This Show Is Far from Over (Blog #206)

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Last night I decided to stay one more day in Albuquerque. Now it’s nine at night, everyone else is in bed, and I’m planning on leaving bright and early in order to be back tomorrow evening. I have dinner plans, so that means hitting the road at a rather ungodly hour and spending the entire day trying to figure out how much coffee I can drink without having to stop to use the restroom. When I worked at summer camp and drove a school bus, the teenage boys used to drink two liters of soda then pee in the bottle. So far I haven’t succumbed to this wisdom, but I’ve thought about it more than once. It certainly would make the trip go faster.

I’ve spent most the day with my nose in a book. Well, four books, two of which I finished. Currently my eyeballs feel as if they’re going to fall out of my head, roll across this countertop, and bump into my whiskey-and-coke. Considering the fact that reading has seriously been my entire day, my sister said, “I’m really curious as to what you’re going to blog about tonight.” Even now I’m thinking, Me too, sis, me too. I guess I could tell you that Ander dressed up as a pirate again today. At three years of age, the boy talks nonstop, and he kept trying to say, “Ahoy,” but saying, “A whore” instead.

Aren’t kids great? (I guess “a whore” does give a completely different meaning to the phrase, a pirate’s “booty.”)

Yesterday I attended the musical An American in Paris. Not that I need a reason to see a bunch of men in tight pants dancing under spotlights, but my friend Brian is in the show, and that’s why I went last night. Y’all, it was fabulous. If you get a chance to see it, don’t hesitate. All that being said, I’ve been nursing a small amount of melancholy today, since I said goodbye to Brian when the show was over. On one hand, I’m so glad I met a wonderful guy this week. On the other hand, it may be a while before I enjoy his company again. Plus, this entire trip has been fabulous–my dance mentor Maggie, the guru, my sister and her family, my dance partner Kaleb. All of it feels like a big Show’s Over, and I guess I’m just sad to see everything end.

One of the books I started and finished today was called The Revolutionary Trauma Release Process by David Berceli, PhD. As I’ve mentioned before, a number of books about trauma state that the body can store stress, anxiety, and tension in the muscles, but the body can heal itself and return to a state of balance by shaking or “tremoring.” (I wrote about one experience I’ve had with this sort of thing, here.) Many animals and children do this naturally, quiver or tremble when they’re angry or afraid. The problem with adults, however, is that our brains usually stop our bodies’ natural instincts because we think it’s weird or embarrassing to vibrate like a heart-shaped bed at a cheap motel.

But the book I read today said it’s not weird or embarrassing. Actually, it’s normal. The idea is that muscles naturally contract when under stress or trauma to pull us into the fetal position and protect our “soft parts”–genitals, vital organs, face. If the body doesn’t realize a threat is over, we can end up permanently contracted. And whereas massage or yoga works to relax tight muscles from the outside in, shaking helps to release them from the inside out. So the book includes exercises that encourage the body to shake (gently, not like a Pentecostal) and therefore heal itself. Of course, I had to try them.

Believe it or not, I’m a skeptic. At the very least, I’m a cynic. I’m always hoping “something that works” will be at the end of the next book, the next weekend workshop, but I’m usually disappointed. So as I went through the exercises, I thought, This is bullshit–it just feels like stretching. But then midway through everything, my diaphragm started to quiver, and by the time I got to the last instruction, my hips started vibrating and sending mild to somewhat violent pulses down both my legs. This went on for a good twenty to thirty minutes.

I’m guessing for some people, this would be a strange experience, but for me it was a welcome one. Since I’ve had similar experiences before and read a lot about this, it didn’t freak me out. I even called my sister into my room and said, “Put your hands on my knees.” (As they bounced about, she said, “That’s crazy!”) Plus, although the book said sometimes people experience a rush of emotions when shaking, the experience tonight was strictly a physical one. Well, I did laugh a little.

That felt good.

When the shaking was finished, I’m sad to say that I didn’t see Jesus descend from heaven. But I did try a couple yoga poses that are usually a real bitch for me, and both of them were considerably easier, so something relaxed. Clearly the exercises tonight weren’t a “one and done,” but I do think they were a good start, and I noticed when I stood up that I felt considerably lighter. Specifically, I felt less sorry for myself and simply grateful for the last two weeks and all the people I’ve had the privilege to spend time with.

Before he went to bed tonight, Christopher gave me a hug and said goodbye. At first he was totally sweet, but then said, “We would’ve had more time to play together, but you were too busy talking to Mom to spend time with me.”

I said, “I appreciate your getting your feelings out in the open. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

He said, “I love you,” and went to his room.

Nothing lasts forever.

On the counter next to me is a toy called a Buddha Board. It’s a canvas for painting–with water. Of course, the water evaporates, so it’s about the concept of letting go. Perhaps it could teach both my nephew and me a thing or two. I guess we all have our disappointments, things we want to happen or last longer that don’t. Fabulous experiences come into our lives the way wonderful people do. Maybe they stay for a night or fifty years, but they eventually leave, all of them gone like water into thin air. Sooner or later it’s just you and your feelings, and that’s gotta be okay. The good news is that uncomfortable feelings leave too. Nothing lasts forever. Even if your body spends thirty years tensed up because it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, one day it can begin to let go. Then you can look around at all the shoes on the floor, be thankful you’re still alive and have loved ones beside you, and think, This show is far from over. In fact, it’s only just beginning.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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Courage and Those Who Hold Our Hands (Blog #205)

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When I woke up this morning around nine I coughed up some bloody snot. It looked like what I felt like the time. Now it’s four in the afternoon, and things could be better, things could be worse. Statistically speaking, my brain is functioning about sixty percent–well, considering I can’t figure how to end this sentence, let’s say forty-five. Anyway, I figure it only goes downhill from here, so I’m blogging now. Plus, I’m planning to go out this evening to see An American in Paris, the musical, since that seems like a good gay way to wrap this trip up. Anyway, the show starts in less than four hours, and the clock’s ticking.

Last night I went dancing again with my friend Kaleb, this time at a country-western bar called The Dirty Bourbon. Is that a great name or what? Anyway, The Dirty Bourbon is primarily a straight bar, but I guess they’re accepting. Kaleb and I were the only guys I saw dancing together, but I did see some women dancing together, and–most importantly–nobody got their ass kicked. Actually, I saw several people smiling at us, one guy at the bar complimented our dancing, and a lady in the crowd videotaped us doing the rumba.

Situations like the one last night are always affirming for me in the best way. Typically, if a guy holds my hand–let alone dances with me–in public, I usually feel like jumping out of my skin and running away because I’m afraid of what everyone else will think, say, or do. I know straight people have their problems–everyone has their problems–but I imagine this isn’t one of them, being afraid to publicly show affection for or connection with another person. A while back a guy held my hand on Garrison Avenue in downtown Fort Smith, my hometown. As we got close to our car, a couple dudes were standing outside a rather seedy bar, and I thought, Thank God I know a good plastic surgeon because this is not going to end well. Everything in me wanted to drop my date’s hand, but I didn’t. Then as we passed the dudes, one of them said, “Hey, fellas.”

And that was it.

Granted, I know bullshit happens to gay (and straight) people all the time. Strangers are total assholes, say mean things, commit acts of violence. Sometimes parents even cut ties with their own children when they come out of the closet. That being said, thankfully, my experience has been quite the opposite. Despite the fact that I’ve spent much of my life afraid of rejection and confrontation based on my sexuality, so far the only person to make a big deal about it has been me. Part of me still worries, of course. Last night at the country bar I was very aware that Kaleb and I were the only gay guys dancing together. But why should fear stop you from doing something you not only want to do but also have a right to do? Obviously, it shouldn’t.

This morning my sister and I took Christopher to an acting class. Y’all, it was absolutely adorable. The teachers were animated, patient, and amazing. There were maybe fifteen or twenty kids, and the teachers taught them about stage directions, getting into character, and memorization. Some of the kids were shy and timid. Others like my nephew had no problem projecting or asking questions (that didn’t actually have to do with acting).

For one of the exercises, the kids had to memorize a line from the movie What’s Up, Doc? The line was, “What do you think I am, a piece of ripe fruit that you can squeeze the juice out of and cast aside like an old shoe?” Best quote ever, right? Hell, I should probably use it on a few people, maybe add it to my Tindr profile. (I don’t have a Tindr profile. My therapist said the guys on there have a quality rating of “zero point fucking shit.”) But I digress. In addition to memorizing the line, the kids had to come up with a character, stand on stage, and perform the line as that character. (One girl was a cat.) Anyway, here’s Christopher performing as a robot. My sister and I were super nervous for him, but I don’t think he was nervous at all–and he nailed it.

This afternoon my sister and I took both the boys to a costume-themed birthday party at a local park. Ander dressed as “Captain Hook,” but he really just looked like a pirate. My sister’s husband said, “Don’t say anything.” Isn’t he adorable? (Christopher dressed as Peter Pan and was adorable too, but I forgot to take pictures of him. Since I took so many this morning, I hope he doesn’t end up in therapy due to this one oversight.)

At the party there was a piñata, and if you’ve never seen a bunch of blindfolded toddlers swing a stick at a moving paper-mache cat head, you’ve still got a lot of life to live. It was really more cute than I could handle for one day. Well, even before all the kids got a chance at swinging the stick, the piñata burst open, and every single one of those children went from zero to sixty in 1.2 seconds. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. They were on that candy like white on rice. My head’s still spinning thinking about it.

As I’m sure you know, sugar is the great motivator, so the kids were quickly all over the playground equipment. For a while I looked after Ander, and he kept wanting to go down this one little slide over and over (and over) again. I kept asking if he wanted to try a different one, a longer, taller one, but he kept saying, “No, it’s scary,” so we kept returning to the familiar. Even at that slide, every time he said, “Stand at the end to catch me–closer–no, closer.”

I suppose we are all timid like this now and then. After all, life can be a big, scary place. Of course, there are days we wake up feeling as if we can conquer the world, and these are the days we stand proudly and confidently on the stage of life. Other days–maybe most days–we feel as if we’re swinging a stick blindfolded, just hoping to connect with what we want. These are the days when our brains function below one hundred percent, when we are shy and unsure of our right to be here, to taste and enjoy all the goodness life has to offer. But I’m starting to believe that courage always looks like trying something even when you think you’re not ready, even when you’re afraid. Thankfully, we often have others who are willing to take us by the hand and courageously walk, dance, or slide into the unfamiliar with us. This reminds us, of course, that no one is alone. Also–more often than not–things turn out just fine and the world ends up being a safer place to live than we realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Ultimately, we all have to get our validation from inside, not outside, ourselves.

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Life As Explosion (Blog #201)

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It’s three in the morning, and I just got back from a long night of dancing. I’m exhausted, and most of me would rather be in bed. Since this is a blog about honesty, I can say that. The house is supposed to be quiet, but one of my nephews is apparently awake, and I think my sister just got up to check on him. Seriously, is this what parenting is like, cooking meals and running a professional taxi service during the day, then playing night watchman when the sun goes down? I don’t know how parents get anything done. Well, yes I do–they put their children in front of a television. But still, my hat is off to you people.

This afternoon my sister and I went to Costco. Y’all, I’d never been to one before, and it was pretty damn ridiculous. There were giant televisions, cheap alcohol (name brand!), and a hotdog stand. It was like an adult carnival plus Hanes underwear in bulk. What’s more, there was a refrigerated vegetable room bigger than my parents house and twice as tall. (Who the hell is eating so much lettuce?) And did I mention it was freezing? I had to put on a long-sleeved shirt just so we could walk halfway across the room and pick out some strawberries.

But I digress.

I guess my nephew Ander and I have a lot in common because that boy is always hungry. After the vegetable freezer he started asking for food, so my sister opened up a package of cheese right there in the middle of the tomato sauce section and gave him a slice. Maybe this is a mom thing, but I was mortified. I thought, We haven’t paid for that yet! Well, I bit my tongue, but Ander obviously wouldn’t have given a shit anyway because he had a slice of delicious cheese in his hands. I mean, he threw the wrapper on the floor and started munching away. (I picked up the wrapper and sneaked it in my pocket like, Nothing to see here.)

Thankfully, the cops didn’t show up.

After Costco and before we picked my other nephew up from school, we went to Chick-Fil-A and ended up talking about how frickin’ friendly they are. You know, they always ask your name, smile, and say “my pleasure” whenever you say, “Thank you.” Who are these people? I mean, I’m all for customer service, but sometimes I feel like I’ve walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone whenever I step on their property in search of a simple chicken sandwich. Geez. My pleasure. (It’s weird, right?) Just once, could someone say, “You’re welcome”?

Is that too much to ask?

Okay, so I’m not sure how to introduce this next section without talking about gay cowboys. I realize that’s a weird transition, but it’s true. A couple years ago I was having a bad day/week/month and took myself to a gay bar in Dallas called The Roundup because there’s nothing like a bunch of homosexuals in Wranglers to make a boy feel better. Really, I don’t care who you are, you should go. They have a great dance floor, and everybody two-steps with everybody else. Guys dance with guys, girls dance with girls, girls lead as guys follow. It’s just a happy thing–perfect for shattering stereotypes and fun for the whole family.

Anyway, that was the night I met my friend Kaleb. We met on the floor, then danced and danced and danced some more. I don’t mind saying it was pretty magical. You know how you ladies always get excited when some handsome guy leads you around the dance floor? Well, despite my profession, I’ve never really gotten that, at least from a follower’s perspective. But I got it that night, thanks to Kaleb. The man could (and can) flat dance. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun.

As it turned out, Kaleb was also visiting Dallas to get away–from Albuquerque–where he teaches ballroom dancing. (Isn’t that wild?) So for the last couple years we’ve kept loosely in touch, and I messaged him this afternoon to see if he wanted to go to a swing dance. (He said yes.) Y’all, a couple times I thought the altitude and lack of oxygen was going to kill me, but I survived and had a fabulous time. Kaleb and I took turns leading and following, no one gave us funny looks, and a few people even clapped.

I guess Kaleb or I could have said, “No need for applause, it was my pleasure.”

Give me a break.

When the swing dance was over, Kaleb and I headed to a local gay bar called Sidewinders for karaoke. That’s right, not only am I gay, but sometimes I sing karaoke. There, I said it. (And if anyone repeats any of this on the internet, we–are–finished.) Anyway, there weren’t a lot of people out tonight, so Kaleb and I had room to dance while other people sang. Again, so much fun. And then–and then–the cast from the national tour of An American in Paris showed up because–where else would they be on a Tuesday night? No, seriously, the cast just had a big turnover, and tonight was a lot of the members’ first city, first night, first performance, so they went out to celebrate at Sidewinders (as one does). They were dancing and we were dancing–some of us introduced ourselves and some of us didn’t–but it was just this beautiful thing–several Americans in Sidewinders.

Tonight Kaleb told me there’s a couple theories when it comes to art. (I don’t know how he knows this.) One theory says that art is meant to stand the test of time, that it should be around for generations and be enjoyed by as many people as possible. Another theory says that art is transitory, that it’s meant to pop up rather suddenly then disappear, like a flower that only blooms for a night. This theory, Kaleb said, is called “art as explosion,” and I’ve been thinking about it the last few hours. We spend so much of our lives trying to hang on to things we can’t hang on to. We paint paintings and take pictures trying to remember the people and experiences that make us feel loved and alive, hoping to grasp that which is most lovely to us. Of course, this is not possible. Thankfully, that which is lovely happens constantly if we have the eyes to see it. It looks like a child rebelling in the middle of a grocery store by eating cheese that hasn’t been paid for yet, a smile on the face in the drive-thru window, and a roomful of people dancing together. This is the very mystery of life, of course–one moment, one miracle exploding into the next.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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