Hooray, We’re Here! (Blog #110)

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Bonnie and I spent all damn day shopping. Well, okay, I slept until noon, AND THEN we spent all damn day shopping. FINE. We also stopped for tacos, and–out of the clear blue sky–two Old Fashioneds poured themselves down my throat while I just sat there and let it happen. I mean, you have to pick your battles. ANYWAY, except for all of that–we spent all damn day shopping.

It was exhausting.

We bought a welcome mat at Target that we thought would be perfect for Annie’s Pilates studio. We didn’t tell Annie, so don’t go blogging about it or anything. Anyway, it’s super cute and–well–welcoming. Not only is it in the color family of the studio (teal, turquoise, blue, cyan), but it also says, “hooray you’re here!” Hooray, you’re here! What a perfect message–here could mean here at the studio–here in Austin–here on the planet. I just love it. I’m seriously considering buying one for my house–except I don’t have a house. Of course if I did, I’d probably have to put a note on the door that said, “Welcome mat does not apply to 1) government officials, 2) anyone trying to convert me to a religion or sell me a vacuum cleaner, or 3) little children hocking raffle tickets, buckets of popcorn, or overpriced candy bars.”

In those cases, Hooray, you’re leaving!

Here’s a picture of me and a pillow from Target that says, “Every day is an adventure.” I tried to look as unexcited as possible because I like ironic humor. Well, shit. The grammar nerd in me is not happy, since I just noticed that whoever made the pillow wrote “everyday,” instead of “every day.” One word instead of two. First the president and now this. Seriously, folks–we’re going downhill fast.

Here are the tacos we stopped for, at a place called FoxHole. Technically only I stopped for tacos because Bonnie stopped for pizza. But since I ate half of it, I guess I stopped for that too. Anyway, it was a delightful lunch, and the moral of the story is–shopping burns A LOT of calories.

After refueling, we went to Z Gallerie (and a hundred and three other places) in search of the perfect curtains–which are apparently harder to find than the Holy Grail. (Later we did end up with something that MAY work but has to be ordered.) Anyway, we certainly had fun trying. Check out this cool plate Bonnie found. The text on the plate is probably a more accurate description of what transpired at lunch than the one I just offered. It says, “Butt weight…there’s more.”

It’s funny because it’s true. Don’t you hate that?

Before the shopping ended, while we were at a cool store called Arhaus (is a very, very, very fine house), I got stung by a bee. You read that right–a honey bee stung me. There I was, minding my own business, doing my small part to rid the world of ugly window treatments, and one of God’s little creatures planted his stinger right in the middle of my throat. Ouch! I was at the top of an escalator when it happened, felt a little prick on my neck (there’s a dirty joke there somewhere), and ended up brushing a freaking bee off my skin. Well, I immediately stepped on it. (Sorry, not sorry, fella. You fucked with the wrong guy.) And don’t even think about judging me for killing that son of a bee. (See what I did there?) He started it. Plus, apparently honey bees die when they sting someone anyway.

Here’s a picture of the stinger that little jerk left in my throat. Bonnie pulled it out. Yeah, Bonnie!

Oh, and don’t worry. I’M OKAY. My throat didn’t swell up, and I didn’t stop breathing (except to drink a beer later). I’ve had more of a reaction from a mosquito bite. Go figure.

Tonight I went to a swing dance at The Fed, The Texas Federation of Women’s Clubs. The Fed is housed in a gorgeous–gorgeous–historic building with a beautiful–beautiful–ballroom. Tonight was my first time there. Anyway, I ran into my friends Matt and Laura, who were two of the first people to start teaching Lindy Hop in Austin. I told them I wanted to move to town, and Laura said, “Come on! This city will love you.” Matt added, “Most of us artists have day jobs, but those are easy enough to find.”

It was the perfect thing. Most the time when I travel to dances, people are “nice.” But only now and then do I get a warm welcome like the one I got from Matt and Laura, one that ends with the exchanging of phone numbers and an “I hope to see you later.” Honestly, it felt like–Hooray, you’re here!

Later Laura introduced me to some friends, and when I mentioned I’d like to move to town, one of them said that jobs were hard to find. Like, Uh, good luck. And–internally–the weirdest thing happened. Normally I would have been immediately discouraged, started thinking about how difficult it would be when I finally get around to moving. But instead I thought, “That won’t be my experience. Jobs are easy to find.”

When the universe speaks–listen.

When I got back from the dance, I went for a long run, and I started thinking about how much my perspective has changed since starting this blog. Earlier today I told Bonnie that I thought all the lessons were actually learned over the last several years, but that I’ve only taken ownership of them in the last three months. Plus, I’m believing more than ever that I’m connected to something much bigger than myself. Lately I’ve been saying and writing the affirmation, “My dreams come from God, and God has the power to accomplish them.” My friend Suzanne says, “First you know something, and then you KNOW something.” That’s all I can tell you–now I KNOW it–when it’s time for me to move and when it’s time for me to get a job, I will.

There’s a quote by JD Salinger that comes from one of his short stories that says, “‘I was six when I saw that everything was God, and my hair stood up, and all,’ Teddy said. ‘It was on a Sunday, I remember. My sister was a tiny child then, and she was drinking her milk, and all of a sudden I saw that she was God and the milk was God. I mean, all she was doing was pouring God into God, if you know what I mean.'” What I love about this quote–God pouring God into God–is that it makes me feel better about those Old Fashioneds pouring themselves down my throat today. It was like–holy. It also reminds me to have faith. God can get God a job, if God thinks God needs one. As Caroline Myss says, “Life takes care of life.”

So get this shit.

When I got home from my run, there was a book sitting on my dresser called What the Bee Knows. I guess I took it out of my bag yesterday. And since–you know–I just got stung by a bee, I figured I ought to pick it up. (When the universe speaks–listen.) Well, the book was written by PL Travers and is a collection of essays about myth, symbol, and story-telling. So I flipped to the article with the same title as the book and found out that bees, in all time-periods and cultures, are a symbol for life–life as immortality, which could be seen as one thing changing into and out of many forms. God pouring God into God. Fascinating, right?

Butt weight–there’s more.

I suppose it’s ironic (funny) that in a number of languages the word for bee means “life” or “living,” especially when you consider how easily bees die when they either sting someone or get stepped on by a pissed-off curtain shopper. But just as Christ spent three days in the grave, bees spend the winter (three months) in their hives, only to reappear in the spring (raised to walk–er–fly–in newness of life). So today I’m reminded–by a bee sting of all friggin’ things–that although parts of our lives pass away just as insects and even people do, new parts of our lives continually spring forth. Life itself marches forward, every day is an adventure, and one part of God is always saying to another, “Hooray, we’re here!”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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When God Speaks the Loudest (Blog #108)

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Last night–er–yesterday morning (whatever)–I went to bed at seven-thirty. The sun had been up for over an hour. I woke up at three in the afternoon, the latest I’ve slept in a week. It felt glorious. Having absolutely nothing on my agenda, I spent today reading. I even took a nap. Currently it’s two in the morning, and I’m still tired. But I’m committed to writing, so I’ll be awake for a while. I know that a lot of people wear exhaustion like a badge of honor, so I’d like to be clear–I’m not trying to put myself on a cross or anything. I’m just stating facts.

This evening my sister came to visit with her two sons (my nephews). The older one, Christopher, is seven and almost always bouncing off the walls. Tonight was no exception. As soon as he popped out of my sister’s car, he ran and gave my mom a huge hug, then sprinted to my dad and hung from his neck like a piece of jewelry. And then he (FINALLY) saw me, and as I scooped him up in the air he said, “I’m as tall as the house!” While all this went on, the younger boy, Ander, hung back and quietly observed. He’s three now, and he’s only recently gotten to the point where strangers–and by strangers I mean me–don’t make him cry. (What can I say? It’s a gift.)

Here’s a picture of Christopher with the Star Wars Lego set my mom gave him tonight. He said it was “the best gift EVER,” and immediately started to put it together. You’ll notice he’s wearing a t-shirt that says “limitless,” which I assume refers to his energy levels. He reminds me of that pink bunny with the drum, the one that keeps going and going. You should see what happens when my dad gives him candy.

I guess your perspective changes with age. Since Ander was born, I’ve been someone he’s been “not so sure” about. But tonight, he must have seen me differently, since we played ball together for the longest time, and he was giggling and laughing. He even let me pick him up. Mom had given him a little book that played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and Dad suggested I take Ander outside to look at the sky. So that’s what I did, and even though it was still light out, there were a couple bright spots up there. I’m guessing at least one of them was a planet, but like a toddler (or I) can tell the difference. Either way, I pointed at the stars/planets, and Ander tilted his head up in wonder.

Christopher’s perspective, in his words, is currently, “Everyone in this house is OLD.” And whereas I remember thinking about my parents and grandparents like that at his age, the older I get, the older “old” gets. I mean, it’s DEFINITELY not thirty-six, even though it is probably time to stop saying “totes,” “on the serious,” and “fo sheezy.”

Believe it or not, the boys eventually wound down and went to bed. (There may have been Benadryl involved.) So for a while it was just us adults, and my sister and I had a conversation about my sleep schedule. She said (in my own words), “I get that some people are night owls, but you’ve taken that concept to a whole new level. Couldn’t you write earlier, go to bed earlier?”

Well, this is a conversation I’ve had more than once in the last few months, about how my days and nights have been flipped around, how there are some days when I only see the sun shining for a few hours. Honestly, it’s not the easiest way to live, especially on days when morning doctor appointments are made. I mean, let’s face it–the world runs mostly on daylight. That being said, I can’t tell you how much I’ve come to love staying up late. This afternoon while I was reading, there was so much noise–the television was on, the dog was barking, and my parents were up using the ice machine, running the microwave, and sneezing (I mean, it is their house). Plus, the phone was ringing, and cars were going up and down the street.

So much noise. So many distractions.

But now, at three in the morning, it’s blissfully quiet. The air conditioner is running, a fan blows from a room down the hall, and every so often a mouse patters across the living room carpet. (I try not to think about the mouse.) But otherwise, it’s just me, the sound of my breath, the gentle clacking of the keyboard. I can actually hear myself think. Plus, almost every night something shows up on the page out of nowhere–it’s like I’m taking instant dictation from the divine–and I’m starting to think having solitude and quiet makes it easier for that happen. It’s like God comes out at night because he doesn’t like distractions anymore than I do.

I’ve heard that it’s a universal experience for people to wake up at three or four in the morning, which is why some people call it the witching hour. But I’ve also heard that that is the time when the world is most quiet, that between three and four in the morning is the best time to meditate because that’s when God speaks the loudest. Of course, when most of us wake up in the middle of the night, we just go back to sleep. That’s what I’ve always done. But now that I’m a night owl, I’ve gotten in the habit or going for a jog around one, two, even three in the morning. It’s cooler then, and I don’t have to worry about developing skin cancer or getting hit by a car. Almost always when I start out, I don’t know what I’ll be writing about later, but without fail, before I get to the tennis courts half a mile from the house, an idea has presented itself–out of nowhere. Just like that, God has spoken.

Hearing from God, I think, is worth not sleeping for.

Earlier this week I made an off-handed joke about staying up so late to my therapist during the first part of our session. Later she said, “Don’t judge yourself for that, by the way.” So tonight I’ve been thinking about the internal pressure I put on myself to “be like everyone else,” to get up with the sun rather than the moon. But under the moon, at night, I’ve grown so much more than I ever have during the day. The night, after all, is responsible for this blog. It’s the time when I’ve fallen in love with writing again, and–more importantly–fallen in love with myself again. It’s when my perspective has changed for the better. And whereas the day has only one star shining in the sky, the night has thousands, each one older than even anyone in this house, each one a limitless mystery that has something to teach us–if only we could get quiet enough, see the night through the eyes of a child, and listen with wonder to all God has to say.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One day a change will come.

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Looking for God in All the Wrong Places (Blog #107)

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Tonight I took Tom Collins on a date to the drive-in theater. Even though we’ve only been together for two days, I’m already in love. He’s super sexy, never argues, and has a firm rear end. Of course, as you may remember, Tom Collins is my new car, which basically means I took myself on a date to the drive-in this evening. And we had a great time, thank you very much–me, myself, and Tom Collins–and one of us really enjoyed his cheeseburger, candy bar, and popcorn from the concession stand. But I’m not going to say who it was.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m working my way through a twelve-week (but not twelve-step) program for creativity called The Artist’s Way. One of the things the author, Julia Cameron, is pretty insistent about is something called The Artist’s Date, a once-a-week ritual that involves taking your inner artist on a creative outing of some sort. You could go to an art museum, watch a play, or–like I did tonight–go to a movie. (Since I’m an overachiever, I went to a double feature.) Hell, I guess you could even finger paint, so long as it’s something creative and no one else does it with you. (Julia is a hard ass on this point–no guests allowed!–but I’m assuming Tom Collins would be an exception.)

Before I left for the movies (Despicable Me 3 and Spider-man: Homecoming) I almost broke Julia’s rule and invited someone else along. I mean, I’m pretty comfortable doing things by myself (and I’m a rule follower), but sometimes it gets old. Plus, for the last few weeks I’ve been more emotional than usual. I’ve cried a lot. I thought someone else would be a nice distraction from all that. But I went alone. I mean, I don’t think Julia would A) find out or B) give a shit or C) track me down and beat me up if she did, but I didn’t want to take any chances. After all, she said The Artist’s Date was one of the things that was “non-negotiable,” and “non-negotiable” was in italics, so she must have meant it.

It may be that the activities in The Artist’s Way are partly or completely responsible for all the emotions I’ve been experiencing lately. As it turns out, when you write down your thoughts every day or take time out to get quiet and be by yourself, all the things you haven’t dealt with yet come hurling up from inside you like undercooked chicken from a fast food restaurant. (It’s not fun–I don’t recommend it.) But really, it’s been like an emotional roller coaster–angry one minute, sad the next, happy the next. Shampoo, rinse, repeat. I wish I could tell you there’s a better way to make progress in life–like cigarettes, liquor, or a popcorn bucket that comes with a free refill–but I guess there’s not. As John F. Barnes says, “The key to healing is feeling.”

I hate that (but it does seem to be true).

Earlier this week, I spoke with my therapist about The Artist’s Way, the blog, and all the writing work I’ve been doing, and she referred to it as “planting a seed,” something that–at some point–would grow and bear fruit.

I hope she’s right.

After the movies tonight I decided it would be a fabulous idea to stop at the casino on the way home. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, was in a good mood, and figured it would be the perfect way for God to rain down showers of blessings in my general direction. I do this sort of thing a lot–not gamble–but try to tell God how he could best provide for me. I come up with fantasies about writing contests I could win or how some random hot guy at the library could propose after we both reach for Liza Minnelli’s biography at the same time. And then, God, it’d be awesome–just swell–if he got down on one knee and said, “I’ve been waiting for someone with stunning hair like yours. And don’t worry about ever working again–my daddy’s rich.”

Well, this may come as a shock, but God doesn’t take orders from me very well, even though I remind him that they are just “suggestions.” Which means I lost twenty bucks at the casino tonight and I still don’t have a ring on my finger. But just to be clear, recently a large junk of my sinus surgery bill was forgiven, and a few days ago I got a sweet deal on Tom Collins. (Plus, I do have great hair, and that’s worth a lot.) So God provides, just never in the way I fantasize he will. I can only imagine he long ago got tired of saying, “Would you give it a rest, Nancy? Relax, I know what I’m doing,” so now he just waits for people to figure it out on their own.

As is the case with many superheroes, Spider-man is actually a real person named Peter Parker who wears boxer shorts and spends as much time fighting zits as he does evil villains. In tonight’s movie, Peter is a high school student, a sophomore, and even though he disappears–every time–right before Spider-man shows up, none of his friends and classmates are any the wiser. I mean, who would think some virgin quiz-bowl champion would be a superhero? Who would look for Spider-man in geometry class? But this is the mistake I often make with the divine–I get so focused on how I think it “should” look and act that I don’t see how it actually looks and acts. I get so focused looking for God “over there” that I don’t see him right here, right now.

There’s a quote by Ovid that Julia uses in her book that says, “Chance is always powerful. Let your hook be always cast; in the pool where you least expect it, there will be a fish.” What I love about this quote is that it reminds me that God always shows up, the universe always provides, but rarely according to our pre-determined fantasies. Obviously, it’s not our job to tell God what to do and how to do it. Rather, our job is to be diligent and to plant seeds, trusting that at some point and in his own way–thank you very much–God will cause them to grow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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Finding God in the Strangest Places (Blog #75)

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I’m just going to get this out of the way. Until this evening, I hadn’t showered for three days, maybe four. I lost count. All I can say is that I kept meaning to clean up, but there were so many reasons not too. I needed to exercise, I needed to blog, I needed to sleep. (Those are really the only things I do lately.) Suffice it to say, things got pretty gross, so in order to avoid smelling my own pits, I’ve spent a lot of time this week pinning my arms to my sides, kind of like a wallflower at a high school prom, minus all the acne. My personal mantra has been–elbows below nipples–elbows below nipples.

Since starting my new diet, my unfortunate and semi-longstanding body odor problem has actually improved, but it hasn’t entirely gone away. I read on the worldwide web that body odor can sometimes be caused by drinking too much coffee, so I thought that maybe I should cut back from my usual three cups, four cups, or maybe it was half a pot a day. Again, it’s hard to keep track of these things when you have so many other important tasks to accomplish.

Typically, whenever I decide something is bad for me, I cut it out cold turkey, label it as evil, and immediately proceed to look down upon anyone else who does it. Like, I could smoke half a pack of cigarettes for six months, quit for three days, and then walk down the street and see a total stranger bumming a Camel from his friend and think, What a lowlife–that’s disgusting. Or I could spend two months eating ice cream every night, quit long enough to lose half a pound, and then drive by the Dairy Freeze and think, You people should be ashamed of yourselves–go home and eat broccoli.

My therapist says that when it comes to certain topics, I’m so judgmental of other people because I’m primarily so judgmental of myself. I wish I could say I disagree with her. I guess because I have this highly developed sense of what’s right and wrong, good and bad, it gets applied here first, and then everywhere else across the board. So if you’re one of those people I’ve judged, I’m sorry, and I’m right there with you.

But back to coffee and body odor.

Some days managing my health feels like playing a game of Whack-A-Mole.

I’m really trying to not be such a hard ass, with myself or anyone else. (Did I mention I’m REALLY TRYING?) Anyway, instead of quitting coffee cold turkey, I decided to just back off, go to one cup a day. So far I’m two days in, and I’m starting to get really cranky. Part of me thinks, God, Marcus, you don’t have to quit processed foods, refined sugar, white bread, dairy, AND coffee in a ten-day period. But another part of me thinks, Yes you do–and while you’re at it, you should probably mediate for an hour every morning, sleep on a bed of nails, and adopt a child from China and pay for it by selling one of your kidneys on the black market. I mean, is that too much to ask?

Honestly, I just want the body odor problem to go away. I’m willing to try just about anything in order to make that happen, but some days managing my health feels like playing a game of Whack-A-Mole. If you want to know the truth, sometimes I think I’m a hypochondriac. (I can hear my friends saying, “No! Surely not you.”) Tonight when I finally did take a shower because I had a dance lesson (I’m not completely inconsiderate), I shaved my face, nicked something, and started bleeding. Well, I instantly thought it was a wart, another longstanding problem I had a couple of years ago. I think my heart actually stopped beating for a second as I thought, THEY’RE BACK.

But then I thought better of it and decided it was a zit, probably the result of not washing my face in three days, maybe four. Yes, I’m almost certain it was a zit and not a wart. So don’t worry, I’m going to live.

Phew.

That was close.

This evening I had dinner with a friend of mine who has really good taste and recently remodeled his bathroom. He’d probably die if he knew I took a picture of it and put it on the internet, so I probably shouldn’t have talked about my blog so much this evening or typed the address of this website into his phone. Anyway, I love remodeling, so we spent quite a bit of time going over every detail, but even now all I can think about is the arched window that he hung above his toilet. I’m guessing it came from a sanctuary, but it could have come from Target, which I suppose for some people is the same thing.

Isn’t that the cutest thing you ever saw? Doesn’t it remind you of a church? Call me twisted, but all night I’ve been thinking that if you just lit a few of candles, maybe had a couple of monks chanting in the shower (think how good they’d sound in there), it really would make the toilet feel like–I don’t know–a throne of grace. Just think of it–going to the bathroom could be called–a righteous release–a sanctified shit–a holy crap.

After dinner this evening, my friend and I were in the car, and he told me that I smelled “clean.” You can’t imagine how good it made me feel. I told him that I’ve been super self-conscious lately because I took some antibiotics and I think they messed up my intestinal flora and gave me body odor, so I’ve changed my diet and am cutting out coffee to try to fix it. Well, my friend is super honest, so he said, “Marcus, you’re a freak. (I’m summarizing.) You’re the only person I know who would change his diet because he’s afraid of the way he smells. No one else thinks about their flora.”

He may have a point.

Once I read an interpretation of the Garden of Eden story that basically said the Tree of Knowledge represents our capacity to judge or “to know” something. It said that it also represents the world of duality, where everything is hot or cold, up or down, good or bad, and it’s the good or bad part that causes a lot of our suffering. According to this take on things, everything was fine this afternoon while I was shaving, just as everything is fine right now as I’m typing this blog. In effect, I was and am in the Garden of Eden. (Who knew it would be this humid?) But as soon as I thought, I have a wart, and warts are bad, I kicked myself out of the Garden. That’s why my heart stopped beating, the way it would now if I labeled my body odor problem as anything other than good, which is what we’re told in Genesis is how God sees all that he has made. Or did he recently change his mind about that?

Leave it to God to hide under my armpits.

There’s a passage in the Gospel of Thomas that says, “Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find Me there.” What I love about this passage is that it reminds me that God (sometimes simply called Good) is everywhere. There’s no where that he isn’t. I spend a lot of time trying to prove this theory wrong, of course. I walk around a large part of the day thinking that warts are bad, carbs are bad, certain smells are bad. I think anything could kill me, and that would be bad because death is REALLY BAD. None of those judgments, of course, feel good, and they certainly don’t change a damn thing.

So I’m trying (really hard) to look for the good in all circumstances, to basically play hide-and-seek with God, like, I know you’re here somewhere. (Come out, come out, wherever you are.) Of course, God’s been playing this game for a long time. He’s not going to hide behind the sofa–that’s too obvious. Don’t bother looking for the divine behind the divan. More likely, this game is going to require that I lift my elbows above my nipples, maybe take a selfie in my friend’s bathroom. After all, leave it to God to hide under my armpits. Leave it to God to hide in the Holy Crapper.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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The Path of Least Resistance (Blog #65)

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Yesterday we moved from Tim’s apartment to Ben and Mallory’s house, which means I got my own room. Also, instead of sleeping on a couch last night, I slept on a “double futon.” (A double futon is two futon mattresses stacked on top of each other–very creative–it’s almost like a bed.) What’s more, there were A LOT of pretty pillows, so I kind of felt like a princess. You know–a princess who snores.

This afternoon Bonnie woke me up for what we’ve started calling my “forced feeding.” Having only slept five hours last night–er–this morning–I almost skipped it. But then Bonnie said we were going to Chuy’s Tex-Mex, so I figured sodium was way more important than sleep. After all, IT IS a mineral.

At Chuy’s I ordered a Big As Yo Face Burrito, and when it came out, I didn’t think it was ACTUALLY as big as my face. I considered holding the plate up next to my head and taking a selfie, but then I figured the cheese sauce would drip onto my shorts, and that simply wouldn’t do. So here’s a picture of the food, without my face beside it.

I’m proud to say that I did NOT eat the entire burrito at lunch. However, I can’t say the same for the basket of chips. But at least I wasn’t alone in eating those; everyone had their hands in them. (Mallory said that when she grows up, she wants to be a carb because everyone loves them.)

When we left the restaurant, Bonnie, Mallory, and I took the photo at the top of the blog, and Bonnie and I opened our mouths so that we would look like Mallory. Mallory said that sometimes she opens her mouth in photos if her regular smile isn’t working for her. (I love a good strategy.)

While the rest of us were eating lunch, Todd went on a fifty mile bike ride. Bonnie kept joking that he did the whole thing on nothing but a cup of coffee, but Todd said he also had a banana. (There’s so much about calorie theory that I don’t understand. But then again, Todd’s pants fit and mine don’t.) Anyway, after lunch, we all crashed pretty hard–Todd because of the ride–the rest of us because of the Tex-Mex.

This evening Ben and Mallory stayed home to watch the Predators game. The Predators are Nashville’s ice hockey team, and they’re currently competing in the Stanley Cup. It’s a big deal around here. Here’s a video of Mallory yelling at the television during the game. Notice how she’s still able to maintain her Southern Charm.

While Ben and Mallory watched the game, the rest of us got ready to go to a free swing dance with a live band at Centennial Park, the place where the Parthenon is. I noticed while I got ready that my favorite pair of underwear had a small tear in them, maybe because I ripped them on something, maybe because they’ve fought the good fight and just can’t do it any longer. (This only goes to show that even the best elastic is no match for a mineral like sodium.)

Before we left, Bonnie and Todd handed out souvenirs from their recent trip overseas. Here’s a picture of Ben with a shirt from fucking Paris. Also–

I joked that I should crop Ben’s picture to thumbnail size and use it on the blog whenever I say a cuss word, which would obviously mean that he’d be my official mascot in no time.

At the dance, Bonnie, Todd, Tim, and his girlfriend took a beginner lesson, and I watched their stuff. Here’s a picture of me with a portable chair, a bottle of water, and Bonnie’s purse, which I don’t really think matches my outfit, but did seem to be just the right size.

For the last hour, I’ve been stuck where this picture was taken. I mean, I’m currently back at Ben and Mallory’s–everyone else is in bed–but I’ve been mentally stuck at the dance because I’m not sure how to wrap up the day. Honestly, I need to get some sleep. I keep thinking about those princess pillows. But as far as this website goes, it’s not a blog that just talks about my day. Rather, it’s a blog that talks about my day AND how that connects to mental health, spirituality, and just being a damn person. (Pardon my French.) Because of that fact, I put a lot of pressure on myself (and everyone else around me) to–say something profound. I go through every day expecting a big burrito to change my life so that I can have something to write about each night.

Frankly, it’s exhausting.

At one point tonight, I danced with a girl named Eleanna whom I met earlier this week at Motown Mondays at The 5 Spot. She’s a lovely person and dancer, and apparently she’s learned strictly on the social dance floor. After we danced together, we got to talking, and she asked if I had any tips, so I got to play the teacher for a while. One of the things I had her do was to stand with her feet together and lean her upper body to one side until she was forced to take a few steps. If you try this for yourself, you’ll notice that you travel farther across the floor, with much less effort, than you would if you were standing up right and forced yourself to move. That’s because when you lean, gravity pulls you and you don’t have to do all the work yourself.

There’s a concept in the self-help world called The Path of Least Resistance, and it has to do with the idea that life is actually on our side. Like gravity, it’s pulling us in a certain direction. But all too often, we put up a fight. Rather than leaning into a problem or situation, rather than taking the path of least resistance, we stand straight up, force every step, and take the path of most resistance.

So that’s something I’m working on. In terms of my life right now, I’m really, really trying to not force every step, to lean in to all the uncertainty and see where life pulls me. I’ll let you know if it works out. What I can say now is that the theory helped me finish tonight’s blog. For over an hour, I tried to force something to happen. But as soon as I got honest about the fact that I was stuck, actually wrote it down, the direction I needed to go became obvious. So I’m starting to believe that no one dances completely alone. Even when it feels like you’re stuck, there’s a partner waiting for you. But maybe first you have to stop trying so hard and lean in a little, trusting that life not only wants to dance with you to unknown places, but also that it will provide the momentum to get you there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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A Million Pieces of God (Blog #58)

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There’s a story in Eastern mythology that says when God first realized he was alive, he experienced pure joy. (What’s not to love about being alive?) However, he thought he might lose his joy or that someone might take it from him, so he experienced fear. (Sound familiar?) But then he remembered that he was the only one who existed, and the fear went away. (Phew!) But then he thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone? So after fear came desire, and out of that desire, God shattered himself into a million pieces and created the world.

Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist, tells a version of this story. He says that fear and desire are the two basic emotions every human must deal with on his way back to God. They show up in every mythology and represent the world of duality and separation. In the Bible, this is depicted by the angels who guard the Garden of Eden. On one side of the gate is paradise, the place where God is all, and all is one. On the other side is duality, the home of up and down, good and bad, and you and me. If you want to get from duality to paradise, you have to go through the angels. In short, fear and desire keep us out of paradise. Fear and desire keep us separated.

Personally, I’ve spent a good part of my life in fear and desire, especially fear. I mean, your house burns down, your mom gets sick, and dad goes to prison, and that’ll pretty much divest you of the idea that life is good. The result, of course, has been a big feeling of separation, a big feeling of “something bad is going to happen.” That being said, I’ve worked really hard the last several years to get back to the Garden of Eden, or at least get closer to it. And although it hasn’t become a constant state of mind, I do think I’ve made a lot of progress. Life isn’t nearly as scary as it used to be.

The philosopher Alan Watts says that life is basically God–shattered into a million pieces–playing a big game of hide-and-seek with himself. Well, I really love this idea, and sometimes when good things happen, I like to think that God’s leaving clues, like, Hey, I’m over here (and over here, and over here).

So get this.

This evening my dance instructor friend Sheila and I danced at a private birthday party in Northwest Arkansas. A lovely lady named Carolyn was turning 90, and her son Jim hired Sheila and me to come dance to a live band because Carolyn loves dancing. Well, as it turned out, this was the kind of gig dancers live for. The party was at Jim’s home, and the place looked like it came out of a magazine. I’m pretty sure the chandelier in the entryway was bigger than my Honda Civic. And not to sound like a total redneck, but–Y’all, the downstairs bathroom was fancy. I mean, look at this sank.

The party itself was out by the pool, and the band was under a tent. Sheila and I danced together several times, and I even got to dance with the birthday girl, who told us that when her late husband first asked her for a date, she immediately said, “Can you jitterbug?” (I plan on stealing this dating requirement and think you should too.)

Here’s a picture of me and Carolyn. Thanks to her granddaughter (who said she was the favorite) for taking it.

As the evening continued, Sheila and I were invited to join Carolyn’s family and friends for dinner, drinks, and desserts. We looked at the four birthday cakes, thought about it for like two seconds, and said, “Okay, you talked us into it.”

On the surface, it was a wonderful evening. I haven’t worked a lot lately, so having a job was nice, and the atmosphere was amazing. I mean, the pool house would have passed for its own property, there was a playroom for the grandkids that looked like a castle, and I think the main staircase came out of Gone with the Wind. (I’d show you pictures, but I think that would border on creepy, and I’ve already posted a picture of these people’s freaking bathroom.) Plus, I found out that Jim used to play in a band that opened for Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and some guy named Bob Hope, so there were plenty of reasons to be impressed. (I kept hearing Mary Poppins say, “Close your mouth please, Marcus, we are not a codfish.”)

But below the surface, I couldn’t stop thinking about mythology and God playing hide-and-seek with himself, and here’s why. When I first walked outside and saw the pool, I noticed the fountain in the middle–three ladies–who are, of course, the three graces that represent charm, beauty, and creativity. (I should learn to zoom, but I think you get the idea.)

So the fountain set the mythological mood for me, and then it continued when Jim gave a present to his brother, whose birthday is close to Carolyn’s. I’ll let you see it for yourself, and then I’ll explain.

That’s right, it’s a statue with breasts and a penis. (I mean, is this a great family or what?) So everyone laughed about it being a fertility god, and I guess it’s a joke of some sort because Jim’s brother told me that it’s been passed around to several family members like a white elephant gift. I think everyone in the photo has owned it at one time or another. (For some reason, no one wants to keep it.)

Well, I think the statue is technically not a fertility god, but rather a hermaphrodite, which is a being with both male and female sex organs. (I recommend that you take my word for this instead of doing a Google search for fertility gods.) In Greek mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite and was a beautiful boy who fell in love with a water nymph that prayed to the gods to unite them forever. According to Carl Jung, hermaphrodites symbolize the union of opposites. Seen in light of the story told by Joseph Campbell, they represent the re-union of God, the return from duality back to the garden.

But wait, it gets better. You can’t see it in the picture of the swimming pool, but on the other side of the three graces is a large, triangle-shaped backyard. (Triangles represent the trinity, wisdom, and the divine power of the female). On one side, of course, is the pool. But on the other two sides are two creeks, and those creeks meet at the top of the yard as one creek. So as I walked out into the yard, I met yet another mythological image of the two becoming one. But what’s more, when I got to the top and realized which direction the water flowed, I saw that it was actually the one creek that became two–God shattering himself into a million pieces.

As I drove home tonight, I thought a lot about the mystical meaning of the party. I know for some people, it may sound like I’m reading a lot into it. But of all the places I could end up on a Saturday night dancing, I ended up at a place with the three graces, a hermaphrodite god, and, from my perspective, two creeks becoming one. Additionally, since I used to work for a wedding photographer, I’ve been to a lot of private parties, and tonight I ended up at a party with some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And when you add all of that to the fact that I’ve been thinking a lot about mythology lately, trying to get away from the idea that “something bad is going to happen,” I just don’t think anything about tonight was an accident. Rather, I think God was bringing a few pieces of himself back together. Personally, I think he was saying, “Hey, I’m over here,” inviting me to return to the garden where something good is going to happen, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and–most importantly–we are one.

[My deepest gratitude to Sheila for inviting me tonight and to Jim and his wife, Jacqui, for all your kindness.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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this present moment (blog #34)

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Dad just finished taking a shower and getting dressed. The entire house smells like twenty-five-year-old cologne. I’m gagging. Earlier today I decided that I don’t have a sinus infection but do have a cold, and I can only imagine how bad the smell would be if I weren’t congested. He must have slathered the cologne on, maybe taken a bath in it. “You smell like a French whore,” I said. “I’m going to blog about it.”

***

I spent the day coughing and reading a hundred pages in a book by Andrew Solomon called The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression. It’s 445 pages of total text, and it’s not exactly what I would call light reading. But I’ve had it checked out of the library for over a month and I’m determined to finish it.

A couple of months ago, my mom and I watched Andrew’s TED Talk called Depression, the Secret We Share (30 minutes), and we both cried. So I checked out his book from the library, and Mom read it first. Having been clinically depressed for over thirty years, she identified with Andrew and marveled at his ability to put into words many of her dark feelings and difficult experiences. So more than anything else, I’m reading the book to better understand my mom and people like her.

Mom’s depression started shortly after I was born, and I don’t have many memories of her without it. I guess as a kid I didn’t fully understand, but I remember that she had to go away for maybe a year when I was six or seven to live in a hospital in Baltimore. I guess all kids are embarrassed of their parents, but I can remember thinking that my mom seemed different than the other moms. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t able to do as much.

At some point, Mom had to quit her job as a nurse. The depression was too bad. The electric shock treatments affected her memory. From what I can gather, nursing was one of the few things that she really loved about her life, something she was really good at, and I think it’s taken her a long time to come to peace with the loss.

I’ve heard all my life that Mom has a type of depression that never goes away. Her doctor says that it’s like that for a small percentage of people. Some days and some years are better than others, but it’s like she’s never really out of the woods.

When I was in my early twenties, Dad had a heart attack. I remember going to the Van Buren City Park the next day and jogging. I started going to the gym soon after that, subscribing to Men’s Health. Even Dad will admit that the heart attack didn’t scare him into changing his lifestyle. He’s heavier now than he was back then. But it certainly scared me. Looking back, the jogging, the working out, the reading—it was all motivated by fear.

I’ve spent the last fifteen years really digging into health—what it is, how we lose it, how to get it back, how to keep it. It’s taken me down some pretty interesting paths, both traditional and alternative, and I’ve learned a lot. And whereas I thought that it all started with Dad and his heart attack, I’m sure now that it actually started with Mom and her depression.

Over eight years ago, I took a class in Reiki, a hands-on form of healing that originated in Japan. I usually preface any mention of Reiki by saying that it’s really weird, but it seems like things that are weird are becoming more and more mainstream lately. Anyway, my Reiki teacher says that there is a divine intelligence that is capable of healing any illness. Anything is possible.

Frankly, I love this idea, and it actually lines up quite nicely with my Christian heritage. (I can do all things through Christ, God can move mountains, etc.) Still, there’s a big part of me that has a lot of evidence—like Mom’s depression—to the contrary. So it’s something I really struggle with, this idea of whether or not things like pain and sorrow come and go or simply come—and stay.

I think it’s a huge part of the reason that I get so frustrated when I get sick. Every illness feels like it could be permanent. I can handle a sinus infection for a week, but the thought that I’ll have to handle them for the rest of my life is pretty unbearable. Those are the times it feels like everyone else has things that get better, but I’m the exception. Worse, it feels like I’m doing something wrong. Like if there’s a divine intelligence capable of healing, it’s either not willing to, or it must be my fault when things don’t get better.

Last night I started reading a book by Pema Chodron called Comfortable with Uncertainty. I picked it up at an estate sale last weekend in Tulsa because I liked the title and because I’m not. There’s a line in the first chapter that says, “We explore the reality and unpredictability of insecurity and pain, and we try not to push it away. If it takes years, if it takes lifetimes, we let it be as it is.”

Wow.

“We try not to push it away.”

I can’t tell you how hard I try to push pain away, how hard I work to make health a permanent state of being, to make it certain. (A history of chocolate cake and cigarettes notwithstanding.) But clearly, the truth is that it’s uncertain. As Saint Teresa of Avila says, “All things pass away.” (I just got up to take some Claritin and Ibuprofen, and the house STILL SMELLS like a teenage boy who’s discovered Axe Body Spray. So—obviously—some things pass away more quickly than others.)

A few years ago, Mom’s depression started on an upswing. I can remember going out to eat with her in high school or college and her not saying a word. Now she talks and talks and talks some more. (It drives Dad crazy.) She’s still sick, but it’s a remarkable difference. And I think that’s one of the benefits of my being here now. For the longest time, it’s been easy for me to keep Mom’s illness at a distance, to personally run after health and treat someone else’s sickness like something that doesn’t concern me. Looking at it now, that’s because I haven’t been ready to admit just how scared and vulnerable I really feel about it.

So this week my goal is to do my best to lean in, to be more okay with having a cold or a mother with depression, to open up to this present moment rather than trying to push it away. And rather than wishing things were different than they are, I can look for the gift in this present moment—a chance to experience compassion for myself and others, a chance to experience my heart.

[The top photo is of my mother when she was in nursing school. Isn’t she lovely?]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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really good news (blog #28)

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A couple of days ago, I got the most lovely text message from my friend Sara. Sara and I met each other twenty years ago when we both worked at a summer camp in Mississippi called Camp of the Rising Son (CRS). (If it’s not obvious, CRS is a Christian Camp.) If you ever want to see my heart melt, ask me about the people at CRS. Ask me about the kids. It’s truly a magical place, and I guess as long as I live I’ll remember all the silly songs we used to sing, and all the ridiculous costumes we used to wear to entertain the children, and that one kid named Charles who threw up his chicken strips on my white shorts because he was homesick. (Thanks a lot, kid.)

(The above photo is of Sara and me, at camp. Funny how I thought I was in the closet back then, I know.)

Even now, I think of people like Sara and think, Family. And actually, for several years, I used to drive to Kansas City to see Sara and her brother Zach and her sister Joanna and their friend Liz, all of whom worked at camp. I’d spend holidays with them. I was there when Sara married my dear friend Mark (also from camp), and I was there for Sara’s mom’s funeral. Like I said, Family.

But for all the years I spent at summer camp and all the nights I stayed up late with my friends after the kids had gone to bed and all the soul-searching conversations, I never talked about my sexuality. Not that it wasn’t there, I just didn’t talk about it. I guess that was during the (really long) phase when I hoped it would change. (It never did.) I mean, I knew the camp’s policy. It was a sin. That was the line I used, even believed, when I went through my job interview when I was sixteen. So it was never discussed.

And it’s not like CRS was the only Christian institution where I’d heard that line. Hell, I grew up in the Bible Belt. I went to a Baptist Church on Sundays. I attended a Christian High School. And whether it was explicitly said or not, the message I internalized was, “This is wrong and I’m wrong. This is something to be ashamed of. It’s certainly nothing to brag (or blog) about.”

So that sucks.

As the years have gone by, I don’t believe that stuff anymore, and I can’t tell you how good that feels. But the residue of it all has been that anytime I get around Christians I grew up around or worked at camp with, I automatically assume that I would be judged or not accepted if I were to be completely honest and vulnerable about who I am (and whom I like to do). God, Marcus, you don’t have to type every thought that pops into your brain.

Tonight I had dinner with my friend Jim and his wife Sue. I met Jim years ago when I worked out at a gym he owned, and we ended up being working partners. There for a while (before I rediscovered my love for carbohydrates), we were working out all the time. And we pretty much talked about everything, but again, nothing that touched on my personal life. Well, when I broke up with my ex, I was a wreck. At first, Jim didn’t ask questions, even when he helped me move out. But I clearly wasn’t myself, and eventually I stopped working out so I could spend more time crying and eating pancakes.

One day I got this text message from Jim that said something like, “What the hell is going on with you? Whatever it is, it’s okay. NO JUDGMENT. We can talk about it.”

So I told Jim that guy wasn’t just my friend. He was my boyfriend. And my heart was broken.

And guess what? Jim cared about me, but he didn’t care about that other stuff. It didn’t change a thing.

(Here’s a picture of a really cool piece of art from Jim’s house, just because.)

One of my favorite spiritual teachers is a guy named Eknath Easwaran. (He’s dead.) He teaches a type of meditation that I really like called Passage Meditation where you repeat a spiritual passage (like the Lord’s Prayer or the Prayer of St. Francis) over and over again. Anyway, he wrote a book called Original Goodness, and in it he explains that whereas some faiths teach that man is inherently sinful or evil or bad, many faiths teach that man in inherently good, that at the core of each of us resides a spark of the divine.

I can’t tell you how much I like this idea.

There’s another spiritual teacher whom I like named Byron Katie, and if you’ve been around me much, you’ve probably heard me talk about her. Now I just say, “My therapist says,” but I used to say, “Byron Katie says.” Well anyway, Byron Katie says something similar. She says that our nature is good, kind, and loving. She says that she knows this is true because anytime we act differently, it feels like stress.

In my personal experience, I find this idea to be true. It never feels good to be angry or unkind or un-compassionate for very long. I always feel more “at home” when I’m patient or generous or giving.

What’s more, I find this idea to be true in my experience with others. It’s not that people don’t do or say shitty things. But overwhelmingly, I find people to be more good than I do sinful or evil or wrong. When Sara sent me that text message, she said she’d spent part of the day with my blog, that she’d read every word, that she saw my insides and my guts. And it was a really long text message, so I kept scrolling, just waiting for some judgment, any judgment, somewhere. But then I got to the end and didn’t find any. Sara’s exact words were, “Please know I love you—FOR ALWAYS.”

We were made to love without conditions. That’s the packaging we were sent with.

And I guess when I think about those messages from Jim and Sara, I’m reminded that people are good. (I wish I could tell you about all the wonderful folks who have, without even knowing it, shown me that my fears of judgment have been unfounded. I mean, it’s really good news to find out that the world isn’t as scary as you thought it was.) Sure, we all have our moments, we all forget our true nature at times, but we were made to love without conditions. That’s the packaging we were sent with. That’s what we are capable of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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God: sloppy or not? (blog #26)

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Sometimes I think that God is sloppy. There, I said it. And all I mean by that is that God doesn’t do things the way I would do them. (Surprise.) Like, in my world, everything has its place. My keys always go here, or there, and if they’re not here, or there, they’re lost. And at the end of every day, I go through my man bag and put all the pens in the pen holders, and all the books in the middle pocket, and all the bills I need to pay in the outside pocket, and all three of my prescription glasses in the other pocket next to my wallet that holds all of my credit cards that are organized according to their respective billing due dates. (It’s a wonder I don’t get laid more.)

This morning I woke up and immediately started thinking about all the things I needed to do today. Specifically, I started thinking about three separate conversations I needed to have in order to figure out the hospital billing for the sinus surgery I had a couple of months ago. Not that hospital billing is normally easy, but on the day of the surgery, the doctor said he wanted to do a second CT scan because the first one was off by nine degrees. (That’s funny. My favorite number is nine.) He said I wouldn’t be charged for it.

So of course I was.

But I haven’t been charged for the first one. Which is too bad, since the first one was cheaper than the second one because insurance is, well, a fucking mystery, probably invented by drunk space aliens. So for the last two months, I’ve wanted to get this whole thing figured out and effectively move “pay my hospital bill” from my “to-do list” to my “done list” because I’m organized and everything has its place and I don’t like things being unsettled.

God, on the other hand, obviously enjoys a good mess and is not in a hurry to get this matter checked off his list because I’ve ended up with three or four different account numbers at the hospital, and that’s made even the billing department confused. So now the day is over, and I’ve had all three of those conversations (two with billing people and one with the doctor), and whereas everyone was extremely helpful, things still aren’t completely settled. (Clearly God’s getting his way, and that drives me nuts.)

I’ve been thinking most the day that I would write about the idea that the universe—God—is communicative. There’s a dead philosopher (whom I have a really big intellectual crush on) named Alan Watts who points out that not only are you interested in and watching the universe, but the universe is also interested in and watching you. Well, this is an idea I’ve been slowly coming around to, that the universe is interacting with all of us, and that it’s actually kind and not vindictive or punitive.

So this afternoon I was on my way to a gift shop in Fayetteville, and I was thinking about the fact that one of the positive things about living with my parents is that I started this blog and I started writing every day. And although that’s not a steady paycheck and it’s not living in Austin, it’s a small start, and sometimes small starts end up as big finishes. (Just like a mustard seed starts small but doesn’t stay that way.) So I got to the gift shop, and as I was looking at cards, I noticed one that showed several light bulbs hanging down, just like the main picture I chose for this blog. And I kind of did a double take and smiled to myself because I figured God was communicating.

Before I left the store, the girl behind the counter asked what I was doing later, so I said, “I’m teaching a dance class.” And then I asked her the same thing, and she said, “I’m moving.”

“Where are you moving?”

“I’m moving in with my parents because I’m getting married soon, so I’m living with them for a while.”

“That’s funny,” I said, “I’m living with my parents now.”

And then she said, “I think it’s great. I mean, it’s part of the dream.”

So I took that as God communicating again, just letting me know that living with my parents is part of my journey, part of my dream.

Oh, and I almost forgot one more thing God said to me–the message on the front of the card with the light bulbs—“Your future looks bright.”

(This picture was taken just outside the store where God talked to me.)

Little incidents like these thrill me to no end because I think of all the things that had to come together in order for me to be in that one particular shop when that one particular girl was working, which just happened to be the day she was moving in with her parents. And also that card had to be there instead of some other card, and some card designer had to make those light bulbs hang down the way they do on this site. (Incidentally, the site photo was taken years ago in Albuquerque at an Urban Outfitters, and it was one of my first Instagram posts, and it just “felt right” when I was designing the page.)

Obviously, God’s capable of a lot. Just look around.

Just before I wrote that last paragraph, I was about to say, once again, that God was sloppy, that it would have been more clean cut and organized to get me the message some other way. (A burning bush maybe?) But having written that last paragraph, I have to admit that God is a lot more organized than I give him credit for. And if all those things could come together seamlessly just so God could whisper, “You’re doing better than you think you are,” what else is he capable of?

Obviously, he’s capable of a lot. Just look around.

A friend reminded me tonight that God–the universe–is intelligent, that the wisdom that makes the mustard seed transform into a tree also keeps the planets spinning and also makes my finger nails grow. And if it can hang a star in the sky and it can bring two strangers together so one can encourage the other without even knowing it, then that wisdom can certainly figure out my hospital billing. And if the first CT scan was off by nine degrees and my favorite number is nine, that’s probably not an accident, so it’s probably just God letting me know he has something up his sleeve again, just like he had this blog up his sleeve when I moved in with Mom and Dad. To me, it may look like sloppy work, but that’s probably because, until now, I’ve been too busy organizing my sock drawer to notice that not only is God interested in me, but he’s also trying pretty hard to get my attention. And at least when I consider the heavens, I think that for God too, everything has its place. So surely that includes me. Surely I’m right where I need to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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believing in magic (blog #12)

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​About a month ago, my therapist gave me a book called Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There. She kind of stuck it in my face and read me the title three times in a row–I guess for emphasis. Maybe she thought I needed to chill the eff out. (She probably got this idea from me, since I’d just said that I needed to chill the eff out and stop judging myself for sleeping in and not being productive constantly.)

The book is written by Sylvia Boorstein, a Buddhist, and is about developing the practice of mindfulness, or being in the present moment. (Don’t worry, you don’t have to be a Buddhist in order to be mindful.) There’s a concept Sylvia talks about called “seeing with fresh eyes” that’s been popping into my head a lot, especially today. It’s the idea that you can look at something as if you’ve never seen it before.

So tonight I drove about an hour to Springdale to teach a dance class, and on my way home, I kept noticing the full moon. And it’s like part of me thought, Oh yeah, there’s the moon. But then I thought about seeing with fresh eyes, and it was the most gorgeous thing, this floating, glowing, giant orb, hovering over the shadowy mountains, illuminating the night. I mean, have you ever just stared at the moon? (If not, I don’t recommend trying it while you’re driving. But still, definitely try it.)

The poet Rumi says, “Trade your cleverness for bewilderment.” I could be wrong, but I think this is the same idea as seeing with fresh eyes. I know that for me it’s so easy to look at things like the moon, or another person, or the fact that I don’t really have a job right now and automatically label or judge it. It’s easy for me to be clever, to think that I know what something means, like, this sucks because I said so. But I think what Sylvia and Rumi are suggesting is that fresh eyes don’t judge. They look at things in wonder. Every moment, every moon is new. Each face is beautiful. Sitting there is just as good as doing something, maybe even better.

After dance tonight, I had dinner with my friend Andrew. (That’s his picture above. Obviously, he blinked.) When I told him I didn’t know what I was going to write about later, he asked what I did today. I told him I went to Springdale to teach, so he said I should write about the tunnel you have to drive through to get to Springdale. At first I thought that was a terrible idea. I mean, it’s just a tunnel (it’s just a moon), but then Andrew, who recently turned twenty-eight years old, kept talking. He said that every single time he goes through the tunnel, he holds his breath and makes a wish. Well, he also touches a piece of metal (like his key ring), which I didn’t know was a thing, but he said was “basic wishology.” He said this hold-your-breath-and-go-through-the-tunnel-while-touching-a-piece-of-metal ritual had been going on for close to nine years now.

Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?

Honestly, I think it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s a little superstitious, but beautiful nonetheless. I think it’s like looking at life with fresh eyes, trading your cleverness for bewilderment. Andrew called it believing in magic. And whereas I don’t know that I want to start holding my breath every time I go through a tunnel (I have terrible lung capacity), I do think I want to renew my belief that anything can happen. What’s more, anything can happen even without my having to do something every minute of every day. Anything can happen while I’m just sitting here. I mean, there’s a moon in the sky!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."