How Hope Begins to Grow (Blog #280)

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[This morning my sister sent me some family photos she took while she was in town, so I’m sprinkling them throughout today’s blog, even though they aren’t “on topic.” The last one is my favorite, since it didn’t really turn out but is completely authentic, at least for my nephews.]

Yesterday my dad started coming down with a cold–a common cold. Since I’m both already sick and a hypochondriac, I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours absolutely paranoid that I’ll catch whatever he’s got, wiping down every surface he touches with soap and water, hearing him cough and imaging his germs traveling through the air ducts and into my susceptible sinus cavities while I sleep. We’re all going to die keeps running through my head. Now all I can think about is whether I need to get out of the house and buy some more vitamins, search the internet for additional home remedies, or just pray to god I live long enough to see my new doctor next week.

This is me WITH a therapist.

It seriously blows to wake up and start the day overwhelmed. Even before my feet hit the floor this morning, I was obsessing about my physical health, wondering if I’ll ever feel like myself again or if this is just my “new normal.” Then I started worrying about money, being single, and male-pattern baldness, every problem for which I don’t have an immediate answer. Stumbling into the kitchen, I noticed I was low on groceries, which only further added to my anxiety, since groceries cost money. Finally I had this thought–Would you just calm the fuck down, Marcus? Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee AND THEN see what the world looks like?

As it turns out, the world is better caffeinated, and after breakfast I decided to take a closer look at some of my “problems,” meaning I organized a stack of paperwork that’s been piling up since the middle of last year. Specifically, I sorted through medical bills, since I went to the emergency room a few months ago for a skin infection and my insurance didn’t pay for a dime of it. Well, I spoke to the hospital a while back, and they said they’d put in a request to charity services and that I should hear something within thirty days. So far, all I’ve gotten is more bills, so this afternoon I figured I needed to call them again. But before I did, I reread the letter the same hospital sent me earlier this year, the one that granted me financial assistance with the sinus surgery I had almost a year ago.

Y’all.

I don’t know how I missed it before, but the letter said that ALL hospital services received through the middle of November last year would be covered at–um–one hundred percent, meaning the emergency room visit should be covered too. Optimistic, I called customer service, spoke to the nicest lady, and told her what was going on. Praise god and all the saints, she confirmed that the services would be covered, that there was only confusion because the two places I received treatment (for the sinus surgery and the skin infection) were in different regions of the country and therefore in different computer programs. But no problem, she said, we’re getting it sorted out, and please ignore any further bills.

“Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”

And get this shit. Then she started updating my profile, asking about my current (and basically nonexistent) income. “I’m confused,” I said. “If the previous assistance covers the emergency room services, why do you need additional information?”

“Oh,” she said, “that’s because the financial assistance program expired for you in November, so I’d like to re-up your enrollment in order to cover future medical costs.”

Wow.

How do you even respond to kindness like this? My first thought was to say, Holy crap, I don’t like girls, but would you go on a date with me? But then I realized you don’t have to sleep with every person who does something nice for you, so I simply said, “Thank you so very much. I really appreciate all your help.”

After the good news earlier today, I started to worry again, to re-focus on my health and other financial problems. (It’s a bad habit.) But then I remembered that in my journal this morning I told the universe I needed a break, that I could use a win. Well, obviously, I got one. (That was fast.) So now I’m trying to simply enjoy it, to bask in the relief, to show some damn gratitude for one big problem solved.

Like, thank you, Jesus.

But seriously, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm this news is. Having worried about this medical bill for weeks now, it’s really a load off. My therapist says this is how you start believing in good things again, how hope begins to grow. You live most your years disappointed, really convinced that life isn’t on your side, that things will never get better. But however slowly, case-by-case, life starts to prove you wrong. Despite all your worrying and thinking This situation is impossible, miracles start to show up. You begin to believe you’re not in this all by yourself. Moved to the point of tears, you think, Healing really is possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There's a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace. We forget that we too are like the planets, part of a larger universe that is always proceeding one step at time, never in the wrong place, everything always right where it belongs.

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A Little Disruption, Please (Blog #254)

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Y’all aren’t going to believe this. It’s 9:30 in the morning, and not only am I awake, I’m blogging. Jesus, keep me close to the cross. I’ve actually been awake and mostly functional for an hour and a half. Yesterday evening I got super tired, maybe because of all the antihistamines I’m taking, maybe because God didn’t intend for us to be awake during winter. Either way, I was in bed by midnight. Still, despite the fact that my body said go to bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. What the frick, body–haven’t you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?

Anyway, I think I finally drifted off around three.

I’m up early today because I’m going out-of-town to see some friends. I’ll report more later, but I really need to be on the road in a couple hours. Considering I still have to eat breakfast, shower, and pack, this blog really needs to be quick. I love it and everything, but I honestly don’t want to pick it up again until tomorrow. But aside from the pressure of writing–believe it or not–I’m enjoying being up so early. Y’all, the sun is shining. It’s quiet. I can hear myself think–or at least I could if I were awake enough to do so. Earlier I practiced chi kung. My teacher is always saying, “Relax more. Now–relax more.” Well, for someone like me, this is a lot of pressure, but this morning it actually worked. Apparently relaxing is easier to do when your brain is still sleeping.

A couple years ago I had a yoga teacher tell me, “Your new favorite pose is rabbit.” Well, since I hadn’t done rabbit pose before, I pretty much forgot about it. Maybe I tried it once or twice. But for whatever reason, I thought about it this morning. I’ve had this pain in my shoulders that won’t go away, and I thought, Let’s give that a whirl. Oh my gosh–first–it’s the most awkward thing ever. You have to sit on your knees, grab your heels, put the top of you head on the floor, try to keep your forehead by your knees, then lift your hips. (Right.) All that being said–wow–it exactly stretches the muscles that have been a problem for the last six months. Finally.

My therapist told me recently that she thought it was funny that my blog was called Me and My Therapist, since she doesn’t introduce herself as a therapist. “I think of myself as a disrupter,” she said. “I disrupt the untrue. I challenge maladaptive behaviors and people’s erroneous perceptions of the world.” Having gone through this process, I now think of therapy like rabbit pose–it sucks. I mean, at the very least, it’s often uncomfortable as hell. Change is hard for a reason. Of course, whether it’s a pain in your shoulders, a bad relationship, or whatever, that’s uncomfortable too. (Maybe sucks is a better word for your particular situation.) So if a different type of discomfort is the way out of the original problem, then it’s certainly worth the effort. In this sense, perhaps we could all use a little more disruption in our lives.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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The Moon and My Therapist (Blog #249)

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Last night was the supermoon. Personally, I slept for shit and think that’s why. Of course, I can’t prove that’s the reason, but if the moon can move the tides, surely it can move me, since I’m mostly water. Anyway, despite the fact that currently the moon is full and bright, in two short weeks its light will disappear completely. I just finished lunch, and I’m thinking about doing the same thing, at least for a bit. A couple hours ago I saw my therapist, and we talked about how exhausted I’ve been lately. She said she could feel it coming off my body, this deep tiredness. She also said she thought I was starting to resent the blog, and I know that part of me is. Every day I come here and process, sit down and pour myself out, honestly more than I’m being poured into. I’m getting something out of this, of course, but often it’s just a warm, fuzzy feeling, and that doesn’t always get me through the next day.

When I told my therapist I was writing a thousand words a day (and have been for the last 248 days in a row), she almost fell out of her chair. I act like it’s nothing, but it’s obviously not, and it takes a lot out of me. My therapist said she wouldn’t tell me what to do, but she suggested I take a nap for “at least five” out of the next eight days. She said, “Stop, just stop. Be lazy. It’s okay.” She also suggested that for one day–just one day–I log into the blog and post, like, two sentences. I’m authentically worn out. Later, bitches, or something along those lines. Honestly, these are rather difficult suggestions for me to take to heart because 1) I’m really committed to writing every day for a year, and 2) I have a tough time giving myself a break.

Something’s gotta give, or I’m gonna.

That being said, I’m going to give it a try, at least the napping. I’d originally planned to read a hundred and fifty pages in a book today that’s due back at the library, but I’ve decided I’ll just check it back out instead. So that will give me time to nap, then maybe I could just watch a movie–something stupid–drink a beer, eat some ice cream. Maybe all of the above. Shit, something’s gotta give, or I’m gonna. As for writing a two-sentence blog, that’s obviously not going to happen today. I’m not sure if I can actually let myself go there. But I am about to wrap this up in less than 500 words ( and less than thirty minutes), and that’s pretty good for me. More than a decent compromise, I think. Now it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I can’t tell you how good this feels, to be done for now. And it’s okay, Marcus. Even the moon doesn’t shine every day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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That Which Is Scary (Blog #236)

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Currently it’s two in the morning, and Mom and Dad are in bed. The house is quiet, I’m at the kitchen table, and the most interesting thing I can find to talk about is the plant sitting next to me–the one my therapist told me to buy a couple months ago. Recently a new stem appeared. It’s tiny, but it’s taller than the others. The way its leaves are folded back, it reminds me of a rocket ship. To me it looks full of potential, and I wonder what will become of that new stem, haw far its leaves will spread out one day. And where did it even come from? I swear it wasn’t there five days ago. Honest to god, it’s like I’m sitting next to a miracle.

Today has been all over the place. I’m coughing less than yesterday, but I still feel like crap. There’s just no better way to say it. I know I was pretty pessimistic in yesterday’s blog, and some of that bad attitude leaked into today. Objectively I know that life will improve and everything isn’t all bad, but it certainly hasn’t felt that way. I’ve talked to my therapist about this before, and she says, “When you’re off in the body, you’re off in the mind.” To me this means I simply don’t have access to my best thinking when I’ve been sick for five weeks straight. So for now I’m trying to hang in there, to trust that things will look different after the storm has passed.

Since yesterday I wasn’t even trying, I consider this a big improvement.

I honestly am rather disgusted by the fact that one sinus infection has taken up so much space on this blog. I wish I had something else to talk about. That being said, I told a friend earlier tonight that sinus infections have been my constant teacher over the years, and this one has been no exception. Just when I think I’m trusting, patient, optimistic, and kind, all I need is a good sinus infection to bring me back to reality. But on a deeper level, being sick like this brings up all my emotional shit–all the icky feelings like “not good enough” and “despair” that have been making themselves at home and putting their feet on my table for decades.

You know how feelings can take over, like they own the damn place.

In terms of not feeling good enough, I imagine we all feel this way at times. After all, advertisers don’t exactly entice us to buy their products by suggesting we’re perfect the way we are. But I think the button that gets hit for me is deeper and goes back to having to grow up so fast when my dad went to prison. At the time I didn’t think it was a big deal to take over the house and keep going to school, even to stop going to church and stop eating pork when my family changed our religious beliefs. But I can see now that all of that was a huge deal. I did the best I could, but I really wasn’t up to the task emotionally. Not only was I in over my head, but I was also isolated because we’d made ourselves so different from everybody else.

Twenty years later, it still feels like I’m not up to the task. Well-meaning people make suggestions (Have you tried a Neti Pot?), and it feels like an accusation, something I’m not doing right. But earlier I was thinking about how I’d respond if a fifteen-year-old I knew were going through what I went through at that age–what I might say if he were giving himself a hard time–and my heart absolutely melted. So I’m trying to extend the compassion I’d feel for anybody else to myself, to realize that I’m doing best I can (damn it) and always have been.

In terms of feeling despair, this is something I’m just starting to unpack. It’s something my therapist and I have been talking about lately but that I haven’t discussed here because it feels so raw. But a few weeks ago I was talking about several things that happened–or rather, didn’t happen–when I was a teenager. These were things I got my hopes up about, like Dad being found innocent or, when he wasn’t, being let out of prison early. Anyway, I was telling my therapist that I often feel powerless, like there’s nothing I can do to make a situation better, and all of a sudden she got quiet. (She never gets quiet.) Then she said, “I just realized something that affects and changes everything else we’ve been talking about.”

“What?” I said.

“Hope is scary for you.”

Honestly, I haven’t exactly known what to do with this information, which, by the way, is correct. Brene Brown says that hope is information, and my therapist says I’ve been let down so many times over the years that I simply haven’t had the right data. Consequently, I’ve spent a lot of time reading about people who achieve their dreams or who overcome chronic health problems, but there’s always a part of me that doesn’t quite believe those things are possible. Well, maybe they’re possible for someone else, but not for me. “It’s too bad,” my therapist says, “since life is actually set up for you to succeed.”

Again, if some teenager in my improv class told me he was afraid to hope, I’d melt with compassion. If someone told me they were going through a storm, I’d say, “You’re going to make it. Things will look different when it’s over, but mostly because you’ll be different–stronger than you were before.” So I’m trying to take it easy on myself, to take both this sinus infection and my life one day at a time and not assume the worst. Things can get better–they’re already better than they used to be. Looking at the plant beside me, I’m reminded that I, too, am full of potential, capable of new growth at anytime. For surely if a plant is a miracle, then I am one too, ever ready to let go of that which is behind, turn my face toward the light, and hope again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops.

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Taking My Mind Back (Blog #221)

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Today I’ve been all over the emotional map–North, South, East, and West–in anything but a straight line. I saw my therapist this afternoon, and that’s almost always a shot in the arm. I mean, she’s hilarious and insightful. As per usual, we tackled “the list” of all the thoughts, problems, and curiosities I couldn’t stop thinking about this last week. Probably half our time was spent on dreams I’ve had lately, which included a hot sex dream and a dream about Hillary Clinton. (To be absolutely perfectly clear, those were two distinct, separate dreams.) I’ll spare you the lengthy analysis, but when it was over, my therapist said, “You really have the best dreams.” Well, not once in my life have I ever thought my subconscious would get such a glowing review, but now that it has, I sort of want to put it on my resume. Marcus Coker–can get shit done even in his sleep.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

In case it needs to be restated–my therapist detests social media. If you’ve looked at what people are posting lately, I’m sure you can figure out way. Anyway, today she had a whole slew of new anti-social-media stickers on her laptop, the biggest of which said, “Social Media Personality Disorder.” I said, “Oh, like, I’m neurotic because someone didn’t like my post or said something negative?”

She said, “Exactly.”

Beneath that sticker was one that said, “Take your mind back.” Tying the two sentiments together, my therapist said, “Don’t hand your mind over to other people. You know who you are.” To me this means that I can’t let a news feed filled with cats and political arguments tell me how to feel every day. What’s more, if I spend the day scrolling, comparing myself to others and looking for outside validation, I’m only going to end up feeling worse about myself. So ultimately, unless I want to be neurotic, I have to be responsible for my thoughts and feelings. This, of course, is the very essence of authenticity.

A couple months ago I started a small remodel project–replacing a door threshold–for my friend Ray. Well, it’s dragged on and on because the threshold had to be special ordered, and I guess the shipping department kept sending the product to a different store location. Not knowing this, the store I was working with kept ordering new ones–a total of three of them, in fact. Anyway, shit happens. I finally picked up the threshold today, was immediately deflated because I realized I didn’t have the proper tools to remove the excess length, then got excited when I went to Ray’s because I discovered it was exactly the right size.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

I guess technically–in this case–I threw myself a bone, since I’m the one who would have specified the length of the threshold when I ordered it. That being said, I’m willing to share the credit with life. Very magnanimous of me, I know.

The project itself went really well, albeit slower than I desired. Since some of the wood in the door frame was rotten, I needed to replace it, and this meant using a saw. Well, the only saw blade I had was dull, and for a while I dicked around hoping I could make it work. Dull blades are useless, of course, so then I tried chiseling the wood and even sanding it in order to make it the right size. This felt like trying to teach a cat how to bark. Well, I finally gave up, gave in, made the long haul back to the hardware store, and bought new blades. Y’all, things went MUCH faster after that. Who’d have thought? Now–after all this time–the project is finished.

Phew.

Feeling rather accomplished, I celebrated by playing with Ray’s new kitten, Leo. I’m really not a cat person, but I love black cats, and Leo was SO CUTE. Not only did he let me hold him in my arms like a baby, he also wore a black-and-white bow tie for the occasion. Talk about a class act. But seriously–a kitten in a bow tie! Could anything be more adorable?

The low point for the evening was checking the mail when I got home. Remember when I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for a skin infection? Well, I got the bill today, and apparently my insurance didn’t pay for anything–not a cent was spent. Talk about a huge bummer, letdown, and disappointment. I tried to stop myself, but I immediately commenced freaking out. I can’t afford this. I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Shit–I want chocolate chip cookies–This is a terrible day to be on a diet. Y’all, if it’s not obvious, it’s really difficult for me to stay calm in these situations. I went through a similar ordeal after I had sinus surgery this year (which turned out fabulously, despite my worrying), and every time the feeling is the same–I just want the whole thing over with.

This is probably something I should bring up in therapy, the way I flip shit whenever I see a piece of paper that says, “Balance due.” It probably has something to do with the fact that I was handed the family checkbook–which didn’t have much money in it, by the way–at the age of fifteen when Dad went to prison. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it has everything to do with that.

Anyway, it took me a while to talk myself down off the ledge. For a while I tried to ignore the issue by reading a book about writing I found at a used bookstore this afternoon. Then I decided I had to move, so I went for a run, even though it was drizzling and cold outside. Considering the fact that I’m just getting over three weeks of being sick, this may not have been the smartest move. Still, I had to do something to burn off my nervous energy, which I guess I had a lot of because I ended up running six miles. Along the way I remembered that 1) what’s done is done, 2) my life could be much, much, worse, and 3) it’s possible this could turn out better than I’m thinking it will. Around mile five, I actually laughed when I thought of one of my favorite comedy sketches.

Last month when I was in Colorado at a spiritual retreat, the teacher said, “Joy is not in the object.” This statement came out of the observation that most of us behave as if joy is in the object. Like, we want a new car, a new house, or a new boyfriend because we think having those things will make us happy. But if happiness resided in those particular things, they’d make everyone happy or they’d make us happy all of the time. Well, when I laughed while running tonight, I realized that just as joy is not in the object, neither is anxiety, nervousness, or stress. In other words, if a hospital bill were truly the source of my worry, I wouldn’t be able to laugh until it were taken care of. The fact that my mood can change, however, shows me that my reaction has very little to do with a sheet of paper and everything to do with me.

Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

Personally, I think this is really good news, since I have a better shot at controlling myself than I do controlling the outside world. But the point is that the outside world really can’t control your internal one unless you let it–nothing outside of you can tell you what to think or feel. Granted, part of me is still freaking out about the medical bill, but the adult that’s sitting in this chair knows that I’ll call the hospital tomorrow and start a conversation about what can be done. Like the threshold project, I’ll want everything to be wrapped up as soon as possible, but I’ll remind myself that some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store. In this way, I hope to take my mind back from all the many people, places, and things to which I’ve let it wander, gently coaxing it back home to rest where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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On the Mend (Blog #219)

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Last night I slept on the futon because my back has been hurting for several months and I’ve been wondering if the mattress I’ve been sleeping on since moving in with my parents is to blame. As my dad said, “It’s only a hundred years old.” Honestly, the futon is pretty old too, but just like I’ve been squirting garlic water and everything else up my nose to try to rid myself of a sinus infection, I’ve decided I have to try something. I don’t think it’s a completely off-base idea, since my back didn’t hurt for the two weeks I was traveling and not sleeping on the hundred-year-old mattress. So we’ll see how it goes. Tonight I’m planning to rotate to the waterbed I slept in growing up (which wasn’t warm enough to sleep in last night). Considering it’s a twin-size and I’m more of a full-size boy (well, some would say a queen), I’ll probably be blogging about it tomorrow.

So get excited.

This afternoon I went to a coffee shop to work on a friend’s blog, but I spent most my time thinking about that fact that I was drinking green tea instead of a cheeseburger and fries. This is one of the things I hate about being on a diet–even though I started the diet to help my body heal and not to drop pounds, calories and weight still become a mental obsession. What’s worse, despite the fact that I’ve spent the last year eating pretty much whatever the hell I’ve wanted, for the last few days, whenever I’ve seen someone drinking a mocha or eating something with cheese wrapped in a white tortilla, I’ve instantly assumed the moral high ground. How could they? That’s SO bad for you. I’m guessing all this will get better as the diet becomes more routine and I learn to not take myself so freaking seriously.

A big positive to the diet, however, is that after only four days, I already feel better. Maybe it’s the garlic-up-my-nose thing or a combination of the two strategies, but I’ve stopped coughing up dark mucus and blood every morning, which I’m taking as a sign of improvement. Plus, you know how you take your health for granted? Like, when you feel well you don’t spend all day thinking, God, I feel like a million dollars–I just love breathing! But when you’re sick you can’t think of anything else; every thought from sunup to sundown is just one big ain’t-it-awful. Well, after a few hours at the coffee shop today, I realized I hadn’t thought about being sick one time. So maybe I’m on the mend.

Maybe.

In the middle of my work, a lady asked if it would bother me if she and her friends convened nearby. Imaging they wouldn’t make much noise, I said, “Why, are you having a dance party?”

“No,” she said, “but sometimes we can be a little loud.”

That’s considerate, I thought.

Well.

A LITTLE LOUD? Y’all, it was like they were at Chippendale’s–a bunch of middle-aged women hooping and hollering. Cackling. (Cackling is actually the word I was looking for.) It was obnoxious. That being said, I just gave up carbohydrates, so everything is obnoxious. Anyway, I put my headphones in for a while, then eventually moved to a different area.

A little loud. Sheesh.

When I finished working on my friend’s blog, I spent about an hour reading a book my friend Amber loaned me–The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. It’s about–well–ways to happier, and the author suggests making a list of hallmarks by which to live your life, pithy things like, “Be Marcus!” or “Stop taking yourself so freaking seriously.” So today I wrote down several from the book to “try on for size,” but my favorite was, “People give what they have to give.” This reminds me of the sentiment, “People are doing the best they can,” but I like it better because to me it’s more compassionate. Whenever I hear someone is doing the best they can, I always think, Yeah, but they SHOULD be doing better. I always picture Mr. Holland in Mr. Holland’s Opus screaming, “Your best is not good enough!” But people giving what they have to give reminds me that if someone is passing out something I don’t like (rudeness, nasty looks, uh, cackling), it may be because that’s all they have to give. Put another way, even if they’re being a total shit, it’s probably because that’s the best they’ve been given.

I guess we all do the best with what we’ve got. I mean, if I really knew a better way to heal my sinuses, be on a diet, or not get irritated with a bunch of middle-aged ladies, I’d do it. Maybe one day I will. For now, things are the way the are. Still, I continue to experiment in various ways, like moving myself from bed to bed hoping something will make a difference for my back. Perhaps we all experiment like this, trying everything under the sun to fix our problems until either something works and we feel better or we give up. Answers are nice, of course, but I’m learning that even trying to heal is an act in self-care and self-compassion. And I’m starting to believe that being on the mend has less to do with what’s going on in your external world and more to do with what’s going on in your internal one. This, of course, is where true healing happens, the place we learn first to give to ourselves, then later give to others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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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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As taught in the story of the phoenix, a new life doesn't come without the old one first being burned away.

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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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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

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On Being Mostly Dead (Blog #193)

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I finished house sitting this morning. Now I’m back at Mom and Dad’s. They’re asleep, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table, which I’ve decided is slightly better for my posture than slumping down in the living room chair. Still, I’m frustrated. I got spoiled this week with fast internet, and my hotspot is running slow. So far it’s taken me ten minutes to upload two photos to tonight’s blog, so that’s going to have to be enough. The pictures are me and a cat, so if you don’t like one of us, hopefully you’ll like the other. That being said, this is a writer’s blog, and the words are uploading just fine.

So there’s that.

Today I went to therapy, and it was the first time in a while that I haven’t gotten through my entire list of things to talk about it. This stresses me out, of course, but I’m learning to deal with it, since apparently you can’t get through and solve your entire life in just under an hour. We mostly discussed my fear of asking for what I want and believing I will get it. I don’t want to be too detailed at the moment, but an example would be my entering a writing contest and believing I have a shot at recognition. I’ve been reading about how current “charged” situations are often connected to childhood events, so we talked about once when I was in elementary school and basically did cartwheels across the room as I asked my teacher, Miss Jackson, if I could help pass out the milk that day. (I’ve blogged about this incident before, here.) The crux of the negative memory had to do with another teacher, who said my behavior was inappropriate.

Well, first off, my therapist started rapping–I’m sorry, Miss Jackson–I am for real–Never meant to make your daughter cry.

I’m not kidding. (I am for real.)

Anyway, when she finished with the chorus, she said, “Okay, now back to you. This hag had a problem with the fact that you were enthusiastic?”

“Yeah, basically.”

My therapist said we don’t know what this lady’s problem was–maybe she was jealous, maybe she was hung over, maybe she was on the rag. Regardless, despite the fact that it would be normal for a child to take the event personally, it doesn’t have to be my problem anymore, since I’m an adult. Just because some hooker from grade school had a bad day (people have bad days), doesn’t mean I can’t be enthusiastic now and believe good things will come from it.

Just to lighten the mood, here’s a picture of a cat in a sink. His name’s Riley, and he doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about my childhood–or yours. Isn’t that refreshing?

This evening I drove to Poteau, Oklahoma, and watched a friend of mine perform in the musical Little Shop of Horrors. (Horrors, by the way, is two syllables, not one.) Anyway, another friend was the director. If you don’t know, the show is about a florist shop with a plant that will only eat human blood and flesh. It’s kind of morbid when you think about it, but since there’s so much doo-wop music, it’s actually rather endearing. Not to ruin anything, but the last number is sung by all the dead people inside the plant, and it’s called “Don’t Feed the Plants.” Cute, right?

Well, as if the show weren’t enough entertainment, there was an ad in the program for a local funeral home. Picture this. In big, red (bloody) letters, it said, “Don’t Feed the Plants!” Then underneath that it said, “But if you do, we have two locations to serve your needs!”

Wow. Don’t die–but if you do–we’re here to help.

This morning I saw a tweet by Tim Ferris about the letters of Seneca. Seneca was a philosopher, a Stoic, around the time of Christ. Apparently he wrote a bunch of letters, essays, to a friend of his, covering an array of topics, and they’re currently enjoying a resurgence amongst the world’s businessmen and leaders because of their wisdom. So tonight I bought the book and started reading it. First off, Seneca says to not go running around reading a bunch of different authors and books–stick with you can handle. (Since I’m currently reading several books, including his, I’m ignoring that part.)

In another letter Seneca said we get fixated on and afraid of the moment of death, but the truth is that we’re already mostly dead. (Insert Princess Bride reference here.) What that means is that our entire life thus far is over–it belongs to the grave.

Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house–it takes time.

I think a lot of us get hung up on what’s already over. Personally, I know I’ve spent a lot of time talking about the past in therapy and on this blog. And whereas it would be easy to get bitter and to get stuck there, I’d like to be clear–my therapist won’t put up with that bullshit. (I will, but not for very long.) So I think the only healthy reason to go digging around in my childhood is because parts of it have been negatively impacting my current life. But if I can get the past sorted out and put away, then I can approach my future with a cleaner emotional slate. Sometimes I get frustrated that after three years of therapy there’s still stuff to deal with, but healing is obviously like the internet at my parents’ house–it takes time. Still, I believe it’s time worth taking, for anyone. Since one day we’ll all be plant food–I’m sorry, Miss Jackson–there’s no reason past emotional baggage should keep us from living as fully as possible right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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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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If you want to find a problem, you will.

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