Better Together (Blog #1096!)

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Dear Marcus,

It’s been a bumpy ride. Six years ago two days from now we were passed out drunk and naked, hugging a toilet seat, having just broken up with the first and only person we’ve ever thought we were going to marry. It wasn’t pretty. And boy were we wrong about him. (Sometimes it’s good to be wrong.) Anyway, it was touch and go there for a while. We didn’t know where we were going to live, how we were going to pay the rent, or how we were going to heal That Which Was Broken. We were so confused. Thankfully, only one week before all of this occurred we had our first therapy session and met our guardian angel. (Who knew angels could wear Kesha T-shirts and curse like sailors?) Which just goes to show you that Maria in The Sound of Music was right. When the lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.

Granted, there were some rough days, some hole-in-our chest moments when nothing made sense. Now we know this was simply The Mystery, The Necessary Mystery. Said another way, it was The Healing. Which is, of course, crooked as a dog’s hind leg, anything but fun, and, well, just plain gross at times. For us it meant a lot of time in therapy, completely rewiring the way we thought, getting some damn boundaries, and changing or saying goodbye to oh-so-many relationships. Also, and I’m sorry about this, it meant a lot of empty pockets.

I’ll explain.

Despite the fact that you’d done a lot of internal work three-and-a-half years ago, the powers that be weren’t quite satisfied. As it turns out, they demand the best. In other words, they want the best for us. So they did what they often do when someone they care about isn’t living up to their full potential. They make them absolutely miserable. In your case this misery pushed you to close your dance studio, sell most of your earthly possessions, and move from Fort Smith, Arkansas, to Fayetteville, Arkansas, with the intention of moving to Austin, Texas, where many people (who haven’t checked your Facebook page in over three years) still think you are. Even though you never went. Indeed, that was your plan. But not you-know-who’s plan, which is why it didn’t work out. (He always gets his way.) This is why it was a good thing you didn’t have more money than you did. Because–let’s face it–if you’d had the money you would have gone “come hell or high water” and missed out on The Opportunity.

Because you’re so damn stubborn.

Also, don’t worry. Stubbornness is a good thing. Because life isn’t for sissies. It just means that you don’t always have the most patience. Like someone recently told you, “You’re happy to give God the reigns, but if he hasn’t done anything with them in ten minutes you take them back.”

(Correct.)

Getting back to your move to Fayetteville, that obviously didn’t work out either, and I know that few adult men would be thrilled about moving back in with their parents. Which you had to do. But again, this was by design. As you’ve told a number of people these last three years, it’s given you a chance to mend, heal, and grow relationships you couldn’t have otherwise. It’s given you a chance to be understanding. And to be understood. And whereas it’s tempting to think you’ve somehow missed out on life because you haven’t spent the last three years making a shitpot full of money or “being like everybody else,” the things you’ve busied yourself about are the things that really matter and make life WORTH living. The things that matter to your soul and the things that make you fully human.

So never regret getting to know me.

Please.

It’s worth every minute.

I promise.

Speaking of the last few years and specifically what you’ve done with and through this blog, I couldn’t be more proud of you. I realize it hasn’t set the world, or even the internet, on fire, but it has set us on fire. Again, this is what matters. For us, this has been the royal road, the way, The Path. The Path out of suffering. The Path back home. Sure, you didn’t have any idea what you were getting yourself into when you sat down three years ago tomorrow and wrote your first post, but I did. Additionally, through both your best days and your most challenging days, your–what’s the phrase you use?–that-makes-my-ass-want-buttermilk kind of days, I’ve been cheering you on and nudging you forward. Darling, don’t give up. Don’t you dare give up. I’m waiting for you.

I know this hasn’t been easy. I also know that you’re not quite sure where to go from here. There’s a part of you that wants to hang on to this project that’s been so good for us. And still there’s another part that’s so effing ready to let go, so excited to see what’s next that you can hardly wait to hit Publish and move on. Allow all your feelings, but lean into this second part. Get excited. You’ve worked your ass off here, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Congratulations! Celebrate. Your life’s not over, it’s only just beginning. What’s more, although I know you often think and believe that you try, try, try and get nowhere, all your hard work has actually paid off. It continues to pay off. You read all those damn books about healing, and now you’re one of those people those books talk about. Yes, we know things aren’t perfect, but you’re headed in the right direction. So keep going. And just know that you’re already a success story.

You know those magical days when you wake up and you can see it, feel it, almost taste it? Those days when you absolutely know that you’re exactly where you need to be, learning and doing what you need to be learning and doing? Those days when you know nothing is an accident, that the people who are in your life, all those wonderful friends, teachers, and mentors, were sent to you for a reason? That you were sent to each other for a reason? Those days when you can feel in your bones that nothing is random? Well, keep thinking these things, keep believing these things. You’ll doubt at times, of course, since that’s what the mind does here on planet earth. But know that I never do. My faith in you and The Way of It is rock solid.

My faith in us is rock solid.

So keep your chin up.

You know that Joseph Campbell fella you’re so madly in love with? He said, “Schopenhauer said that when you go through life, this character appears, that character appears, and it all seems accidental at the time it is happening. Then when you get on in your sixties or seventies and look back, your life looks like a well-planned novel with a coherent theme. Things have happened, you realize, in an appropriate way. Incidents that seemed to be accidental, pure chance, turn out to be major elements in the structuring of this novel. Schopenhauer says, ‘Who wrote the novel? You did.'” I couldn’t agree more. Things have happened in an appropriate way. But it’s not that you wrote the novel, it’s that I did. We did. So from here on out, just know that you have a partner in all this.

No one is alone, and that includes you.

Going forward, I’m not discouraging you from planning. I know you like to do that. And yet, as you’ve come to see time and time again, sometimes the best things aren’t planned. What’s more, sometimes what you think are the worst things turn out to be the best things. Because they put us on the path back to ourselves. Really, this is the only path there is. The only game in town, it’s the pearl of great value, the true buried treasure, the kingdom of heaven. So it’s worth all the time, pain, and heartache and whatever you have to give up in order to find it. It’s worth all The Hard Work, all the icky emotions and past experiences you have to dig through and sort out, and all the judgment you have to endure from others and yourself. Because when it’s all said and done, what profits a man if he gains the whole world but loses his own soul?

All this to say, Marcus, please stay open to what’s coming down the pike. Please stay open to, and expect, miracles. They happen. And are kind of God’s thing. Also, please remember the he/she/it is rather fond of you. Just like I’m rather fond of you. I mean, good lord, you’re a knockout, you’re smart as whip and have a killer personality and sense of humor (although I know your family may disagree, but, in the words of your father, they have to live with you), and you have a good rear end to boot. What’s not to love? Said another way, what more do you want?

(Some cash would be nice.)

Relax, already. It’s coming. We’re in the middle of a recession.

But seriously, you’ve been given everything you need to succeed. And whereas this has always been the case, now that you’ve walked the royal road, you know it. Deep down. What’s more, now that you’ve come to know yourself, things are going to get easier. The next half of your life is going to look so much different than the first half. So much better. Not that you’ll never face another challenge again–you certainly will–but you’ll handle things better. With more grace. There will be a steadiness about you that you didn’t have before, a confidence, an internal anchor. A part of you that knows that, come what may, I have what it takes and am going to be all right. And just know that if the world ever gets to be too much, you can always reach out and find me. You can sit down at this keyboard ANY TIME YOU’D LIKE, and we can fix whatever it is together. Or just call my name, and I’ll come running.

That is if I don’t call you first. Which, honestly, I probably will. Because, Marcus Anderson Coker, I’m not done with you yet. Plus, I’ve always called you first, since it’s kind of my job to pursue you. You see, Darling, I just can’t stand to be without you. Without us. We are, after all, better together than we are apart. Surely by now you agree.

With all my love,

Your heart (your sweet heart)

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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Stuff That Could Heal the World (Blog #148)

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Several years ago I was in Austin, Texas, and ended up at a vintage clothing store called Cream. I was looking through the t-shirts, trying to decide if a tight, purple, deep v-neck shirt was “too much” to take back to Arkansas, when a red-headed guy (with dreadlocks and purple pants) behind the counter asked if I was looking for anything else. “Hum,” I said, “I’m kind of interested in a pair of cowboy boots.” The next thing I knew, he led me across the store and helped me pick out a pair in my size. And then–and then–he literally grabbed my hand, ran toward a mirror, and said, “Fashion show!”

As it turns out, the guy’s name was Benjamin, although he pronounced it Been Jammin. He was straight, but said he loved the homos. Obviously, he knew his audience. I only met him that one time, but every year the photo we took together shows up in my Facebook Memories, and it always makes me smile. Never mind that I could only wear the boots for a few hours before getting a blister. It was the best shopping experience ever.

And yes, I got the purple v-neck. Benjamin said it was fabulous.

This evening I went to Toys R Us for one of my creativity assignments. The goal was to find an Artist Totem–a toy, figurine, or statue that I felt a sense of protection for and could represent my creative life. As I walked in the toy store, my understanding of the logic behind having the totem was this–often we beat up on our creative selves, but our inner artist is a child, something we should actually nurture with kindness. So taking care of the totem equals both inspiration and taking care of yourself.

Y’all, Toys R Us has A LOT of toys. Honestly, it’s overwhelming. I saw one couple who actually let their children roam free, and I thought, That’s a mistake. I mean, I’m not a parent, but I can’t imagine anyone thinking that saying no over and over again is a fun way to spend a Friday night. But I digress. Midway through the store, I found my totem–a Mickey Mouse pillow. (I know I’m almost forty, but I’m serious.) First of all, it’s cute. Second of all, what better representation of creativity? As far as that goes, Walt Disney was “the man.”

So if you spy me at a coffee shop with a Mickey Mouse doll on the table or crawl into my car and see a cartoon buckled in the backseat, you’ll know why. I can definitely see those things happening. I already feel like a proud papa. (My totem’s better than your totem.)

After my trip to the totem / toy store, I hung out with my friend Bonnie, who just got back from a long road trip. Our friend Corban was also there, as were his mom and Bonnie’s husband, but they went to bed early and didn’t make the below selfie. (Snoozing=losing.) Anyway, Corban told us about a story he read online about a Starbucks barista who silently watched two customers form and grow a relationship over time that culminated one day when the lady showed up to the coffee shop alone. Oh no, the barista thought, they broke up. But then the guy came rushing in, dropped down on one knee, and proposed.

Personally, I’m fascinated by the idea that you never know who’s watching you and rooting you on. Maybe it’s someone you know. Maybe it’s your barista. I’m also fascinated by the idea that you never know how your actions can affect another person. Years after meeting Benjamin at Cream Vintage, I’m still inspired by his authentic style, effervescent personality, and kindness. All of it said, “You’re free to be yourself.” Caroline Myss tells the story of a man who was crossing a street on his way to commit suicide but changed his mind when a stranger in a passing car smiled at him.

You never know.

There’s an affirmation in The Artist’s Way that says, “My creativity heals myself and others,” and I’m starting to believe it. I remember Benjamin and realize that it was his authentic creativity that not only made my day, but also continues to work its magic all these years later. Ultimately, I think we’re all creative. But I know in my case I’ve spent a lot of my creative energy thinking about why something can’t happen rather than why it will, thinking about why Walt Disney could make a difference but I can’t. But when I look at my Artist Totem, I’m reminded that we all have dreams inside us. We’re all made of the same stuff, stuff that deserves to be nurtured and cared for, stuff that–you never know–could heal the world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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Saying Yes to Adventures (Blog #113)

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When I woke up this morning/afternoon, the first thing Bonnie said was, “Would you like to go on an adventure?”

“I sure would,” I said. “Does it involve leaving this couch?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It involves going to a wig shop.”

“Then yes, I definitely want to go on an adventure.”

So that’s what we did–we went to a wig shop–but only after we had coffee and tacos. I mean, no one wants to shop for “spare hair” on an un-caffeinated, empty stomach. That’s just asking for trouble. Anyway, I’ve never been wig shopping before, so it was like an education. There were wigs of every size, shape, and color, and Bonnie taught me about about curls, tight knits, and lace fronts. “It’s an entire world,” she said. “An entire world.”

This afternoon we went back to Annie’s Plates studio to hang the rest of the curtains and put together a piece of furniture for the reception area. Hanging the curtains was “just okay,” but I can’t tell you how much fun I had reading the instructions and putting together the furniture. (I know–it’s crazy–a man who reads directions. What can I say? Miracles never cease.) I guess it reminded me of working with Legos. You start off with a bunch of random pieces, everything scattered about, and then all of a sudden–something wonderful appears.

Voila!

This morning I got a message from my friend Micah. Micah and I graduated high school together–our class had a grand total of twelve–but I don’t think we’ve seen each other since, except on Facebook. Anyway, he said he noticed that I was visiting Austin and that he was too–and would I like to get together?

“I sure would,” I said.

Another adventure.

So this evening Bonnie and I met Micah and his wife, Lindsey, in downtown Austin at a restaurant called Searsucker (it’s like the pants, but spelled differently and tastes better). Y’all, I don’t mean to sound like a total redneck, but this place was fancy. I mean, the men’s bathroom was fancy (I didn’t go in the women’s). They actually had throw-away hand towels with their name printed on–every–single–one. I was totally impressed. First the bar I went to the other night has a box of condoms in the bathroom and now this. It really is the little details that make you feel important.

So get this shit. No fewer than six different waiters–each one of whom I’m pretty sure had a thirty-inch waist–came to the table to ask if we were done with our cheese board EVEN THOUGH there were still three pieces of cheese and two pieces of bread left on it. Like, You’re not planning on EATING that are you?

Well, yeah, we were. I mean, is that the wrong answer? Are you not supposed to eat the food here?

Anyway, after a delightful evening of appetizers, drinks, and conversation with Micah and Lindsey, Bonnie and I ran a quick errand, and then she dropped me off at a swing dance at a restaurant that had a dance floor made out of old bowling lanes. How creative is that? Well, the dance was about an hour’s walk from where we are staying, so I wasn’t sure how I was going to get back. (Bonnie had stuff going on, and Austin told Uber to go screw themselves.) But–honestly–I’d had enough to drink that I wasn’t worried about it. “I’ll figure it out,” I said.

So just about the time that the dance was winding down, Bonnie walked through the front door and said, “I went back to the place to change before going dancing myself, but I remembered I gave you the key.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “I guess that would come in handy.”

So bummer for Bonnie that she got locked out of the house, but yippee that I didn’t have to try to navigate my way home with the brainpower you get when you have a disappearing cheese board and three scotches for supper. (I can’t imagine it would have been pretty.) Well, as it turns out, Bonnie and I were both craving breakfast foods, so we stopped at an all-night diner, where I ate chicken and waffles and drank two more beers (I had one at the dance)–because all of that seemed like a good idea at the time.

When we finally made it back to where we’re staying, Bonnie took off for her late-night Kizomba dance, and I walked to buy a pack of cigarettes–again because it seemed like a good idea at the time. (Like you’ve never done anything you’ve regretted later.) Anyway, on the way back from the gas station, a guy sitting on the curb asked if I had a light. Well, whenever that happens and I don’t have a lighter, I always feel so useless, like maybe how Clark Kent would feel if little Timmy were stuck in a well on a day when his Superman outfit just happened to be at the cleaners. But tonight I was like, “You bet I do. I JUST bought it.”

Here I am to save the day!

Well, the guy says he has his own smokes–American Spirits–but they’re in his backpack. So he starts digging around in there, digging around, but not finding anything. And I’m just standing there, like a slightly impatient, kind of tipsy superhero with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, if you can imagine that sort of thing. So I’m waiting, and the guy’s still rifling through is backpack and says, “DON’T WORRY, I’m not going to pull a gun out of here.”

Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but I immediately thought, What if he has a gun in there? What if I die over a pack of Camels and the twenty-four dollars in my pocket? That would seriously suck.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen. As it turns out, the guy was drunk (too), and he invited me to sit down. Why not? I thought, Yet another adventure. So he started talking about this guitar, this cheap piece of shit he bought on Amazon. “I know it’s nothing special,” he said. “But this case, it’s got all these bumper stickers on it. This case has been all over with me.” And then he told me about some of the places he’d been–Louisiana–Florida–I can’t remember where all. But Florida is where he got the bumper sticker about equality. “I like girls,” he said, “but if you’re not hurting anyone–and it doesn’t involve animals or children–I don’t see why it matters who you sleep with.”

“Why don’t you take some of my cigarettes,” I said. “Here, take a bunch. I really don’t need them.”

So he took a couple but kept searching his backpack for his American Spirits. I said, “You’ll find them later. It’s like when you try to remember a name, but can’t, and then you eventually remember it when it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, a name always matters,” he said. (This next part is where his drunk wisdom started to miss the mark.) “Not everyone is born with a silver spoon–or a golden spoon–or a platinum spoon–in their mouth. But a name–that’s something.”

“What’s your name? I said.

“Woody. My name’s Woody.”

Bonnie and I have talked a lot this week about meaning, the way we as humans interpret the events in our lives, whether or not everything is random. I’m open to the idea that it is, but I personally like the thought that reconnecting with an old friend in one of my favorite cities or sitting down with a stranger for a cigarette aren’t accidents. I can’t say what it all means or if it does even, but I can say what it means to me. I really have come to see life as an adventure to say yes to, and that includes wig shops and small reunions and talking to people I wouldn’t normally talk to. From the outside, maybe it looks like a bunch of pieces of wood and some building materials, maybe it looks like a bunch of bumper stickers slapped on an old guitar case. A bunch of random pieces, everything scattered about. But put it all together, and Voila! All of a sudden, something wonderful appears–a piece of furniture, a life, an entire world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

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Polishing My Mirror (Blog #111)

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I must be over exhausted and overstimulated. Austin will do that to you. I started the day with butter coffee (it’s a thing), ran errands, errands, and more errands, and ended it all with swing dancing to three different live bands, two of which included western swing and steel guitars. Be still my heart, y’all. I could seriously fall in love with Texas, all its dancing cowboys, all it’s tattooed ladies. It may have already happened.

There’s a really strong chance.

Also, I found out there’s a beer called “America.” What can I say? I pledge allegiance. God shed his grace on thee.

This afternoon when Bonnie and I left the house, I somehow forgot my phone on my bed. I seriously don’t know how it happened. I mean, I might as well have left my penis behind–that’s how attached I am to my phone. And yet, I survived. The world didn’t stop spinning. That being said, I don’t have a lot of pictures to share from this afternoon’s adventures. Try not to be too upset.

The two big miracles today were 1) Bonnie and I convinced Annie that it was a good idea to have an area rug in the waiting area of her new Pilates studio and 2) we found curtains (for two separate rooms) we all agreed on. These are, of course, interior design miracles. The plan tomorrow is to hang the curtains and put together some of the furniture for the studio, so I’ll post pictures then. (Trust me, I won’t leave my penis–er–phone behind again.)

Tonight I went to a dive bar called The White Horse. I’d been warned that it smelled like urine, and it did. (Nothing like the aroma of piss on a hot day.) But once I got used to that, I had a fantastic time. I actually knew a couple of people there, and met some others. My friend Laura that I saw last night was there for part of the evening, so we danced several times. So get this shit. After one of our dances, a stranger came up, introduced himself as Jessie, and gave me a shot and Laura a beer because he liked watching us dance. (I think that was a first for me.) He said Austin had been his dream city for four years and that he just moved here three days ago. How cool is all that?

Here’s a picture of Jessie, me, and Laura (in order of appearance). Cheers!

Here’s a video of the second band, The Gin Racers. Ugh. One of my friends said this kind of thing goes one ALL THE TIME in Austin. As the t-shirt on the bartender said, “Only an asshole wouldn’t have fun here.” (My apologies if that’s you.)

In addition to wonderful live music and dancing, The White Horse has this other thing, a shelf above the urinals in the bathroom. I’m sure that doesn’t mean much to you ladies, but it was perfect for resting my elbows on–well, one elbow anyway–and I kept thinking, If I had a beer, I could set it on this shelf while I pee. Anyway, I thought it was seriously considerate, and if it were up to me, there’d be more shelves above urinals in the world. (Make America Great Again.)

After leaving The White Horse, Bonnie and I stopped at the closet food truck we could find, and I got a brisket sandwich (the guy gave me extra brisket because they were about to close) and some sort of barbecue mac-and-cheese sitution. Y’all, it was delicious. As Laura said yesterday, “There’s no reason to eat bad food in Austin.”

Here’s a picture. Practically health food, right?

On the surface, today was great. And it was great. I got a lot done, ate a lot of good food, had a great time dancing. Underneath the surface, I’ve had a headache for three days. It kind of comes and goes anyway, but it’s been worse since the car wreck. My muscles are tight and basically like, “What the hell?” Additionally, I’m kind of worn out and do have a small knot on my neck from the bee sting yesterday. AND I have a toenail that looks like it’s going to rot off because it apparently takes a hit when I run uphill or downhill. Anyway, my body’s not exactly doing what I want it to. (Is anyone’s?)

So yea. I’m sure I could find some other things to be frustrated about if you’d like me to go on. You know how little things add up. Personally, whenever things in my physical world and body aren’t going completely my way, my tendency is to feel hopeless and defeated. But I’ve been trying–trying– to work on patience, to not demand perfection–whatever that is–in this moment, maybe ever. It’s not easy.

Tonight at the dance a handsome, smooth-chested guy that looked like Ricky Martin on steroids struck up a conversation about dance and said he’d just taken his first lesson. Like a lot of people in his same position that I’ve talked to over the years, he said, “I’m not very good.” To which I replied, “Just shake your bon-bon.”

(I didn’t actually say that.)

The universe isn’t going to strike you patient.

Anyway, whenever new dancers say that to me, I think, Of course you’re not–that’s why you take lessons. Unfortunately, I’m finding that learning to be patient (with my body, myself, or even someone else) is a lot like learning to dance. You can’t just wish it to happen. The universe isn’t going to strike you patient. You have to practice. And that means there has to be something for you to be patient about.

A stiff neck maybe. Perhaps a relative.

This afternoon I picked up a book of poems by Rumi, the Sufi mystic and poet. I’ve been wanting one for a while but couldn’t find one that was “just right” until today. I’m not very far into it yet, but there’s a short poem that’s stuck with me this evening. It says, “If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?” This I think means that the process by which we step into our full glory isn’t always a fun one. Getting ourselves clean of internal frustrations and resentments isn’t pleasant. But we can’t let ourselves come apart at every unpleasant thing. Rather, if we can endure the rubbing, hopefully we’ll find ourselves capable of reflecting more light, more patient and therefore more in love with the world around us.

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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Hooray, We’re Here! (Blog #110)

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

It was exhausting.

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

In those cases, Hooray, you’re leaving!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When the universe speaks–listen.

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

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

So get this shit.

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

Butt weight–there’s more.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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Let’s Taco Bout Gentrification (Blog #109)

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Last night I slept on the futon in what used to be our dining room so my sister and her boys could use what used to be her room, where I normally sleep. (That was confusing even to me.) Anyway, I think I slept for two hours before my nephew Christopher woke up with a full tank of gas and essentially started crowing like a rooster, at which point my sister said (in the loudest whisper I have ever heard), “BE QUIET. YOUR UNCLE IS TRYING TO SLEEP!”

Trying, of course, was the operative word.

I’m just going to put this out there–I don’t think my nephew really gave a shit. I mean, I used to work at a summer camp. Asking a seven-year-old to be quiet is like asking a newborn puppy to kindly not shit on your brand new shag carpet. Good luck. But I do think my nephew tried–for a moment–and I guess that’s what matters.

There’s a saying in life–know when you’re licked–so I went ahead and got up and made half a pot of coffee for me and my sister. Upon seeing the pot only partially full, she said “That’s cute. You must not have children.” Point taken, lesson learned. While we both drank what coffee we did have, my sister scrambled eggs, and then we ate breakfast together while the boys fussed at each other and the younger one, Ander, got in a fight with the coffee table and lost.

Don’t worry, kids are practically made of rubber.

After breakfast my friend Bonnie picked me up for another road trip to Austin (Yippee!), which is where I am now. I wish I could make the ride down here sound terribly interesting, but there’s only so much you can say about borrowing and drooling on your friend’s neck pillow or buying a bottle of Coca-Cola because it has your name on it–almost.

From now on, you’re welcome to call me “Marco,” but if you think I’m going to answer “Polo,” you’re sadly mistaken.

When Bonnie and I first got to town, we stopped by her daughter’s new Pilates studio, which just opened today. (Part of the reason we’re here is to help decorate the studio.) From there we checked into the Airbnb where we’re staying for a few days. Y’all this is my first Airbnb experience, and it’s so neat. Really swell. I guess they are all different, but this one is part of a lady’s house that’s been sectioned off, and it’s super cute, super eclectic, super Austin. Here’s a picture of the couch. Later Bonnie hung the sock monkey from the chandelier. (Why not?)

Here’s a picture of the front door taken from the couch. The stained glass window has a piece of tin foil on one side, but Austin’s the type of place that makes you think maybe that was part of the design. Bonnie said, “I love that everything is unique. Nothing is perfect. Nothing is too matchy-matchy.” I said, “It’s nothing like a hotel. It feels like home.”

There’s a note on the refrigerator with the WIFI network and password. Get this shit. The network is named “Dogs Against Gentrification.” (Crazy, right? Like dogs give a shit–about politics, that is. I know, I know–Keep Austin Weird.) Anyway, I’m not ashamed to say that I had to look up gentrification, which turns out to be the process by which a home or neighborhood is made to conform to the tastes of the middle-class. (Apparently it’s a big deal here.) Also, gentrification can be the process by which a person is made more refined or polite. (Think about what they did to poor Eliza Doolittle.)

This evening Bonnie and I walked to a restaurant called The Austin Taco Project, and it was ridiculously tasty. One of the advertisements said, “Let’s taco bout it,” so I think I’m going to start using that in all it’s varied forms–Let’s taco bout it–We can taco bout it–I’d like to taco bout gentrification. You know, stuff like that.

Wanna taco bout tacos?

Anyway, earlier today Bonnie and I taco’d bout pet peeves, specific phrases people use that drive us up our respective walls. Bonnie said she hates it when people say, “You’re having too much fun,” as if there’s a limit on how much joy a person is allowed to experience. I said I hate it when people say, “You should be ashamed of yourself,” as if any of us needs any more fucking shame in our lives. Lastly, I said I hate it when people say, “You’re being selfish,” which–rather than being a simple and accurate observation–is more often a technique used to get someone to behave the way someone else thinks they ought to.

At some point while seeing my therapist, I saw a picture on Facebook of a couple of people I don’t particularly like or admire, people I used to hang out with but don’t anymore because shit happens. Anyway, these people had the nerve to be together, in public, apparently having a good time. I mean, they were actually SMILING. (One of my friends tells a story about a movie or something in which one character says, “What? You just expect them to spend the rest of their life poor, alone, and brokenhearted?” To which the other character says, “Is that too much to ask?”) So I told my therapist about this, including the part that I hated that it bothered me at all. I said, “Obviously they can do what they want.”

She said, “Yeah. They’re–autonomous.”

This is a concept I have to keep reminding myself of, and although I don’t know much about gentrification, it sounds a lot like not respecting another person’s autonomy. I mean, it’s easy to do. I make judgments about other people’s behaviors all the time. You’re house needs to look a certain way. You’re having too much fun. You say fuck (more than I do)–you should be ashamed of yourself. Why didn’t you call me back? You’re being selfish. But the fact is that everyone–everyone–gets to decide what’s best for him or her. And so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, it’s frankly none of anyone else’s business, including mine. (Ouch. I hate that.)

But the great thing about recognizing someone else’s autonomy is that in so doing you also recognize your own. As it turns out, whenever you give respect, you get respect, at the very least from yourself. And something wonderful happens whenever everyone makes their own decisions and doesn’t conform to what someone else thinks is best. After all, conformity is the stuff hotels are made of. Whereas that’s nice enough for a weekend, who’d want to live there? No, it’s much better when each of us is unique, and the lot of us aren’t perfect or too matchy-matchy. I’m sure the dogs against gentrification would agree–that’s when it feels like home.

Of course, if you think otherwise, we can always taco bout it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

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No Pants. No Problem! (Austin, How I Love Thee) (Blog #84)

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It’s 8:40 in the evening, Bonnie is driving the convertible back home to Arkansas, and the sun is setting to our left. The sky is full of blues and pinks. Some are light and easy, some heavy and deep. With each passing moment they seem to change, as my mood does. It’s the first time I’ve blogged in daylight in I don’t remember when, the only time I’ve blogged in the car, and I’m working on saying goodbye to Austin–for now. It’s harder than I imagined it would be. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it means I’m meant to be there, wearing tank tops, eating tacos, and breaking a sweat in the Texas sun–comfortably–in my own skin.

Yesterday Bonnie and I window shopped for Annie’s Pilates studio. We got a lot done, but we spent as much time goofing off as anything else. We’re probably the exact reason that some stores tell you not to take pictures, not to touch the pretty things, not to sit on the furniture. Take the picture of me and the cactus at the top of the blog, for instance. (We come as a set–wouldn’t the two of us look great in your living room?) Or take this picture (like Bonnie did).

On a related note–I don’t know if I’ve ever said this–I’d like to thank my parents for spending all that money for braces to fix my teeth. I’m sure you could have used the cash to–I don’t know–pay the mortgage. But I want you to know it makes a difference every day, and I’m especially thankful for my straight teeth every time I hold a giant magnifying glass in front of my mouth.

Here’s a picture we took at Pier 1. It’s sexy, I know. Very Pinocchio meets Mardi Gras.

After Pier 1, we went to Target, and we found the most amazing thing. We were in the home decor section, and there were a ton of individual block letters–the kind with multiple light bulbs inside each one. My first thought was to rearrange them, maybe spell my name. But then Bonnie and I noticed that someone had already done that. Well, they didn’t spell my name. Rather, on the first row they had spelled DICK, and on the second, MALL.

DICK MALL.

First, how creative–and naughty–is that? Second, where is this place? I mean, I love to shop, but I didn’t realize this was a thing you could shop for. (If it is, I wonder if they ever have a Buy One, Get One sale.) Anyway, it gets better. The picture doesn’t show it, but the third row spelled OOOH. So put those three words together–DICK MALL, OOOH–and you really have endless hours of entertainment if you just play around with how low, high, fast, or slow you say OOOH. I realize it may not be everyone’s sense of humor (maybe you would have had to have been there), but try it sometime.

After a hard day of window shopping (at the Dick Mall–see how this works?), we went to Torchy’s Tacos. Apparently it was good enough for President Obama, and it was good enough for me too. I’m pretty sure the taco on the left was called The Democrat. I know one of them was, but the left would make more sense.

When tacos were over, we checked out a used clothing store. I didn’t buy anything, but I had fun trying stuff on. My favorite items were a shirt that said Texas with a picture of the Lonestar, and a pair of polka-dotted pants that were so tight I had to sit down on the floor to get them over my heels. They might seem pretty loud, but I guarantee you that no one in Austin would have even noticed them unless they were on fire, and had they fit, I’d be wearing them right now.

And no, I’m not sure they weren’t women’s pants, but I did find them in the men’s section. I swear. As a thirteen-year-old boy told me once at summer camp, “Boys, girls–what’s the difference these days?”

This afternoon Bonnie and I went for breakfast tacos at an iconic Austin restaurant called Maria’s. I was too busy eating to take many pictures, but I did take this one. It says, “No zapatos [no shoes]–no tacos. No pants–no problem!”

No pants, no problem! I mean, this is my kind of town. Bonnie and I just looked at each other and said–

DICK MALL.

This afternoon was more window shopping, more window shopping. In anticipation of blogging on the road tonight, I left my phone, which I use as a hotspot, at the apartment to charge. So I didn’t take a picture of any of the amazing mid-century modern furniture we saw, or the crumbled beer can I saw in a lamp store that said, “I got smashed in Las Vegas.”

Our last meal in Austin was at a place called Gourdough’s, and it was perfect. Most of their items include donuts, and all their items have fun names, like Saussy Cock, Boss Hog, and Drunken Hunk. My meal was called Mother Clucker, and it was friend chicken–on a doughnut!–with melted honey butter. I took one look at it and told the waitress, “I’m going to need a side of insulin.”

You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

Now it’s ten-thirty, and the sky is dark. My laptop illuminates my side of the car. In addition to writing, I’ve been thinking about what I love about Austin. At least for a while, the saying there was, “Keep Austin Weird,” a priority that seems obvious whenever you look around and see a hand-knitted blanket that’s been hung on an overpass as art, a sign that says, “Please remove your spurs before dancing on the table,” or a bathroom door that says, “Whichever.” You look at the people and see a thousand tattoos, bodies of every shape and size, skin exposed, proud and confident. All of it seems to say–you can be weird here–you can be yourself.

In truth I think you can be yourself anywhere, but maybe some places make it easier, give you more space to grow. I’m terrible with plants (they always die), but I’ve seen my aunt move a budding plant from one pot to another because it needed more room. So maybe it’s like that for people too.

There’s a spiritual teacher, Don Miguel Ruiz, who says, “Change as fast as God.” The way I see it, that’s another way of saying, “Be here, now,” or don’t spend so much time thinking about the fact that you’re not in Austin that you forget to enjoy where you actually are. So as I leave Austin and head back to Arkansas, I intend to soak up every bit of good that life has to offer me there. Still, even now, it’s as if Austin’s calling, “Come back. Come back real soon. And stay. We’re weird here. You’ll fit right in.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sure, people change, but love doesn't."

Feline Empowered (Blog #82)

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After an afternoon of looking at and discussing–and cussing–flooring and paint samples for Annie’s new pilates studio, Bonnie and I decided our brains were fried like that egg in the “this is your brain on drugs” commercials. (Except–I’d just like to clarify–we weren’t on drugs. We were HUNGRY.) Anyway, when we got to the taco shack, right as it was our turn, some lady in a sundress (everyone wears sundresses here, even the guys–it’s Austin) CUT IN FRONT OF US.

What the hell?

But whatever. The tacos were worth the wait. I was too busy eating them to take a picture, but let me just say this. I would eat these tacos for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I would invite these tacos to my wedding. That’s how much I love them. I might even go up three pant sizes for these tacos. I mean, maybe. Definitely two. I’d have to pray about anything more than that.

After tacos we took a walk in the Austin heat to pay for our sins, and I spotted a small bag of pot lying on the ground. It was actually right in front of the Verizon store, in the parking lot. Like it had just fallen out of someone’s pocket, just waiting for the right person to come along and pick it up like a lucky penny. God’s way of saying, “What else do you need to finally relax?”

“Well, God, I’m gonna need more than a little weed. YOU KNOW POT MAKES ME PARANOID.”

So we stopped at a bar and grill, and I went with this stuff in the glass instead. Old reliable.

After drinks, on the way back to the apartment, Bonnie and I saw a bunch of stickers on a telephone pole. Bonnie’s favorite looked like one of those name tags you get when you attend a conference and said, “Hello my name is–Fancy Pants.” My favorite was a frog that said, “How high are you?” since–ironically enough–I wasn’t.

This evening, Bonnie, Annie, and I, went to a West Coast Swing dance, and I got a taste of Austin traffic due to a construction zone, which is always a nice place to practice patience. Or take a selfie. You can always take a selfie in a construction zone. Yeah, do that instead, Marcus. Eff patience.

After the dance tonight, Bonnie and I decided to go to Lady Bird Lake and go for a jog. Well, Google Maps kind of sucks, and we ended up doing a lot of driving around, something that doesn’t burn many calories. At one point, we did stop, get out, and find a trail, but God only knows where we were. We ended up jogging in the dark, and before we knew it, we were surrounded by trees, standing in the middle of a dried river bed, and there was a small cliff that dropped down to the water. I kept thinking, Jurassic Park–we’ve found Jurassic Park–it’s only a matter of minutes before the dinosaurs come and we die.

But we didn’t die. We just turned around and went back the way we came. There weren’t any dinosaurs. (I hope the suspense wasn’t too much for you.)

Later, about midnight and after a lot of four-wheel exploring, we parked again and took off down a trail that was clearly marked “Park closed after 10 PM.” So the whole time we’re walking around this lake, and I’m such a rule-follower that I’m picturing a helicopter up in the sky shining a flood light on us and then swooping down and carrying us off to jail for being such disobedient tourists. But I just kept walking, thinking, I’m a rebel–a rebel, that’s me–I walk in parks after closing time. And then we stumbled across a basketball court, and there were like eight teenagers, toddlers really, playing basketball–in the park, after curfew–so I thought, Maybe I’m not such a rebel after all.

Here’s a picture of the capital at night. I took it after we successfully evaded being arrested at the park.

Last week my friend Jessica asked me, “If you were an animal, what would it be?” Well, I hadn’t put a lot of thought into it before, so I stalled. But Jessica said, “You’re not supposed to think about it,” so I said, “A jaguar.” Later that night I looked up jaguars, and the great and powerful internet said they represent making sense of chaos, moving in unknown places, and empowering oneself.

The jaguar thing has been on my mind today because I keep noticing cats and cat things around Austin. To be fair, Annie has a cat (named Eggnog) in the apartment, and she also has a coffee mug that says, “Feline Good.” But there’s also a shop down the road called The Pretty Kitty, and it jumps out at me whenever we drive or walk by. Of course, The Pretty Kitty is a Brazilian Waxing shop, so that’s obviously not the same kind of cat, but still, a cat’s a cat.

Here’s a picture of me and Eggnog. She likes to watch videos on people’s phones, so today I showed her this one. It’s a scene from The Birdcage with Nathan Lane and Robin Williams that never fails to make me laugh. Eggnog seemed to think it was just okay, but I won’t judge her too much for her lack of culture.

Anyway, I think the cat/jaguar thing is so fascinating. In a very real sense, my life feels so chaotic lately. I mean, I woke up before noon today. If that’s not out of control, I don’t know what is. But seriously, it feels like my life is a mess. But every day, I sit down at this keyboard and try to make sense of it all. Like Bonnie and I did tonight in Jurassic Park, I try to find my way through the dark, to move in unknown places, to explore. Often, putting my life on the internet feels like an act of vulnerability, and I suppose it is. But I’m finding that it’s also an act of empowerment. The paradox of my life right now is that although I’m working less and have less than I ever have (including a plan), I feel stronger now than I ever have.

There’s a story about a lion cub separated from his family, raised by vegetarians. They say, “You eat squash and tomatoes. Yummy.” And then one day he’s reunited with his family, and they say, “Hey, wait a damn minute. Put down that carrot. You’re a meat eater.” Of course, at first, he’s uncertain. He thinks, I don’t know if I can eat this lamb. But then it’s like he remembers. This is who I am. Now, where’s the beef?

So maybe that’s where strength comes from. Forgetting who everyone else says you are, you simply remember–who you actually are. And then you can better make sense of all the chaos. Even if the night is dark and the way is rocky, you can find your way because, just like a jaguar, you are powerful, and you can handle whatever comes. You just have to remember. This is who I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes the best you can do is metaphorically sit you ego down, look it square in the eye, and say, “Would you shut the fuck up already?”

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Something Shifted (Blog #81)

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Today my friend Bonnie and I drove to Austin, Texas, to visit her daughter Annie. Well, okay, Bonnie drove while I slept and drooled on a pink pillow strapped around my neck. (I only woke up every couple of hours to eat lunch, use the bathroom, or freak out in big-city traffic.) I really think sleeping on road trips is the best thing ever. It’s like time traveling, or at least teleporting. Close your eyes in one city–open them in another.

Beam me up, Bonnie.

Somewhere–I couldn’t tell you–we stopped for a bathroom and coffee break at a Buc-ee’s, which is basically a warehouse-sized gas station/grocery store/Hobby Lobby with a beaver for a mascot. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous and mesmerizing in all my life. I’m pretty sure I could have gotten an oil change and a pedicure if I’d wanted to. The place was so big (everything’s bigger in Texas), I think I met my cardio requirements for the day just walking to the bathroom, which had 34 freaking urinals. (I don’t think anyone minded me tapping him on his shoulder as I counted.) I mean, there were so many toilets, I could only assume they hosted competitions.

Just look at the mouth on that beaver. (I guess the positive side to only having two teeth is that flossing would be super easy. Then again, you wouldn’t make much money off the Tooth Fairy, so there’s that.)

Here’s a picture of what our car ride looked like after I woke up and took the neck pillow off. I’m reading a book called The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning of Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettleheim. It was written by a child psychologist and is a pretty fascinating read about the positive things fairy tales do for both children and adults. Anyway, I think Bonnie was listening to Tracy Chapman about this time, but it might have been STYX or Cat Stevens.

When we got to Austin, Bonnie and I stopped by Annie’s work, a chiropractor’s office where she teaches pilates. After a short reunion and a discussion about whether the bathroom door was green or blue (we still don’t know), Bonnie and I got a key to Annie’s apartment and left to unload our things while Annie finished working.

Like any good nosy houseguest, one of the first things I did when we got to Annie’s apartment was look through her books. One of them had to do with astrology, and although I don’t make a big fuss about horoscopes, I am interested in the zodiac from a personality perspective. Since I’m a Virgo, that was the section I flipped to. The information was mostly familiar, but it said one thing I hadn’t heard before, that Virgos are focused on functionality. Basically, they cut through the crap and get down to what’s useful. Whereas a sign like Gemini seeks out all information (knowledge for the sake of knowledge), a Virgo seeks out only useful information (knowledge for the sake of transformation).

This evening the three of us walked to a local restaurant and sat on the patio for dinner. (That’s us at the top of the blog.) We spent most of our time talking about decorating ideas, since Annie’s about to move her pilates business to a space of her own (!). I’m sure we’ll dance and do other things this week, but Annie’s new space is really the reason for the trip. (Get excited. Tomorrow we look at flooring and paint samples.)

Back at the apartment, as we were all talking about pilates and the new studio, I told Annie that I’ve been to a number of body workers over the years, but there were still things about my body that I wanted to change, like the fact that my right hip always feels like it’s in my rib cage, or the fact that my shoulders are rounded, or the fact that my head constantly turns to the left. Annie said she’d be glad to talk to me about it, and I said, “Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now.”

So Annie had me kick my shoes off and stand in front of her mirror. Then she bent down and started measuring my body with her fingers. It felt like going to the seamstress. Well, within a few minutes, Annie had a plan, explaining that the muscles around my rib cage are tight on the right side (and weak on the left), so they pull my rib cage down into my right hip.

Of course, it’s never just one thing. I have other muscles (in my butt) that are stronger on one side than the other, and all of it contributes to my imbalances. But Annie said we’d start with stretching, so she had me lie on a foam roller for ten or fifteen minutes. At first I was like the Y in YMCA, but then my arms fell asleep, so I ended up like this.

After a few minutes, I could feel some of the muscles across my chest start to relax. Ever so slightly, something shifted. And then Annie gave me some exercises to work on, things to lengthen and strengthen my abdominal wall and help stabilize my hips. Usually my hips feel pretty tight, rigid, like a door that’s rusted shut. But as Annie walked me through the exercise, I actually felt them move–no, I felt them slide. And get this shit. When I got up, I was visibly better. Like a wilted flower that’s been watered, I stood taller, more level, less slumped.

I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings.

Since last year when I decided to close my dance studio, I’ve been telling myself and everyone else that I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings. Like, I think I want to move to Austin, but I’m open to other ideas, other possibilities. I mean, I’ve been at my parents’ for a few months, and although that wasn’t my original plan, I’ve tried to be open to the fact that good can and is coming from that situation (this blog, for example). So since earlier this week when Bonnie invited me to Austin for a few days, I’ve been trying to not make a big deal of it. I knew that I could get down here and absolutely love it, but I also knew that I could get down here and feel like it wasn’t the place for me.

But I’ll say this. Two hours outside of the city today, ever so slightly, something shifted. I can’t say more about it than that. My therapist says when she moved from her hometown, it felt like a lightening bolt up her spine. My experience today wasn’t that dramatic. But my body did feel different, and it felt–good. Now that I’m here in Austin, it just feels good. There are hot people–hot guys–jogging the streets. There was a lady in Annie’s office today–a lady with gray hair–who had a cut off t-shirt with a picture of an old dude on a bicycle that said, “Put the fun in between your legs.” Tonight our waitress (who grew up in Kenya) had a tattoo that said, “The journey is the destination.” She was just cool. Annie told us one day she was at a park and stumbled upon a naked yoga class for pregnant women. Imagine that!

Honestly, I love all of that. I can’t tell you how much I would love to call this place–or a place like it–my home.

One day–just like that–you find something that works.

And then there’s Annie and the little pilates miracle that happened tonight on her living room floor. Talk about finally finding some information that’s functional, information that’s transformational. One of my best friends is always saying, “It’ll change your life,” as in, “This cheesecake will change your life,” or “This hairspray will change your life.” But really, folks, if I could get my body more in balance, get this hip back to where it’s supposed to be, that really could change my life. It could make it better.

I realize there’s a lot of work left to do here. By that I mean, I’m probably a long way from standing taller, holding my shoulders back, sticking my chest out proud. I’m probably also a long way from realizing my dream of being a full-time writer and living in Austin, fun in between my legs, naked yoga in the park, whatever. But maybe not. I’m finding that you can spend years sorting through crap, all kinds of information and possibilities. And then one day–just like that–you find something that works, something that clicks, something that’s useful. Maybe you can’t put your finger on it, but you know for certain–something has shifted ever so slightly, and it feels–good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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