On Internal House Cleaning (Blog #729)

Phew. Today has been a cleaning day. This afternoon my dad and I went to my aunt’s house to borrow her lawn mower and weed eater because I recently volunteered to take care of our yard this summer. As my sinuses have been acting up and my eyes have been watering just LOOKING at the weeds outside, I may regret this decision. We’ll see. Anyway, while my dad and I were at my aunt’s house, she told us her freezer had been acting up. It was frozen over in the back. Consequently, everything in the front was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West–chicken thighs, burritos, quarts of vanilla ice cream. It was a damn mess.

My dad and I did the best we could–got the ice off the removable shelves and threw all the food away. My aunt said, “I’ll just start over.” Sometimes that’s what you have to do. As for the freezer itself, we left it to defrost on its own. Short of dragging the entire refrigerator/freezer out of my aunt’s kitchen, all we could do was let it drip on to the tile floor. Thankfully, my aunt has plenty of towels.

When we got home, I dusted my room top to bottom. This hasn’t happened since November 13th of last year. (I know this because I blogged about it.) That’s four months. Don’t judge. During that time I busted my knee; cleaning was the least of my worries. Plus, I like to let the dust build up a bit. Then I can really see progress. After an hour of cleaning tonight, I thought, My god, this room sparkles. In addition to being cleaner, it’s tidier. I used cleaning as an excuse to sort through papers and books I’d let pile up. I have a makeshift bulletin board where I put inspirational cards and pictures, and I took a few of them down. (Sorry, mister, you don’t inspire me anymore!) Then I gathered several books to donate to a local library. Maybe someone else can enjoy them.

In the mood to get shit done, I cleaned my bathroom next. (After dinner because you gotta eat.) Ugh. This was really gross. You don’t realize how much soap scum is in your shower until you wipe–um, scrape–it off. But now my bathroom sparkles too.

Yippee. No more cleaning for another four months.

It’s weird how easy it is to let things get away from you. Dust and soap scum aside, it’s so easy to throw a piece of paper in a pile or set a book on a shelf and think, I’ll get to that later. And whereas the contrast is nice when you finally do get around to cleaning and tidying, it really is better if you can stay on top of things. I’m speaking in theory, of course, but I’ve heard there are some people who do this. Rather than clean an entire room (or house) at once, they’ll do the furniture one day, the windows the next, and so on. A little bit here and there.

I mean, it’s one way of living.

Tomorrow’s post will complete two full years of blogging. I keep saying this, but it doesn’t seem possible. I still so vividly remember blog #1, blog #2. Back then two years seemed impossible. But how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. How do you blog for two years? One day at a time.

The last few days I’ve talked about the internal benefits of this blog, how it’s changed my level of confidence and almost everything else for the better. This afternoon I’ve been thinking of an external benefit–my writing discipline has improved. For example, two years ago a typical post took five to six hours. Several months or maybe a year in, a post took three hours, maybe four. And whereas my posts are shorter than they used to be, now a post takes two hours max, sometimes just one. It varies, of course, but my point’s the same–writing has gotten easier with practice. In the beginning, I had to groan and grunt to get my words and emotions out of me and on to the page. Now I sit down and they just know–the page is where they belong.

Along these lines, last night I started rewatching a favorite childhood cartoon, The Care Bears Movie. Sometimes I like to do this, go back and rewatch something I watched ad nauseam as a kid. I only got about thirty minutes into the cartoon before I passed out, but even by my current touchy-feely standards, it’s kind of cheesy. “We’re your friends,” the bears say to two complete strangers. My thought–Bitch, we just met. “Feelings don’t belong inside,” they say. “Feelings are meant to be shared.” Ugh, how did that message not sink in thirty years ago?

Of course, the bears make it sound simple to open up and share what’s inside you. It’s not. That is, we’re taught as children to suppress. For most of us, shutting down was–at one point–a matter of survival. For example, if you got hit every time you cried, the natural response would be to STOP CRYING. Not that you’d stop getting sad, of course, you’d just stop showing it. Like I did these last four months with the clutter and dust in my room, you’d let your emotions build up.

Why carry around more baggage than you have to?

In my experience, therapy has been, in part, about getting out and cleaning up all the emotions I shoved down and let build up over the years–anger, sadness, confusion, you name it. I think everyone needs to do this at some point–clean their internal house. Not that it’s fun to scrape soap scum off your soul, but why carry around more baggage than you have to? This blog has likewise been a good way for me to get things cleaned up. Used to, I’d let things bother me for days, weeks. Sometimes I still do, of course, but most the time I can get something sorted out on the same day it happens–right here, on this blog. This means the inevitable nonsense from one day doesn’t get carried into the next. This too has gotten easier with practice.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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On Being Born Again (Blog #728)

This time two years ago, I was two days away from officially starting this blog. I’d gotten the idea for it a week or so before, but on March 30, 2017, I actually bit the bullet and bought the domain. My first post was the next day, March 31, 2017, although the site didn’t go live until the first week in April. Anyway, this means I’m three posts (including this one) away from two full years of daily blogging. I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately; I just can’t get over it. On one hand, two years seems like forever. On the other, it seems like the blink of an eye, as if I’d only written–I don’t know–a dozen posts rather than sixty dozen.

My therapist told me recently that she thought this blog was as much if not more responsible for my growth as therapy has been. I said, “The blog has been like sitting down to talk to a friend and then realizing that friend is me. It’s been my way back to myself.” Still, I’m glad I’ve had and continue to have both therapy and this blog. I’m sure just one would have been beneficial. Before this blog, therapy was beneficial. But with this blog–wow–it’s been even more so. Regardless of how long this project goes on, I’m sold on the idea of working through your thoughts and emotions. Whether with one person or the entire internet, I’m sold on the idea of honestly sharing your story.

This is me, warts and all.

The book I mentioned yesterday that my therapist recommended (by Sheldon B. Kopp) says the truth does NOT set you free. That is, facts by themselves–my boyfriend’s a cheater, my husband’s a louse, my wife is a drunk–don’t change anything. This is why, the author contends, the greatest teachers use stories and parables to teach rather than simply saying, “Your best friend’s an asshole, and you should dump them.” Because people need to be able to work things out for themselves. Said another way, if you’re unhappy for some reason, it’s not simply that a particular situation in your life needs to change; it’s that YOU do. This, of course, takes time. When I broke up with my ex, there were plenty of people who could have rightly said, “We TOLD you he was a grade-A prick.” But I didn’t need to be told the truth; I needed to live it. THAT’S what sets you free, when truth goes from something that lives between your ears to something that lives within your heart. That’s what’s transforming.

Since I started therapy five years ago, my therapist says I’m a changed man. She says the way I walk, the way I carry myself, is different. Of course, I’ve never videotaped myself walking, so I can’t say. But I do know I feel different–better, lighter, happier, more confident, less afraid, more at-home in my own skin. The list could go on. And whereas I can’t say exactly when all of this happened, I just know it has. Not that I’m always up and never down. That’s not how things work on this planet. I experience the full range of my emotions. Indeed, I feel anger and rage more than I ever have. But I also feel joy more than I ever have. That’s one of the things I’ve learned in the last five years–when you shove down a “bad” emotion, you likewise depress a “good” one. The shadow is tied to the light.

As I come to the close of two years of blogging, I’m thinking about what will be next. And whereas I plan to continue my daily online writing habit, I know it won’t last forever. By my own admission, I’m quite the hard ass about this ever day, every damn day thing, and it’s exhausting. Rewarding, but exhausting, and this body and soul can only take so much. Anyway, I’m slowly working my way around to the idea that it’s not the number (728 blogs!) that matters. It’s not the number of words, the number of readers, or the number of shares. I’ve made these things important in my head before (and probably will again), but fuck all that. No, it’s what’s happened on the inside that’s important. It’s the transformation, that thing that happens slowly, can’t be quantified, and is rarely praised by others; that morphing from one thing to another more beautiful, more authentic, and more true thing; that being born again that matters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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On Nothing Happening Today (Blog #717)

This evening my dad and I went to the gym then stopped to pick up supper–sub sandwiches. When we got home, I asked my mom, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” I replied. “NOTHING happened while we were gone?”

This is a game we play sometimes, me and my family. Obviously, SOMETHING happened. Something came on the television, the dog barked, the toilet flushed. Maybe nothing remarkable happened, but something happened. I’m sure of it. Something, after all, is always happening. Still, when I sat down to blog I thought, I don’t know what to say. NOTHING happened today.

This afternoon my dad, in his own words, got “a burr up his butt” and did some yard work. That is, he saw our neighbor trimming their bushes and thought he should too. So he trimmed our crepe myrtle, which needed it; it was beginning to look like something out of The Addams Family, overgrown and full of horror. Then Dad said, “Maybe in the next day or two we can bundle up the branches and haul them off.”

“Let’s just do it right now,” I said. (I don’t know what came over me.)

So that’s what we did. Well, you know how one thing leads to another. The next thing I knew we were on the side of the house (the crepe myrtle is in the front) pulling up privet and dead hydrangea bushes, which I thought looked like Medusa’s head. Then our other neighbor, who works for the city, came over and said if we’d pile everything up by the side of the road, he’d haul it off.

“You won’t pick it up right here?” Dad said.

Y’all, we filled three fifty-five gallon trash bags full of yard debris. Plus, there were the crepe myrtle remains, which I’d tied together with rope. No kidding, I did so much manual labor, I actually broke a sweat. (I’m sure Dad did too.) And whereas that may sound like a complaint, it’s not. For one thing, because of my knee injury, I haven’t been able to break a sweat in months. But today I did! (I’m not saying I smelled great.) For another, the sun was hot enough FOR me to break a sweat. Spring is literally days away. Praise Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Bye, winter! Don’t let the equinox hit cha where the good lord split cha.

Two weeks from yesterday will mark two full years of daily blogging. That will be 730 posts (tonight’s is #717). Recently I’ve been going back and re-reading all my entries. I’m currently at #38. And whereas I’m often critical of my work, I haven’t been. Sure, there are things I’d do differently now, but I’ve actually been enjoying what I created–the funny moments, the tender moments, the honest moments. Indeed, I thought one of my least favorite posts was #19, but when I re-read it, I found plenty to enjoy and be proud of. Was it my best work? No, but what I did in our front yard today wasn’t my best work either, but it was still worthwhile, still an improvement over doing NOTHING.

This is something I’ve learned over the last two years. Often I’ll think, I have NOTHING to say, but if I take time to sit down and write, SOMETHING good will happen, SOMETHING good will come out, even if it’s one simple phrase, one clever joke. Plus, there’s the discipline itself, the act of practicing. And even if you’re not in love with your work, you never know what will speak to someone else. Hell, Emily Dickinson wanted her work destroyed. I can only assume she thought it wasn’t anything remarkable. But look at what the world got. Geez. Artists are such self-critical hard-asses.

Lately I’ve been reading about attention and the idea that we often hyper-focus on whatever we’re doing–raking leaves out of a flower garden, let’s say–but that we have the ability to tune into everything that’s going on around us. For example, this afternoon while working in the yard, I not only noticed what I was doing, but also noticed the sound of cars driving by, the feel of sweat on my skin, the sensation of my feet on the ground, and the smell of the moist dirt. My point, again, is that SOMETHING is always happening. And not that you have to recount every damn detail of your life whenever someone asks you what you did yesterday, but I think it’s important to remember–

So much is constantly happening that it would be impossible to recount.

My therapist says the important work we do is the work that nobody notices. For example, I’ve spent a lot of time these last five years working on my interior, cleaning up the past, connecting with my heart, and creating healthy boundaries. And whereas none of this has paid my bills or kept me warm at night, it has made me a better human. However, because I’m so focused on being productive–teaching dance, cleaning the yard, working out–that on days when I don’t do those things and instead stay home and watch Netflix, I too often say, “Nothing happened; I didn’t DO anything today.” But what about the fact that I was more patient with myself on Monday, more patient with a stranger on Tuesday?

Isn’t that something? Isn’t that remarkable?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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Get It Over With (Blog #681)

This afternoon I went to Starbucks to work on a writing project I’ve been dreading tackling for weeks. Truth be told, I always dread writing. I make it out to be this big thing in my head. I probably won’t know what to say. It’s going to be awful, worse than drinking a bottle of cough syrup. With respect to today’s writing project, this monologue has been building momentum for days, and earlier today I almost convinced myself to procrastinate this thing until next week. After all, I do have an ingrown fingernail on my right pinky, and since it smarts every time I hit the enter key, I figured I had a legitimate medical reason for staying home and watching Netflix.

Alas, I ended up telling myself, Marcus, you’re never in the mood to write. No writer is ever in the mood to write until they start writing, and dragged my happy little ass and not-so-happy ingrown fingernail to Starbucks. Still, despite the fact that I was there, I stalled–ordered a drink, checked my Facebook, took forever organizing my papers, went to pee. Finally, after staring at a blank page and thinking real hard for fifteen minutes, I wrote my first paragraph. Then my second, then my third. Then I was on a roll, and just like that, two hours flew by. Two hours, that was my self-imposed time limit. Just work for two hours, Marcus. See what you can get done in two hours.

When two hours was up, I’d finished over half of my project. What’s more, I’d actually had fun. Not only had I gotten out of the house (and run into a friend), but I’d also created something I was proud of. There was all this buildup about it not turning out well, but at some point during the process I thought, Hell, Marcus, YOU ARE A WRITER.

After packing up my things at Starbucks, I came home for a snack then headed back out to the gym. They close early on the weekends, so that was part of the reason I limited myself to two hours of writing. Plus, I figured I didn’t have to burn through the entire project in one sitting. It’ll be there tomorrow. Anyway, I’m actually starting to enjoy the gym. I have spent quite a bit of time there “in my younger days” and have started to remember what it’s like to push yourself and see results. Today while working on my shoulders, I rolled up my sleeves because they’re starting to get a hint of definition (my shoulders, not my sleeves). Oh my god, how exciting, I thought, I have muscles!

GRRR.

While at the gym, I noticed a teenager in a knee brace. I wonder if he’s had surgery, I thought. Sure enough, there was a red scar on the front of his leg. I don’t know, maybe having knee surgery is like that deal when you buy a new car then suddenly notice EVERYONE ELSE has the same car you do, since I’m beginning to spot people of all ages who’ve apparently been through the same thing I have. Hell, last night I found out that my celebrity crush, Zac Efron, recently tore his ACL and had surgery. (He’s currently on crutches.) But really, is that bizarre or what? He even injured his left knee, just like I did.

When I told my mom about this fascinating coincidence, she said, “Well if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.” (Everyone’s a comedian.) “I know,” I said. “It’s meant to be.”

You can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings.

Now it’s nine in the evening, and I’m excited about finishing this blog and having the rest of the night to myself. Maybe I’ll read a book, maybe I’ll watch a movie. Either way, I’m really leaning into this idea of being able to make progress by spending an hour here, an hour there on something. For example, it’s been just over six weeks since my knee surgery, and I really am getting around better and growing stronger, and it’s all happened an hour at a time. Likewise, I made noticeable progress today with my writing project, and it was just a small slice of my day. Now I’ve got six hundred words that I didn’t have before. Also, I’m learning that you can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings. That is, if there’s something you’re dreading, guaranteed, you’re going to think and feel differently about it after having done it. So whether it’s a creative project, a trip to the gym or doctor’s office, or a hard conversation, just get it over with. You’ll be glad you did, I promise.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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Excitement and the Creative Process (Blog #677)

Yesterday I blogged about how excitement comes at the beginning of a new endeavor, a diet, an exercise program, a writing project. My point was that, unfortunately, the excitement doesn’t last. Inevitably, boredom sets in. Maybe the results aren’t coming as quickly as you’d like. (Do they ever?) At that point, you have to make a choice. Am I going to stick with this thing or not? Do I mean business or don’t I? In terms of my experience with this blog, I know I’m rarely excited about sitting down and pounding out five hundred or a thousand words on the daily. Thankfully, the excitement I initially felt when starting this project has–somewhere along the way–been transformed into something better, something akin to fondness and belief. That is, I’m fond of this project, fond enough to show up here day after day. Likewise, I believe in this project, and that belief, I think, is ultimately what’s required to sustain any longterm endeavor, be it a blog, a healthy lifestyle, or a relationship.

More on this shortly.

Last night my dad, who’s overweight and notorious for saying, “I’ll start that diet or exercise program next week,” actually went to the gym with me. No shit, walked in the front door of Planet Fitness, put his hands on his hips and hollered, “IS THIS THE JUDGMENT FREE ZONE?” Oh my god, y’all, I NEVER talk to anyone at the gym, and Dad waltzes right in there and starts making friends. The next thing I knew, he’d signed up and was getting a tour. When I signed up, I said, “I’ll show myself around, thanks.” Anyway, it really was fabulous having him there, even though we worked on different machines. In a room full of strangers (or rather, people you refuse to introduce yourself to), it’s good to know someone. It’s good to know someone’s in your corner.

Now it’s 9:15 in the evening. Fifteen minutes ago Dad asked if we were going back to the gym today, so I’m trying to type fast so we can. Personally, I don’t mind going at midnight, but Dad prefers to go earlier. And since I got up this morning at 7:30 for an appointment with my massage therapist and chiropractor, I don’t mind saying it would be nice to workout before I mentally turn into a pumpkin.

This afternoon I washed my car, Tom Collins, for the first time since I injured my knee two months ago. It’s weird the things you take for granted when your legs work, like being able to vacuum your backseat or scrub your tires with a cleaning brush. Anyway, it really felt super, giving Tom a good once-over. Plus, the sun was shining, and that really puts a smile on my face. Ugh, the sky has been so gloomy lately. I keep telling myself, Spring is coming. Just wait, spring is coming.

This evening I went to a local bookstore, Bookish, to hear my friend, writing instructor, and local author Anita Paddock speak. Anita recently wrote not one–but two–true crime novels about murders that took place right here in Van Buren around 1980 (the year I was born). Well, she’s in the process of finalizing her third true crime novel about four people who were also murdered here in Crawford County around 1980, and tonight Anita gave a group of us a verbal outline of the story and read an expert from her book, which should come out this summer.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm it was to see Anita tonight. Not only is she a wonderful presenter and storyteller, but it’s always inspiring to see someone you know succeed and be supported by their community. Dreams come true. People are in your corner. Plus, going to a bookstore is my version of going to church, and I got both inspired and excited about a few writing projects that I’ve been putting off for, well, a long damn while now. Not that I haven’t been thinking about them, but I tend to put a lot of pressure on myself. I think, This has got to be good, and then I never sit down to start because I’m too afraid. What if it’s not good? In short, I “dig in” and “get serious” about potential projects–two things that are good to do, but not right away–before allowing myself to be excited about them first. The result, sadly, is I end up squashing my dreams before they have a chance to take hold.

You need excitement to jumpstart you.

Since I was inspired and excited tonight, I immediately took action. First I called a friend of mine about an idea I had. Then I went to another bookstore (that was still open) to get more ideas. Y’all, this was so much fun for me, just thinking about possibilities. This is the great thing about excitement–it thinks everything is possible. For a creative, this is absolutely necessary. You need excitement to jumpstart you, to carry you into the hard work, which–no doubt–will come. And hopefully by that point you’ve grown so fond of your project, that you won’t turn back. Hopefully by that point you’ll believe so much in what you’re doing–and, more importantly in yourself–that you’ll keep showing up regardless of mood, regardless of whether the sky is gloomy or the sun shines bright.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

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On Doing Difficult Things (Blog #659)

It’s 11:30 at night. An hour and a half ago I sat down to blog but have been procrastinating ever since by cleaning out my email inbox and searching online for alternative health solutions. I really don’t know what to talk about today. Once this afternoon and once this evening I practiced knitting, and I’d rather be doing that. Or reading a book. Or watching Netflix. (The fifth season of Grace and Frankie just came out.) Really, I’d rather be doing anything else but writing. Oh look–there’s a jar of peanut butter.

Eating peanut butter sounds like a good thing to do.

Last night after blogging, I went to the gym. I really like going late at night; there’s hardly anyone there. That being said, because my gym’s not open late on the weekends, today I went this afternoon. And whereas there were some hot bodies to look at (well, one in particular), it was definitely more crowded and less fun. Hell, I thought I was gonna have to fight an old lady for the last available exercise bicycle. Thankfully, she was apparently eyeing another piece of equipment. But still, I usually have all five bikes to myself, and today I felt crowded. I guess conspicuous is a better word. In my opinion, my rehab exercises look weird. You know how you assume everyone’s staring at you constantly, even though they’re not.

The truth–nobody gives a shit what you’re doing.

When I got home from the gym, I took a nap. Because my achy leg wakes me up constantly during the night, nap time is the best part of my day. It’s fabulous. Also, this lack of solid sleep thing is a drag, a serious drag. Even now, despite the nap, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate or string two thoughts together. My mind and body are just done. Go back to sleep, they’re saying. Maybe this is why Netflix or knitting sound appealing. Neither requires much mental power.

Hum. That’s something. I just said knitting doesn’t require much mental power, which means it’s getting easier. (I just learned a few days ago.) That’s good. Likewise, doing my rehab exercises and going to the gym are getting easier. They’re becoming part of my routine. Not necessarily a fun part, mind you, but a part nonetheless.

Where am I going with this?

I said earlier that I didn’t want to write tonight. Still, here I am writing, so clearly a part of me does want to write tonight. Sometimes people say I’m disciplined–I write every day, I do my rehab exercises consistently, whatever. And whereas I agree that I’m disciplined in these areas, since I know there are areas in my life in which I’m not disciplined, I usually just think of myself as being “sold on” these activities that I consistently do. That is, I really want to be a writer and am sold on the idea that writers write. I’m sold on the idea that if I do this every day for a certain period of time, I’ll learn something valuable. Along the same lines, despite the fact that I hate having injured my leg, I’m sold on the idea that if I do my rehab exercises, I’ll get better. One day I’ll run again; one day I’ll dance again. So I do the thing even when I don’t feel like it.

I guess that’s my point tonight. If it’s worth doing–if there’s some reward on the other side of doing it–you’re probably rarely going to feel like doing it. It’s not a warm, fuzzy message, I realize. It’s just the truth. There is a warm, fuzzy part, however. Once you do the thing, then the good feeling comes. For example, now that this blog is over, I’m glad I did it. I feel a sense of pride, of accomplishment that no one can take away. So that’s the deal–a part of you will never feel like doing the difficult thing–never. Whatever it is, it’s difficult for a reason. That is, it’s not fun. But a great part of you will always feel good after having done the difficult thing–always. The fun comes after the fact.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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Starting on the Right Foot (Blog #641)

[Photo credit: Tom Wilmer]

It’s 9:36 PM on New Year’s Eve, there are fireworks going off outside, and I’m celebrating alone. This is somewhat by choice, somewhat just the way the cookie crumbled. This morning I had an offer to join some friends tonight, but the party was out-of-town, and attending would have required more in terms of time and effort than I could have given considering my present condition. (I had knee surgery last week.) So instead I’m here, alone, in front of my laptop, listening to Eva Cassidy. Eva’s always my go-to choice whenever I’m feeling sad/lonely/thoughtful/hopeful.

I guess today has been all right. Honestly, I hate the fact that there’s all this pressure to make holidays special. Because if you spend the day binge watching your latest favorite television series and eating pizza any other day of the year, well, that’s kind of fabulous. But do those things alone on a night when practically the entire world is out getting turnt, and–hum–that kind of sucks.

Oh well.

Of course, the big thing lately that has me down is my jacked-up knee. Tonight’s main photo came in on my email earlier from my friend and fellow travel writer Tom and was taken a couple months ago in Tennessee, back when I could bend both knees and didn’t think anything about it. Now I couldn’t squat like that to save my life. Hopefully no one puts a gun to my head and says, “CROUCH, asshole!” anytime soon. Anyway, today I noticed that my left knee (the one that was operated on) is quite bruised both above and below my kneecap. I don’t know, maybe the bruise is just coming to the surface. Or maybe today was the first time I got away from the yellow-tinted bulbs in my room and stood close enough to a sunlit window to notice it. Either way, it’s gross.

And it’s still difficult to stand up.

I know this will be the case for a while. This afternoon I went through my physical rehab exercises twice, and they’re quickly becoming part of my routine. (Who am I kidding? I don’t have a routine.) Anyway, I really don’t intend this blog to become The All About My Knee Report, but this is still fresh and has a lot of my emotional attention.

Like, all of it.

Earlier after finishing the Amazon Prime series Sneaky Pete (Season 2), I started to take a shower and do my final set of exercises. But then I figured that would put me blogging as the new year begins, and for whatever reason, I’d rather be doing something else. Granted, I do enjoy this–writing, blogging–most the time. But today marks one year and nine months of daily blogging (I started March 31, 2017), so I’m not even going to pretend that this isn’t work, sitting down every day, every damn day, and hacking away at the keyboard, soul-searching.

Come out, come out, wherever I am.

Since it’s been one year and nine months since I started this thing, today does indeed feel like a milestone worthy of fireworks. This project is something I’m profoundly proud of. Mostly because of how it’s changed me. Seriously, I could do without all the “first day of the new year” fanfare, but the fact that today is three months shy of two years of straight (well, continuous) blogging, that’s a big deal for me. In this light, I’m reminded that the things in our lives that impact us the most rarely happen at the stroke of midnight. Rather, they are the things we show up to and sit with day after day after day. So whether it’s this blog or my knee rehab, I’m telling myself that all I have to do is keep showing up in order to get the results I want.

Somehow, The Mystery will work its magic.

Now it’s 10:33 PM, and chances are if I finish this up and get right to the shower, I’ll either be doing my rehab exercises or brushing my teeth as 2018 comes to a close. And whereas I know I just said I don’t make a big deal out of these moments, clearly a part of me does. A part of me wishes I were at some lovely party, holding hands with my dear one. But that’s simply not the case this year, and I don’t have a dear one anyway. The last time I did on new year’s, we were at home hanging tile and–as I recall–fighting. We were always fighting, so surely we were that night too. Anyway, I’ll take rehab exercises or my toothbrush over that hell any day.

Everything’s relative.

As The Final Hour closes in, I’m glad that I’m alone. If this project has taught me anything, it’s that–at least most the time–I’m my own best company. I mean, I’m pretty funny. But seriously, I’ve learned that even when my feelings aren’t comfortable, I can sit with them, I can listen to them, and we can figure things out. Plus, I’m hoping for some wonderful things this coming year, so good that I have this time to reflect on what those things are and what my “next steps” could be. What are those things that I want to start or keep showing up to? What are those things I need to STOP showing up to? Yes, I’m starting this year on the right foot. I have to.

My left one doesn’t work anyway.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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.

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Upid (Blog #636)

It’s 6:36 in the morning, just like this is blog #636, and I’ve been up for half an hour, getting ready for knee surgery. My dad’s about to use the bathroom, then we’re getting in my car, Tom Collins, and heading to Fayetteville. Check in is at 8; surgery at 9:30.

Phew.

Last night after I posted the blog, I walked around the block because I figured it would be the last time I could go for a walk for a while. It was slow, emotional. This really is overwhelming. And by “this” I mean life lately. But still, I made it. There was a point going up a hill when my knee got cranky, but hell, it is pretty screwed up, so why wouldn’t it get pissed about being taken for a stroll?

Just before midnight last night, I ate a snack and gulped down some water, then cut myself off from food and liquids as instructed. Then I crawled in bed. And whereas it took a while to wind down, I did get some rest. Granted, I woke up at five in the morning randomly. I’d just had a dream about–something–being on the yearbook staff in college, I think.

Oh well.

Now Dad and I are in the car, just getting on the interstate. I’m blogging now because I’m imagining I won’t feel much like blogging later. Although my writing while on pain medication could be fun. Anyway, there are times, days like today, when I think this blogging every day thing is perfectly ridiculous. I mean, I know it was my idea, but one day I bet I’ll look back and think, Stupid.

Or as my nephew, who’s not allowed to say stupid, would say, Upid.

So this is it until tomorrow. Even if I feel up to it this afternoon or evening, no more writing. Last night I had “a chat” with my knee, and I told it I’d rest, drink plenty of water. You know, take it easy. So that’s what I’m going to do. Besides, I’m over this.

I have other things to do today.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

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Me and the Universe (Blog #627)

It’s eleven-thirty at night, and I’d rather be doing something else. Watching TV, reading a book, sleeping, you name it. Anything but writing. Fuck this daily practice. Talking about my emotions on the internet! What a dumb idea that was. (I take it back.) And did I mention I’m still limping around like someone with a war injury? I guess it’s gonna be like this for a while. I did sever my ACL. Ugh. Life is a lot sometimes.

Pass the chocolate cake.

This morning I saw my therapist. I’m sure that’s largely why I’m emotionally up in arms. Not that our session didn’t go well. It did. But everything gets stirred up in there. My damned feelings, I mean. Then I have to walk out and do something with them. Or at least wait for them to settle back down. I don’t know, my therapist says it’s always worse around the holidays, that this time of year is when everyone’s crazy comes out. Additionally, today she said that the universe has clearly dumped a lot in my lap lately. And whereas she said she believes it will let up at some point, she also suggested getting used to the idea that the universe will always be presenting me with new challenges until I’m “six feet under or ashes in a jar” because that’s the way the universe rocks.

In other words, when it comes to personal growth, the universe is a real hard ass.

In light of this idea that “there’s always more to do,” my therapist suggested that I back off the self-help shit for a while. This came up because I recently read a book about inherited family trauma (and did all the exercises it suggested) during a short period of time. “I did something similar once, but it was over a couple of years,” she said. “Suffice it to say, you’ve opened a lot of doors in your subconscious. I’d consider giving it a damn rest while everything bubbles up.”

This is a tough thing for me to do, to not rush-rush-rush to the finish line of mental health. I know, I know–there is no finish line; life is a game that never ends (woo). Again, what a dumb idea. But really, I am going to give this some thought. My therapist said today that she really believed my leg injury had to do with my learning to slow down and graciously accept help. She said, “Accepting help doesn’t diminish you as a person; it makes you MORE of a real person.”

So fine. This is me slowing down. This is me accepting help.

Graciously.

(Insert smile here.)

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m pretty much done for the day. My sister and her family are coming to visit this week, and we’re having the carpets cleaned in the morning in preparation for their arrival. All this to say that I won’t be able to sleep in tomorrow, nor will I be able to sleep in once they get here. My nephews are beautiful, but they’re not quiet. (We all have our spiritual gifts.) Anyway, I’m ready to go to bed. Maybe I’ll watch TV first. Regardless, hopefully I’ll nod off soon, and my emotions can bubble up and magically sort themselves out while I snore. Then I can wake up, and the universe and I can try again. Because I do intend to try again, just like I intend to walk without limping again and keep writing every day.

I’m a hard ass too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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On Today and Becoming Famous (Sort of) (Blog #593)

Things that happened today–

1. I woke up

Last night I passed out way early but only slept for a couple hours. Then I tossed and turned for a couple hours, then I finally fell back asleep. Then when my bladder woke me up this morning/afternoon, I was in a fog, which I’ve been in ever since. My hips hurt, and–I know this sounds like something an old person would say, but–it’s probably because the weather’s changing. Seriously, I do not thrive when it’s cold outside. Still, as my dad says, “Any day above ground is a good day.”

2. I remembered how much I’ve forgotten

This afternoon I worked more on my photo-sorting project. I’m getting close to done. A few more days like today, and I should have it licked. Anyway, nothing profound came up today, at least nothing that hasn’t come up before. But here’s a photo of me and my friend DeAnna, who taught me how to dance. (She’s the responsible party.) I know it was taken in Biloxi, MS, but I can’t for the life of me remember when. Well wait, I think it was sometime around (either just before or after) Hurricane Katrina, which was in 2005. So that’s a clue. I swear, trying to remember my life is like trying to solve a murder mystery.

3. I faced my fears

For over a year I’ve been meaning to add a “donate” page to the website, but have been putting it off, putting it off because it brings up a lot of issues for me. (Fear of money, fear of rejection, fear of acceptance.) But my therapist and I set a goal to have it done by next week (ish), so tonight I “drafted” the page. And whereas I was initially terrified to sit down and “write something, write anything,” it went fine and wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I imagined it would be. I mean, it was just putting my honest thoughts on the page, and that’s something I do every day. Plus, my therapist and I have done a lot of digging around WHY this is such a big damn deal for me, and as I heard Shakti Gawain* say tonight (and I’m paraphrasing), “When we really look at the root of our fears and acknowledge them, they begin to dissolve.”

*Shakti Gawain was the author of Creative Visualization. She passed away this last week.

4. I became famous

Well, sort of. Recently while I was on a travel writing trip in Tennessee, my friend and fellow journalist Tom Wilmer interviewed me about swing dancing for his podcast, Journeys of Discovery, on NPR. Y’all, I was totally nervous. I’m so used to ASKING questions, not ANSWERING them. But Tom was super, like “this is no big deal,” and put me at ease. Later, Tom combined my interview with another interview he did about belly dancing, and the show went live tonight. Here’s a link to the entire thing. It’s about thirty minutes long, and my part starts at 13:55. Personally, I’m thrilled with how it turned out. Thanks, Tom!

Be sure to check out some of Tom’s other interviews. He gets to meet the coolest people and does a fabulous job sharing their stories with the world.

5. I cleaned my room

While listening to the podcast, I dusted my room. Woowho. Now I won’t have to do that again for another six months.

[One final shout-out to Tom for taking the picture of me at the top of tonight’s blog. It’s from our trip to Tennessee and was taken at Fall Creek Falls State Park.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Stop buying your own bullshit.

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