Determined (Blog #388)

Yesterday I announced to the world-wide web that I’d be starting a restrictive diet tomorrow, and I’ve been in a bad mood ever since. Like, I haven’t even give up bread or coffee yet and I’m already going through withdrawals. Last night I piled shredded cheese onto a dozen Triscuits, and was practically apologizing to the wheat and dairy–I’m so sorry I won’t be able to eat you for at least thirty days. It’s not you, it’s me. Dad said he thought part of my bad mood and general irritation was due to having been treated and fed like royalty for ten days then returning home to Van Buren. He may have a point. Imagine–here I’m having to prepare my own meals.

It’s so–what’s the word?–barbaric.

Since the food ax falls in the morning, I just went grocery shopping to stock up on all things healthy. (Don’t I sound excited?) Y’all, grocery shopping goes so fast when you can’t have chips, sauces, sugar, dairy, grains, or anything that tastes good. You just whip your cart around the fruit and vegetable section (woowho!), grab some protein, and you’re out in a flash. And I don’t know what it is–I came home with three big fabric bags of food, and I’m still afraid of starving this week. As if I’m going to waste away because I’m giving up beer and peanuts.

But really–I’ll miss you, Corona.

I keep telling myself Autoimmune Paleo is a good idea, that I’ve tried everything else to support my immune system, that eating well can’t hurt. This morning I woke up at ten, was awake for a few hours, then crashed hard for a nap. I’ve been feeling good lately, but my energy has disappeared since coming home from traveling. Maybe it’s “just something else,” or maybe it’s the vaccines I got Friday. I read online that those can make you tired, and my arms are still sore at the injection sites. Regardless, I feel like I’ve got to try something. I’m just not good at sitting still.

We live in a big, infinite universe.

I think this drives me a lot, the idea that life can be better. My body has been dragging for months, years really, and I’m at the point where I’m willing to try almost anything to see improvement. I’m simply not willing to accept the way things are–for the moment, yes, but not forever. This is why I continue to go to therapy, to explore different avenues of growth and self-development. We live in a big, infinite universe, and I refuse to believe that I have to live the rest of my life tired and exhausted or nervous, afraid, and insecure (about anything). Some days I have more resolve than others, but overall I’m determined–I’m going to have a better life; I’m going to find my way home.

Don’t stop looking for answers.

This is something I would tell anyone who is struggling internally or externally–don’t stop looking for answers. Sure, there are plenty of times that we have to accept life for what it is, and there’s a lot of peace in that. But I don’t think that means we have to believe that the way things are now are the way things will always be. After all, everything changes. And what else is hope but a belief that not only do things change, but also that they change for the better? That’s what I’m coming to believe, that hope is a good thing and a real thing–that even our challenges exist in order to call us toward something better and more beautiful within ourselves, to reveal our strengths, to remind us that we are so much more than we ever realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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It Doesn’t Feel Like Bleeding Anymore (Blog #366, Birthday #1)

So. We meet again.

Yesterday was my 365th blog post (wow), which means that today is technically my “blog birthday” or “blogiversary.” (I celebrated with my friends pictured above–Jennifer, Me, Nathan, Aaron, and Kate. Aaron and Kate’s little boy picked out the balloons and tiny dinosaur that I’m holding. The dinosaur was perfect because of this post.) Anyway, one year ago today I was at the library, writing my very first post–about how my shirts reeked of fabric softener (thanks, Mom) and how I needed to soften up. Since then (March 31), even though this site didn’t go live until April 4th, I’ve written one post per day. In the beginning it was tough work. I’d stay up all night, sometimes for six or seven hours, banging my head against the wall hoping something–anything decent–would fall onto the page.

At some point, however, I didn’t have to try so hard. If I found myself struggling, thinking, What am I going to write about?, I’d just say that–“It’s three in the morning, my back hurts, and I’d rather be doing something else.” If I were editing my posts for a book, I’d cut out “primer” statements like these, but I think they work here and at least help to get me going. Anyway, not only is the process faster now (some posts take an hour; yesterday’s final post took four and a quarter), but I also trust it more.

Suddenly you see a sign.

Earlier today I told my dad that I know not every post is “out of the park.” (Look, Ma, I’m a homosexual and just used a sports analogy.) In my mind I look back over the last year and definitely have my favorites, ones that either made me cry or laugh from start to finish. As a recovering perfectionist, I’d love for them all to “soar,” but I realize that’s simply not possible. Some days I feel like shit or am simply tired of digging deep and examining my past (believe it or not). But as I told my dad, here’s the funny thing–when I sit down to write a blog, I rarely know in advanced if it’s going to flop or fly. Sometimes I think I have nothing good, touching, or encouraging to say, then as I’m typing, something of that nature just pops up. It’s like you’re driving down a road at night with no particular destination and suddenly you see a sign for somewhere interesting. Turning the wheel, you think, Oh! THAT’s where I’m going.

Several people online and in person have asked me what’s next. “Are you going to keep writing?” they say. Well, the short answer is yes. Writer’s write, and now that I’ve established a daily practice, I don’t intend to stop. Plus, it doesn’t “feel right” to end this project. Going forward, I’m sure my direction will change. Early on when I started writing, certain “themes” developed, issues I was dealing with, things my subconscious obviously wanted to work out. And not that all my problems are solved because I’ve been talking about them for a year, but I’m sure different themes and issues will present themselves for “year two.” Personally, I can’t wait to see where this road leads me. That being said, I do have other projects I’d like to work on (including turning this last year’s work into a book), so I imagine that some of my posts will be shorter or less introspective.

This morning I got up early (like, before nine o’clock) to meet my friend Marla for cinnamon rolls, coffee, and more celebration. Marla gave me my first official writing job at a local magazine and has been a wonderful friend and writing mentor for quite a while now. One of my “cast of characters” here on the blog, she was part of my very first blog post and in my very first blog post picture, so it felt fitting for us to meet today–although, honestly, I would have preferred to meet in the afternoon. (If you ever want to find out how much I like you, ask me to get up early.)

Y’all, if you ever want to feel good about yourself, ask Marla to write you a letter. This morning Marla gave me a beautiful, gorgeous, encouraging letter–a congratulations for my big milestone. Here’s a small part that I’d like to share. “Ernest Hemingway said, ‘There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.’ You did not so much bleed as you did heal.”

Y’all, I agree with both Ernest and Marla. (I’ll explain.)

Like Hemingway, I’ve come to believe that writing isn’t hard. What is hard however, is bleeding, exposing yourself, being honest. What’s hard is driving down a dark highway not knowing where you’re going, all the while knowing that others are watching. But, if you can get past that part, if you can learn to care more about yourself and what you’re doing, what you believe you’re called to do, that’s where it gets easy. As soon as you’re okay with bleeding, admitting that your life is a mess and you’re just as lost as the next person, that’s the sweet spot.

It’s a bitch that it works this way, I know, and all I can say is this–I didn’t make the rules down here.

Like Marla, I believe that I’ve healed (a lot) this last year. Not that I don’t still have things I’d like to work on and improve, but thanks to my therapist and this blog, I’ve slayed a lot of dragons in the last 365 days. And here’s what I’d say to anyone–before you can put yourself back together, you have to be okay with letting yourself completely fall apart. You have to look at every “unacceptable” thing in your life–all your faults, foibles, and fears–and find a way to love yourself anyway. In other words, you have to be “okay” with bleeding. Ironically, when you are, it doesn’t feel like bleeding anymore. It just feels like being honest.

It just feels like the truth.

The setting free process never looks like you think it will.

A year ago I subtitled the blog “The truth will set your free (sort of).” (I wrote a blog about it here.) A year into my truth-seeking and truth-sharing process, I absolutely agree with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The truth will set you free. (Hey, the guy knew a few things.) I’m still sticking to the “sort of” part though, since the setting free process never looks like you think it will. But much like the writing process, much like driving down a dark road, I’m coming to trust the process of life, to be okay with only being able to see as far as my headlights reach, to trust that the mystery of life leads us toward healing and freedom and not away from it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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The Cave You Fear to Enter (Blog #364)

Tonight’s post is number 364 (in a row). That means it’s the next-to-last post for “year one.” Wow. First of all, what a trip. Second of all, tomorrow is the big day. To use an analogy I got from my friend Bonnie, I feel like a high school senior. Like, I’m graduating. (I feel like I should have a ceremony with a cap and gown to celebrate, but I’ll probably just drink a beer instead.) And yes, just like a high school senior, everyone is asking me, “What are you going to do next?”

My answer: Hell if I know.

As I’ve contemplated my last few posts for this year, part of me feels like looking back. Several months ago I told myself that I was going to go back and re-read all my previous posts before the one-year mark, maybe do a “highlight reel.” Remember that time I was in a car wreck and later cried in my driveway while listening to Bette Midler? Well, that hasn’t happened. I still intend to re-read everything at some point, but not before tomorrow. Also, I’ve considered using my last couple of “year one” posts to discuss what’s happened this last year in terms of my site statistics and talk about some of my personal rules for blogging–things I absolutely insist on doing or not doing every time I sit down at this keyboard. Lastly, I’ve thought about listing my goals, what I’d like to see happen next. And whereas I do intend to do these things “soon and very soon,” I’ve decided not to do them until after March 30th (that’s tomorrow).

My reason for waiting to deviate from my current format is that I’d like to finish out this year the same way I began it. A year ago I remember going to the library and starting this project–just me, my laptop, and an idea. My primary goal at the time was to develop a daily writing practice, and that much I’ve done. My secondary goal was to stick to a theme–my life, my search for truth and authenticity, my mental and physical well-being. This is why, even when I meet someone else with an incredible story, I never talk about them unless there’s a direct application to something I’m dealing with. If my blog’s theme were “incredible people I’ve met,” that would be a different matter.

My story is our story.

Sometimes I look at the number of people who have read this blog since I started it and think, Meh. Other times I think, Holy crap! Honestly, the fact that anyone reads it on a consistent basis (which some people tell me they do–thanks, Mom) blows me away because this is clearly a blog about me, and I don’t find my day-to-day life all that interesting. But I guess what is interesting are some of the things I deal with or struggle with, things like balance, boundaries, growing up, letting go, patience, and self-acceptance–since these are things WE ALL struggle with. In short, if someone finds a connection here, surely it’s only because my story is our story.

My therapist says that when one person lives authentically, they give other people permission to live authentically also. Like, if you wear what you want to wear every day (because YOU like it) and don’t give a shit about what society thinks, you somehow communicate that others are free to decide what’s best for themselves. Likewise, even if you have to keep a friend at arm’s length because they’re overbearing or rude or whatever, you’re modeling healthy behavior to both your friend and anyone else who cares to notice. Of course, in both examples, you’re primarily taking care of (and loving) yourself, which is the main thing.

This afternoon a friend and I were discussing authenticity and the blog, and she said she thought I was brave, that it was a big deal to put myself “out there.” So I’ve been thinking about this today, like, Do I think of myself as brave?

Uh, sort of, not really.

Y’all, I get that what I’m doing here may sometimes seem like a big deal. Like, not everyone would get on the internet and talk about their sexuality, their crush on Zac Efron, their Dad having been in prison, their mom’s cancer, or whatever they happen to be nervous, thrilled, or angry about on any given day. But just so I’m clear, I don’t sit down and write about this stuff intending to brave. Sure, there are times it takes a deep breath and an internal pep talk in order for me to hit the “publish” button, but being brave is always a secondary consideration. The main thing–the primary consideration for me–is always, “Am I going to be honest?”

As I recall, this question presented itself to me in my very first post, which included a story about how I ran into a man who had previously hit on me. At that time, I knew I wanted to start the blog, but I hadn’t planned on “coming out” my very first day as a blogger on the world-wide web. But there it was on day one, and I was either going to honestly talk about what went on in my day and in my life or I wasn’t. Having spent most of my life being vague or private about my sexuality (and even having lied about it years ago), and likewise having been largely unsatisfied with the results of that behavior, I mustered enough courage to try something different–the plain, simple, unadulterated, this-is-me, take-it-or-leave-it truth.

What a novel concept.

Perhaps bravery is simply having run out of better options.

Joseph Campbell says, “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” In my experience, this is true. (I hate it, but it is.) For all the times I’ve been afraid to hit “publish” and did, it’s paid off a hundredfold. For every time I’ve questioned whether or not to share my authentic truth or experience and did, I now look back and think, Why did I even hesitate? That’s what a positive experience it’s been for me. Now I think, Why did I wait so long (to quit that job, tell someone to fuck off, or wear what I want to)? Yes, it takes courage or bravery to step into the cave you fear to enter. But I know from personal experience that when you’re absolutely worn out by everything else NOT working, that’s when you’re also the the most willing to step into the shadows. Perhaps this is what bravery really is–simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

[The dog in tonight’s photo belongs to one of my dance students and is named CoCo, which is one of my nicknames and the “author name” I use on this blog. Curiously enough, CoCo and I have become fast friends.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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Talk about a Serious Gain (Blog #362)

It’s two in the morning, it’s been a long but good day, and I don’t know what to write about. Tonight’s blog is number 362, the first of “the final four” that will complete “year one,” so it feels like it should be profound. But–chances are–it won’t be. Still, at least I’m here writing. Barring something catastrophic, I’ll soon be celebrating having written every day for a year, at which point it won’t matter which posts were profound and which weren’t. At that point what will matter is that each post, just like each piece of a puzzle, has contributed to the entirety or the wholeness of this project.

Today my therapist and I celebrated the anniversary of our first session together, which was technically four years ago this last Saturday. (My friend Bonnie refers to this date as my “psycho-versary.”) Granted, the “party” wasn’t a huge deal–like, Zac Efron didn’t jump out of a cake or anything. We didn’t even have streamers. But we did take a few moments to acknowledge all the progress I’ve made and all the work that both of us have done these last several years. This is something I hope to do more often–stop and recognize how far I’ve come, rather than simply thinking, But I have so much further to go.

Tonight I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house, and this afternoon she sent me a message that said, “If you show up early, the boys (her young sons) would like to show you the Legos they put together over spring break.” Y’all, these kids are adorable. For maybe twenty minutes they showed me their all the toys and gadgets they’ve put together recently. And despite the fact that most the toys were recommended for children below the age of ten, I was fascinated. I used to play with similar toys when I was their age, and I still love figuring out how one thing connects to another.

As the boys were showing me their treasures, they kept using a phrase I’ve never heard children use before. They’d say, “One new thing we gained is this robot” or “One other thing we gained is this dinosaur.” That word–gained–is something I’ve been chewing on tonight. First, I’ve been thinking about the fact that gain implies something positive and worthwhile, something you’re proud to have. Like, I’d never say, “I gained another sinus infection.” But I’ve also been thinking that in order to gain something, you have to lose something else. In order to gain something, you have to pay a price. The boys, for example, may not have had to purchase their toys, but somebody did, and the boys at least had to spend their time putting the toys together.

As I think about it now, I realize that how a person spends their time and resources is a dead giveaway as to what they value. Like, I can look at the boys’ room and tell they LOVE building things, creating things, and learning. Personally, I love these things too. Also, I love and value writing, which is why I write this blog every day (every damn day). Granted, I lose or give up plenty in order to do so–hours of my time, hundreds of my dollars (for web hosting and design), and missed opportunities (time with friends, etc.). Sometimes, I’m sure I have bitched about these losses. Just tonight I told my friend Bonnie that I was “still” living with my parents. But I’m reminded that for every thing I’ve (willingly) given up in order to write this blog and practice my craft, I’ve GAINED so much more in return.

For one thing, I love, like, and accept myself a hell of a lot more than I used to.

Big gains come at a high price.

Naturally, this same line of thinking could be applied to my time in therapy. Today I told my therapist that of all the good things that have come out of four years of therapy, the very best–like, above and beyond all the others–has been reconnecting with my authentic self, my truth. Talk about a serious gain. The more authentic I am (the more I share myself “warts and all”), the more comfortable I am in my skin and in the world around me and the less anxiety, stress, and nervousness I feel. Sounds great, right? Well, it is. But big gains, naturally, come at a high price. In my case, I’ve spent countless hours and dollars on therapy, books, and other personal growth material. I’ve shed a lot of tears and had a lot of hard conversations.

Still, every minute, every cent, and every challenging thing has been worth it because I’ve gained me. (Now I think, What a terrible thing, to live without yourself.) In this sense, just like I think every blog post is important because each is a link in an unbroken chain, I’m starting to think that every good, bad, and ugly thing in my life is important, perhaps even necessary, because each has somehow brought me to where I am now, this place where I’m meeting myself. I’m always saying that I don’t recommend this inward journey (because it’s hard), but that’s not true. It is hard, but I absolutely recommend this inward journey because in my experience it’s the only way to really put the pieces of your life together, to see how one thing connects to another, to finally become whole.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

A Lighthouse (Blog #343)

Now that my dad’s back from the hospital and is on a strict healthy-living plan, my family owns a new set of bathroom scales. (They’re the fancy kind with a digital readout, so try not to be jealous.) Y’all, if there’s anything positive about being chronically sick and having little to no appetite, it’s weight loss. This afternoon I used the new scales and found out that I’m lighter than I’ve been in four years. I’m thrilled, of course, but this news came as a complete shock. I mean, in terms of diet, I haven’t even been trying lately. I’ve been eating toast with butter and high-fructose-corn-syrup jelly for breakfast for weeks now. All those years of trying-trying-trying, and now that I’ve practically given up caring, the pounds are just sliding off. Go figure. Apparently all it takes is two rounds of influenza.

Uh–count your blessings?

Physically, I’m still worn out, but it could be a lot worse. Today I rallied long enough to do some paperwork, and I’m thinking I may get out of the house before the weekend is over. Also, I took a shower. Y’all, I hate that I consider this bragging–a little paperwork and a hot bath–but I do. God, there’s nothing like the flu on top of a chronic sinus infection to seriously lower your standards and dramatically shift what ranks as an accomplishment in your life. Hey, everyone, you better sit down for this–I bathed.

Emotionally, I have less to offer than I do physically. Yesterday I got some bloodwork back from my doctor, and today I got a message from her about it. She said my CBC results were normal and that my immunology results (which came back as “in range”) would need to be discussed with my immunologist. I’m assuming she said this because he’s the one who ordered the tests and he’s also the specialist–for a reason. At the same time, I hate having to wait an entire month in order to get any explanation at all. Lately my health feels like one of those rush-hour traffic jams caused by heavy construction or a five-car pile-up–like I’m going nowhere fast. It’s so frustrating.

If you’ve never felt this way, it’s exhausting. I don’t recommend it.

Don’t let anyone scare you straight.

I guess I’ve been exhausted for a while now. Some days are worse than others, but I’m honestly worn out by life. It feels like the universe has wadded me up and is running me back and forth across a washboard. I’ve talked to my therapist a lot about this, and recently she said, “Marcus, what are the two things I always tell you? First, don’t let anyone scare you straight. Second, whenever we are the most worn out, the most tested, that’s when something good comes along.” Then she added, “I can’t say this about everyone, but I never worry about you. I’ve never worried about you. I know something good is coming.”

Of course, I hope she’s right. The logical part of me realizes this storm can’t last forever. Still, there are days when it takes all the strength I have and then some to stay above water. On difficult days, I can’t tell you what a difference it makes to know there’s someone in your corner who isn’t judging you, someone who is believing in you and rooting you on. Whether it’s a therapist, a friend, or a family member, I think we all need that–a lighthouse–someone who stands strong in the midst of a storm, someone who helps us find our own way home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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The Place Where Quantum Leaps Occur (Blog #339)

This afternoon I read about fifty pages in a book called Reality Is Not What It Seems by Carlo Rovelli. The book is about quantum physics, and I stopped reading it (for now) when my brain melted and ran out of my ears. Seriously, the book is well-written, but the subject matter (get it–physics–matter?) is dense.

Apparently, part of quantum theory states that electrons orbiting an atom can change orbits, much like if you were orbiting the sun on Earth then suddenly found yourself orbiting the sun on Saturn. But here’s the deal–electrons don’t take a bus, or even a straight or curved line to get from one orbit to another. They’re just in one place and then the next. This phenomenon is what’s properly called a “quantum leap.” (And here I thought “quantum leap” was a television show starring Scott Bakula.)

Holy atomic hopscotch, Batman.

One of the big names in quantum theory is a guy named Werner Heisenberg. He’s dead now but was the one who came up with the idea that in between being at one point and another, an electron is “nowhere.” He formulated this theory one night while in a dark parking lot. There were a few street lamps around, and he saw a man walking across the pavement. He could see the man under one lamp and then the next, but not in between them. Of course, he imagined the man’s trajectory in the dark spaces, but it was as if the man simply disappeared then reappeared elsewhere. So Heisenberg thought, What if subatomic particles behaved like that?

Well, it turns out they do. Crazy, right?

Recently I asked my therapist for her opinion about a psychology book I’d just finished reading. Rather than give me a direct answer, she said, “Let me ask you a question. Do you think I’m more competent than you are–at life?”

“Well,” I kind of sputtered, “No. I don’t actually.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you can see reality.”

My therapist went on to say that in terms of her profession, she obviously has a specific set of skills that I don’t, just like I have a specific set of skills that she doesn’t when it comes to dancing. So in these aspects, perhaps one of us is more competent than the other. Sometimes one person “knows” more than the next. But my therapist’s point was that when it comes to handling life in general, she and I equal. I said, “My only hesitation in answering earlier was that at one time I would have said you were more competent at life than I was.”

Y’all, I can’t say when this change in my thinking took place, I just know that it did. At one time I thought anyone who was smarter, richer, more talented, or better looking than me was better than me overall. But now–I’m glad to say–that thinking seems utterly ridiculous. This shift in perspective is so great, in fact, that I feel like an electron that’s made a quantum leap. It’s as if I’ve suddenly jumped from one orbit, one way of being in the world, to another. Quite literally, I’m on a different path. When I think about Heisenberg’s parking lot/street lamp story, it really does feel as if I used to be “there,” then I was “nowhere,” and now I’m “here.”

(I don’t know what my deal with quotation marks is tonight.)

Granted, I realize this isn’t how the changes in our lives and thought processes actually occur. Presto, change-o. Despite the fact that I can remember one point of light in my life and compare it to another, current point of light in my life and feel as if I’ve made a quantum leap, I can also remember walking through the dark in order to get from where I was to where I am now. But I can’t say when the shift actually happened. I’m glad I did, but I can’t say when exactly I stepped into this current point of light.

This is the beauty of walking through the dark.

If you want my honest opinion, some days I think I’m still walking through the dark. I mean, life has been a real bitch lately. As an episode of Breaking Bad points out, sometimes you’re looking for a light at the end of the tunnel, and all you get is more tunnel. Maybe it’s possible to be in the light and in the dark at the same time. Going back to quantum theory, there’s something called indeterminancy. Inderterminancy states that when, say, an electron does move from one point to another, it doesn’t follow a predictable path. In fact, it behaves as if it were following all possible paths. (Wrap your head around that.) But the point is that when an electron is in between points, when it’s “nowhere,” you don’t “know where” it’s going to end up next. So perhaps this is the beauty of walking through the dark, of those times in our lives when it feels as if we too are nowhere. Nowhere, it turns out, isn’t a bad place to be. Rather, it’s the place where quantum leaps occur, the place where changes can happen in an instant, the place where all possible outcomes are exactly that–possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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This Beautiful Burst of Light (Blog #329)

Today has been cold and wet, and I hate that. It’s depressing. It makes my feet cold. Why I wasn’t born on a tropical island, I’ll never know. Last night I was up until almost four, first watching Netflix then working on some Reichian Therapy breathing exercises. The exercises focused on breathing into your belly and chest, breathing into only your belly, and breathing into only your chest. I’m still not sure I was doing it “right,” but I think I saw my own aura during the process. I don’t know what else it would have been, this reddish/pink light dancing across the ceiling. And no, I hadn’t been drinking. I was completely sober.

Anytime I’ve tried to see an aura, mine or someone else’s, it’s never worked. That being said, every couple of years I have an experience like I did last night. It’s always out of the blue, never predictable. When it involves someone else, I’ll see colors around them, like a halo. When it’s just me, it’s usually when I’m lying down, and I’ll see colors projected on the ceiling. The first time it happened, it was yellow–last night, pink. I don’t know what any of it means, but experiences like these always remind me that there’s more to us than we realize. We’re not just flesh and bones. We’re bigger, more beautiful than that.

Despite my energetic experience last night, I’ve felt completely human today. My body is still dragging, and I spent most the day being angry at someone I don’t even know–the author of a book I just finished reading. The book was supposed to be about marketing “your business.” Instead the author spent most their time bragging–about their successful companies, their successful friends. (Harrumph.) In order to offset my bad mood, I went to a local bookstore in search of a book by Alexander Lowen, the founder of bioenergetics, which is similar to Reichian Therapy. (It’s my latest obsession.) I didn’t find the book, but I did enjoy browsing.

This evening I got back out to return the marketing book to the library and run some errands. I ended up buying a pair of jeans and three white t-shirts for a sock hop I’m planning to attend soon. It was exciting to get something new, even something little, but spending money when I don’t have a job always stresses me out. I feel the same way when I buy food, but then again, you gotta eat. My answer to this stress is usually to spend more money, so tonight I got on Amazon and bought the Alexander Lowen book I couldn’t find earlier. (I used a gift card from Christmas.) Of all the books I’ve read about the mind-body connection and healing, Lowen’s has made the most sense and been the most practical, and I can’t wait to dive in and learn more.

This morning I heard from my internist’s office. They spoke with the immunologist’s office, and the immunologist is supposed to let them (or me) know what tests they need. Yesterday it sounded like they wouldn’t take my case at all, and today it sounds like they’ll consider it, so I guess this is progress. By the time this is all over, I’m going to be a pro at waiting. I’ve been thinking this isn’t the worst thing in the world, having all this time on my hands while both my body and my doctors do their thing. Since starting this blog and especially since getting sick four months ago, I’ve been able to read and digest mountains of information about the body, healing, personal growth, and even marketing. This time in my life is frustrating for a lot of reasons, but it’s also provided me the opportunity to learn more than when I was in college.

So that’s something.

You can’t force an outcome.

Last night while working on the breathing exercises, I ended up breaking a sweat, grunting, even laughing. I didn’t have any specific memories come up, but I can only assume this was all beneficial, a release. Other times when I’ve done exercises like these, nothing. So I’ve been thinking that just like you can’t make yourself see an aura, you can’t make yourself heal. You can have a practice like yoga or meditation, some sort of space for the healing to show up in if it wants to–and I think you should–but you can’t force an outcome. Healing either happens or it doesn’t. Having tried so hard to heal for so long, I’m coming to see any healing, any letting go or movement in the right direction, as a grace, this inexplicable, beautiful burst of light that comes to us for no apparent reason.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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My Therapist Says (Blog #326)

Last night my hips ached so bad that I lay in bed moaning. I couldn’t sleep for the longest time. Today I rallied the troops in order to go to therapy. When I told my therapist how hard the flu had hit me, she said, “Why didn’t you cancel today?” I said, “No. I need to be here. And it’s good for me to get out of the house.” My therapist said that the flu had hit epidemic levels, that her doctor clients haven’t seen anything like it. She said she had it several weeks ago and still wasn’t back to a hundred percent.

So that’s encouraging.

Before therapy I stopped by the office of the immunologist my internist referred me to, since it’s been five weeks and I haven’t heard anything. It took some time, but the nurse found my referral papers. She then said she needed to talk to the doctor but would call me tomorrow afternoon. I told my therapist about this and that I nearly cried while I was waiting in the doctor’s office. I’m just tired of feeling bad. I’m desperate for help. My therapist said things like this always move in phases–just like therapy. Nothing happens all at once. She said to focus on the progress that’s been made already–I had sinus surgery last year, I can breathe now (that’s something). The next step is this doctor, and if this doctor can’t fit me in, then I look for another.

One thing at a time.

I can’t tell you what a nice reminder this is, to just slow down and breathe. I really do get worked up about this sort of thing. It always feels as if I need to heal NOW, get my life together NOW. My therapist says it’s my all-or-nothing mentality, my need for perfection. Today she said, “You’re already perfect the way you are, Marcus, and you’re always going to have “something” to work on, some challenge facing you. I think your big hangup is that you’re so focused on what still needs to be done that you don’t take time to celebrate all the progress you’ve already made.”

I said, “Nailed it.”

Later I told my therapist that I felt like life had really kicked my ass lately. This last week there was the flu and my car needing some work. “You’ve been through a lot this year,” she said. “You had the car accident. It’s this funny thing the universe does–whenever you really work on yourself, it puts more obstacles in your way.”

“Who made up those rules?” I said.

“Right?” she said. “But don’t worry. It gets better.”

So that’s encouraging.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m at a friend’s, house sitting. It took all my energy to pack and get me here, but I’m all settled in amongst the couch pillows and fast internet. So that’s something. I’m thinking about the fact that I’m coming up on four solid years in therapy and that I really have made a lot of progress. Despite the fact that things don’t always happen as quickly as I’d like them to, they obviously do happen. And if life can take me from where I was to where I am, then surely it can take me to where I’m going.

So that’s encouraging.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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Rod Stewart, Charlie Bucket, and My Sock Monkey (Blog #317)

It’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I’m listening to Rod Stewart. You know Rod–Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?–Stewart. Honestly, I’m not a huge fan. It’s not like I have his poster ticky-tacked to my bedroom wall. But on certain days there’s something comforting about his voice. Wake up, Maggie, I think I got something to say to you. Every time I hear that lyric, I feel like I’m slipping into crushed velvet or pulling into my driveway after a hard week on the road. I can’t say why exactly. I guess it makes me smile and let down my defenses at the same time. I guess it helps me let go.

I was just doing this, blogging, a mere twelve hours ago. After I posted last night, I watched a documentary about Deepak Chopra on Netflix, then fell asleep to the sounds of a guided imagery/positive affirmation program. (Sometimes I multitask.) Anyway, not much else has happened since the last time we spoke–er–since the last time I spoke to myself. When I woke up this afternoon, I made breakfast, wrote in my journal, did my meditation. Now I’m back here blogging because I’m going out to eat with friends tonight and don’t want the pressure of having to write hanging over my head.

Lately I’ve been mentally comparing my parents’ home to Charlie Bucket’s house in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. You remember Charlie–he lived with his mom and both sets of grandparents, and all four grandparents were bedridden. In the same bed. Talk about a close-knit family. Anyway, they were all sick, at least until Charlie got his golden ticket and Grandpa Joe was miraculously healed. Well, around here, we’re all sick too. In addition to her clinical depression, Mom’s dealing with the effects of her cancer and its treatment. A couple days ago Dad started fighting a nasty cold or something. (He’s hacking a lot.) And I’m up-and-down with whatever it is I can’t get over–even though (God knows) I’m trying. Despite my best efforts and all that time in bed last night, I’m currently wiped out.

Cheer up, Charlie.

Earlier this week my mom’s doctor removed the “drain ports” that were put in a couple weeks ago during her mastectomy. Well, I don’t know if the ports were taken out too soon or if her bandages weren’t put on right, but yesterday when Mom came into the kitchen, I noticed a dark stain on the back of her nightgown. She didn’t realize it, but she’d been bleeding in bed. My aunts came to the house and helped Mom get cleaned up, but for Mom, the bleeding was the last straw. She broke down. “Why is it that when you think you can’t handle anything else, you’re given something else to handle?” she said.

Seriously.

The picture for today’s blog is of my sock monkey, Nick. I got Nick several years ago for a dance routine in which my dance partner Janie and I pretended to be kids and danced in footed pajamas. Nick was fastened to my outfit, and Janie’s sock monkey, Nora, was fastened to hers. Anyway, Nick was the only stuffed animal I kept when I had the estate sale and started over. I keep a Curious George button on Nick partly because–monkeys–and partly because it reminds me to stay open to whatever life brings me, to not get set in my ways.

A few nights ago I dreamed about Janie. We were watching a dance routine we’d performed, on someone’s phone. The video was eleven minutes long, which by anyone’s standard’s is a ridiculously long time for a dance routine. But it was a dream, so I guess anything goes. Toward the end of the routine, we did an aerial combination. In reality, the combination should have only taken a few seconds, but it went on and on in the dream because we were holding poses. First I held her upside down and above my head for a full minute, then I held her, somehow, behind my back for another. Had you been watching the routine, you would have thought what I was thinking while watching it in the dream–Impossible.

There’s no hurry to get there.

Yesterday, after reading one my blogs, a friend told me she thought I was brave. Y’all, I’ve never used that word to describe myself. For all the bullshit I’ve been through in life, I’ve never thought of myself as brave or strong. But as I’ve chewed on the dream this week, I’ve realized it was about seeing my inner strength and about recognizing the impossible things I’ve overcome. It was about all the times I thought I couldn’t handle anything else–and then did. In Maggie May, Rod Stewart says, “I’ll get on back home one of these days.” Maybe this lyric is why hearing this song feels like pulling into the driveway. It reminds me that not only am I on the right path–the path back to myself (my brave, stronger-than-I-realized self)–but also that there’s no hurry to get there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

Denial Will Get You Through the Night (Blog #315)

Today I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted, nauseated, and cranky. (Leave me alone.) I have a headache. I can’t tell you how much I want to feel like myself again. I’m fed up with being sick, with whatever this is. As Chris Rock says, “I’m tired of this shit–tired, tired, tired.” I give up. I cry uncle.

Also, I don’t know what to write about.

Earlier today I read about coping mechanisms–perfectionism, staying busy, drinking yourself under the table every night of the week and twice on Fridays–things like that. One coping mechanism that caught my attention, probably because it was used as an example, was denial. You know denial. It sounds like, I don’t have a problem, It won’t happen to me, and No, my son’s not gay, he just tweezes his eyebrows every morning and spends his afternoons shopping for Judy Garland memorabilia on eBay. (Don’t all boys?) Anyway, the book said that coping mechanisms like denial aren’t all-bad. Like, if you’re in miserable job or horrible marriage, don’t ignore the facts forever. But if you’re simply not ready to turn your life upside down this red-hot minute, grab a tub of ice cream and watch Sleepless in Seattle. In other words, denial won’t get you through the rest of your life, but it will get you through the night.

And don’t worry–your problems will still be there in the morning.

This is what I’m finding. No problem goes away until it’s fully acknowledged and dealt with. Honestly, I think that’s part of the reason I’ve been so worn out these last few months and why this blog has been so emotionally draining since its inception. It takes a lot to be vulnerable every day, to sit with all your good and bad memories, to really get honest about the deep waters stirring in your internal well. Seriously, I don’t recommend it, since most days you feel like crying, but you’re also afraid to because–What if I never stop? You think, I’m not sure this well has a bottom.

Personally, that’s what I’m not sure about. I believe I heal a little bit every day–at least on the inside–but we’re talking about over thirty years of memories and emotions here, and everything all jumbled altogether. Some days it’s like a tornado whirling inside, and you never know what’s going to be spun out. But I’m trying to trust that what needs to come up will come up when it needs to. This, of course, requires patience, and if I haven’t said it before–I hate that.

In addition to trying to be patient with my emotional body, I’m also trying to be patient with my physical body. I’m still waiting on the immunologist to call, and I go back to my internist in two weeks. Today I’ve been worried about my lethargy and malaise. I guess at some point I’ll need to do something about it. Like, I might have to take shots, change my diet, or put something on my skin. Even though I don’t have an official diagnosis or prescription yet, I’m sure there are some things I could be doing now. Like everyone else in America, I could always eat better. But tonight I had tacos and denial for dinner. I told myself, I’m fine–I’ll deal with whatever it is later.

Honestly, that’s all I can give myself at the moment–a break. A break from trying to figure everything out. A break from having to try so hard in the first place. A break from needing to be perfect. A break, I’m learning, is no small thing to give yourself. After all, you can’t spend every moment of every day in your deep waters. You have to come up for air occasionally.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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