adorable, even though Riley threw up this afternoon, probably to let me know that my stay here isn’t going to be a complete cakewalk. Or maybe the vomit was just a commentary on my outfit. It’s hard to say because I don’t speak feline. Anyway, in addition to having two cats, my friends also have a hot tub, and I’ve told myself I can’t use it tonight until I finish blogging. I figure that’s better than coming in all limp and tired and passing out on my keyboard. But if this ends up being my shortest blog yet, you’ll know why.

I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve spent the afternoon watching so much Netflix that my eyeballs feel like they’re going to fall out and roll across the floor, right past the cat vomit. (Just kidding, I cleaned it up.) I started with an episode of Embarrassing Bodies, then delved into a documentary called The Perfect Physique about the world’s top male fitness models. It was fascinating. One of the guys was the current Mr. Universe, another guy had a backpack specially designed for meal prep, and I’m pretty sure all of them had muscles in their earlobes. Of course, I’m always interested in psychology, so what I found most fascinating was why several of the guys got into body building to begin with. One of them had a wife who left him for a weightlifter. Another got bullied as a child. And even after winning Mr. Universe, that guy said he still wasn’t happy because he had to maintain his title and there’s always more to achieve.

I think what interests me about all this is that I often get pretty hung up on looks. I see someone on the cover of a magazine, and it’s easy to assume they have their all their shit together. But–duh–they’re only humans, each with his own story, motivations, and fears. All of us think we’ll be happy when, but happiness is an inside job. After all, if happiness is attached to having something like the perfect physique, a certain job, or so much money in your bank account, what happens when those things change?

Earlier today I saw my therapist–not like at the grocery store, but for therapy. We talked about the dream I had about her last week and the fact that her hair was unkempt in the dream. Well, over three years of therapy has paid off–my guess was right. Her messy hair had to do with my vanity and concern for outward appearances. I said that lately I haven’t been hyper focused on my physical body, but rather my circumstances–no boyfriend, no job, no place of my own, stuff like that. First, she reminded me that the image I have in my head of a successful man is a heterosexual stereotype, and I should take better advantage of the fact that I’m a homosexual and keep doing things the way I want to do them. Second, she said there are a lot of people who would trade places with me in a heartbeat.

I told my therapist that really, I’m the only one judging me. No one else in my life is giving me shit for anything. (She said this was partly the result of my having “cleaned house” with my relationships.) Then she said, “Yeah, you’re performing for an audience of one, and you’re a tough critic.” Then she added,

“You need to do some serious crowd control.”

After the Netflix documentary about the muscle gods, I went for a run for the first time in several weeks. Normally I would shoot for a solid hour of running, but–in the vein of being gentle with myself–I stopped when my body said to (around thirty minutes) and walked the rest of the way home. Feeling motivated, I sautéed some chicken and spinach for dinner. Well–apparently–it takes more than thirty minutes of cardio and one healthy meal to get on the cover of a fitness magazine, since no one’s contacted me about a photo shoot despite the fact that I’m right here metabolizing as we speak, in my underwear no less.

In addition to Netflix, I’ve been bingeing on self-help reading material lately. For a while I’ve been working through Pema Chodron’s Comfortable with Uncertainty, earlier this week I finished Childhood Disrupted (about how stress in childhood contributes to illness in later life), and I just started a book about a therapy technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). I also have two other books cued up to read, but–suffice it to say–it’s a lot even for me. Anyway, part of this is my love of learning, but another part is the feeling that I need to change or fix something.

Specifically, me.

In this moment, we are all okay.

When my therapist and I talked about this today, she said that the desire for constant self-improvement carries with it a certain feeling of “I’m not good enough the way I am.” Pema Chodron refers to this as a subtle form of self-aggression. So I’m working on my relationship with my inner critic. Clearly he’s had his say, and it’s gotten us this far. But my therapist is right–it’s time for some crowd control. If I want to change something, fine. But I can do it because I love me and want my life to be different, not because there’s a problem with me right here, right now. In this moment, I’m okay. (I’m about to get in a hot tub.) But really–in this moment, we are all okay.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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The Beatles, Bananas, and Blogging (Blog #187)

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Today I overslept, even by my standards, because I forgot to set my alarm last night. Despite the fact that I woke up “on my own,” I still had plenty of time to eat breakfast and get ready to go to my one hour of work this week. I guess there’s an advantage to having a dad who screams when he’s on the phone and a mom who tries to quiet him down by saying, “RON! BE QUIET–MARCUS IS SLEEPING!” I mean, who needs an alarm clock when you live with people who are losing their hearing?

This afternoon I met with the group of ladies I’ve been teaching lately. For about two months, they’ve been practicing a routine to perform at a talent show/fundraiser, and the event is next week. Today was our next-to-last rehearsal, and I think everyone was scared shitless. I guess this is how it should be. In my experience with dance performances and event planning, it doesn’t matter how early you start–everything comes together at the last minute. More often than not, things go better than planned. Thankfully, even when they don’t, life goes on.

Ob-la-di.

After dance I sat on the porch with Bonnie and Todd and convinced myself that drinking two beers was the equivalent of eating of a light, healthy dinner. Well, right about the time I was counting calories, Bonnie brought out Todd’s bananas, and I mean that literally because Todd has a banana tree in his backyard. Anyway, this was the first bunch Todd’s ever picked or plucked or whatever you do with bananas, so when Bonnie gave me a bite to sample, I kind of felt like a celebrity judge on one of those cooking shows. Taking care to cleanse my palate first with alcohol, I raised my pinky finger, placed the banana in my mouth, and tasted away. Well, we all agreed the bananas were still a little green, at least on the inside. Maybe that had something to do with Arkansas and bananas, but it could have just been that we ate them too soon.

When I left Todd and Bonnie’s, I went to the library, which is turning out once again to be a great place for high-speed internet and watching videos. Plus, it’s quiet and people leave you the hell alone. I did get a little nervous in the bathroom today, however, just after I’d used the urinal. Intent on washing my hands, I got distracted by the mirror and started dancing to the music in my headphones. Well, I heard a toilet flush, so I stopped. I’ve been caught again, I thought. But then I realized the flush came from the urinal I’d just used, since everything is automatic and on a slight delay these days.

Phew.

So I got to the library two hours before they closed and started watching a two-and-a-half hour video about personal transformation. Considering I have a hangup with completion, this thirty-minute time difference turned out to be a real problem. Well, since Starbucks is open late, I just went there to finish watching the video. This worked out beautifully, since I could really spread out, drink hot tea, and basically pretend I had a regular job–or just a job, period.

I guess I give myself a lot of shit about the fact that I’m not working and really earning a dollar lately. I mean, I pick up stuff now and then, but I spend most my time going for walks, reading books, and blogging, none of which currently pay the bills. Whenever I talk to my therapist about this, she says it would be difficult to not feel pressure about not working because I’m a man who lives in America, and pretty much everyone over here believes men should work for money and money is equal to self-value. But she also says I don’t have to play by everyone else’s rules, that what I’m doing now is an investment, and she thinks that investment will pay off. In her words, “It’s just the way the universe works.”

Some days it’s easier to believe this than others.

When I first started blogging, I was checking my site stats every day to see how many people were visiting the site and how many pages they were clicking on. Well, this is an exhausting thing to do. No matter what the number is, you always wish it were higher. If one person comments or gives you a thumbs up, you want it to be two. All that being said, I just looked at my site stats, and they seem lower than normal. Of course, part of me gets why this could happen, and another part of me thinks, Fuck blogging–I could be watching Will and Grace.

All things become ripe when they’re ready.

It’s moments like these that I have to remind myself why I started this blog in the first place, and it wasn’t to get a certain number of page views each day. That’s nice if it happens, of course, but I started this blog to develop a discipline of consistent writing and to further my self-growth with daily honesty, vulnerability, and introspection. With those things as standards, this blog has been nothing but a success. When I really think about what this blog has done for me personally, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I guess sometimes I get so focused on some future performance that I forget to enjoy rehearsing, which is, of course, where the real work takes place. It’s like I’m trying to eat a banana while it’s still green, forcing something to grow before its time. With this in mind, I simply return to the keyboard, trusting that all things become ripe when they’re ready, things usually go better than planned anyway, and ob-la-di and no matter what, life goes on.

[Here’s a link to that song by The Beatles.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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Handing Out Gold Stars (Blog #186)

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Earlier tonight I had a piece of food stuck in my teeth–well–in my permanent bottom retainer. You know how food gets stranded in your mouth, the way it hangs in there like a bad relationship, refuses to give up like Cher. You keep digging at the food remnant with your tongue, jabbing at it from all angles, swishing your spit around, hoping. Before long, you’ve got yourself a full-fledged hobby. Anyway, this went on for a couple hours with what I assume was a piece of tuna. Finally, I called for backup in the form of a toothpick, which quickly and easily dislodged the fishy little offender.

A toothpick–now there’s a novel idea.

Speaking of novels, I spent the evening at the library, mostly using the fast internet, but also reading. Earlier this summer I started watching TNT’s television show Will, which is about young, sexy William Shakespeare. Initially I was interested because Shakespeare was–I don’t know–a pretty good writer, but I don’t mind saying I’ve stuck with the series because of the young, sexy part. Anyway, as of today, I had three episodes left to watch, and midway through the second, I hit my mobile hotspot data limit. (When that happens, things slow way down. I can still blog, but video watching is challenging to the point that I start cussing.) So I went to library and finished the series.

Phew. Another item completed. I may have to give myself a gold star.

So I have this fear about undercooked chicken. Maybe I should start by saying I’m not the best in the kitchen–at least if we’re talking about preparing food. I mean, I don’t suck (again, at preparing food), but it’s rare that I don’t end up with a piece of shell in my bowl whenever I crack an egg. Several years ago I heard that you could put a can of beans directly on the stovetop in order to cook them, and I thought this sounded like culinary genius. Also, once while I was cutting up Velveeta cheese to microwave for cheese dip, I had a friend take away my knife because “I was doing it completely wrong.” Clearly, we all have our talents.

Anyway, anyone who can fuck up cheese dip can most certainly fuck up chicken, and I most certainly have on more than one occasion. Of course, if you’ve ever eaten undercooked chicken, you know it ain’t pretty. But what do you do? Obviously, you sit there, moan, and regret.

This may come as a surprise, but sometimes I can be a teensy bit dramatic and make things out to be a bigger deal than they really are. (I’ll give you a moment to get over the shock.) Well, earlier this year I told my sister that I was afraid of undercooking chicken, and she said, “That’s funny, it’s not complicated,” then explained the whole process. I thought, You can do this, Marcus. It’s just a damn bird. Since then, I’m proud to say, things have gone a lot better. Why, I even had chicken (and sweet potatoes and kale) for breakfast today.

Well.

When I left the library I went for a walk, first around a nearby park because there was a guy working out without his shirt on, then around a local neighborhood. Maybe thirty minutes into the walk is when my stomach started cramping. Putting both hands on my belly, I thought, Uh oh–the chicken. Immediately, I began power walking, simultaneously wondering, If I absolutely had to, could I shit in someone’s front yard and not get caught? Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. Actually, when I got to my car and sat down, the cramps got considerably better, so maybe it was just the exercise my stomach didn’t like.

For maybe a couple years I’ve had a book on my Amazon wish list called Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee by Austin Coats. I honestly don’t remember where I first heard about the book, but it’s a memoir about addiction. Several times since adding the book to my list, I’ve thought about reading it. But I’m always reading multiple books at any given time, addiction isn’t one of my favorite topics, and I figured the only reason the book kept catching my eye was because of the clever title. Anyway, for the last several days, I haven’t been able to get the title out of my head. Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee, Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee, Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee. You know how your brain puts stuff on repeat. Well, I’m always asking the universe questions, and I do believe this sort of thing (intuition) is one of the ways it can answer, so I started with Googling the author.

As it turns out, the author is from Fort Smith. That’s weird, I’m from Fort Smith too! Half expecting to hear the theme from The Twilight Zone, I looked around the room for hidden cameras and thought, Fine, you have my attention. I’ll buy the book. So now I’m a couple chapters into it, things are going fine except for the fact that the guy’s addicted to drugs, and I’ll report more later.

For the last hour and a half–the entire time I’ve been blogging–one of the virus scanners on my laptop has been downloading new virus definitions. Apparently it’s been two years since I’ve updated them. (Whoops.) Anyway, I guess the internet is really, really slow, and–oh my god, I’m not kidding–it just finished. That feels good. Another item completed. I may have to give my laptop a gold star.

Way to go, laptop.

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

As I’ve mentioned before, I have a hangup on completion, a big enough hangup that all my therapist has to do is say, “Completion,” and we can save about thirty minutes of dialogue because we’ve had that conversation so many times it’s not even funny. Still, it keeps coming up, so I guess we’re not completely done with the topic of completion. How’s that for ironic? Honestly, the more I live, I’m not sure that anything is ever done. I mean, I finished a television series today and picked a piece of food out of my teeth tonight after dicking around with it for two hours, but I still have a dozen other shows flagged to watch in my Netflix cue, and I plan to eat again tomorrow. One thing finishes, another starts. And as for why my stomach cramped up earlier or why I thought about buying that book for two years and finally did tonight, I can’t say. Things happen when they happen. But I’m starting to believe that the universe doesn’t hand out gold stars, at least for watching television shows or making cheese dip. If anything, the rewards come for simply braving the kitchen, for being willing to show up here in the first place.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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