On Autonomy (Blog #741)

Currently it’s eight-forty-five in the evening, and I’m lying in bed wearing yesterday’s clothes. I hate that my daily selfies are a dead giveaway as to how often I take a shower and change outfits. Or don’t, rather. Fuck it. I’m not here to impress anybody.

This afternoon I read twenty pages in a three-hundred page book I started over a month ago. This made one hundred pages total. Which book doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I just couldn’t get into it, despite the fact that I often found myself smiling or laughing out loud. Anyway, even though I have a giant hard-on for completing things I start, I finally said screw it and permanently closed the cover. This is the second time I’ve done this recently and is perhaps an indication that I’m finally learning that just because you’ve invested in something doesn’t mean you have to keep investing in it.

I have a difficult time with the idea that things in life aren’t fixed or permanent. I think, If you start a book, you should finish it. Likewise, I think if you start a diet or workout regimen, it should last forever. I’m a “til death do us part” type of guy. Of course, this puts a lot of pressure on a person (me). A few months ago when I had knee surgery and started rehab, I also gave up coffee. But a week ago I picked it back up. At the same time, I started slacking on my rehab. I was out-of-town house sitting and just got out of the routine. And whereas part of me gets that “shit happens,” another part of me feels like I’m sinning–for quitting a book, for not being at the gym this very minute, for consuming caffeine (gasp).

I blame the ten commandments.

I’ll explain shortly.

After I quit the book I just mentioned, I started (and finished) one my therapist recommended about knowing your personal value. It was written specifically for women, but I found it helpful. All too often I underrate myself or what I have to offer. Too many times I’ve provided fabulous service to people in exchange for peanuts or their kind words. So they’d like me. But at the book said, compliments don’t pay bills.

One of my takeaways from the book was that YOU determine your value. Also, YOU are responsible for making sure you get paid what you’re worth or that others treat you like you want to be treated. I’m talking about boundaries. Rarely is anyone else going to say, “Gosh, Betty, we really should be paying you more for all you do around here.” Or, “You know, Jack, I’ve been thinking, and I interrupt you constantly and would like to apologize for that.” Rather, each of us has to stand up for ourselves.

This sucks and is hard to do.

Of course, before you can stand up for yourself, you have to know what your personal rules are. Said another way, you have to draw a line in the sand before you know whether or not someone has stepped over it. This is where the ten commandments come in. What I mean is that for the longest time I took my personal rules from a book–The Bible. Not just the ten commandments, but a lot of other commandments too. For example, I used to not eat pork because The Bible calls swine’s flesh (as well as homosexuality) an abomination. Think about that the next time you eat a ham sandwich. (Or sleep with someone of the same sex.) I’m not here to debate The Bible, but my point is that it’s easy to adopt someone else’s rules for your life. There’s a certainty in it. You think, The Bible says, my doctor says, my therapist says.

What’s harder, of course, is to take personal responsibility for every choice you make, to not lay praise or blame on an outside source. One of the exercises I’ve done in therapy is to write out a list–here’s what I’ll accept, here’s what I won’t accept. As an example, I don’t like it when people, especially women, touch me without being invited to (like, would you like to dance?). And whereas I’ll accept them touching my shoulder, I won’t accept them touching my hips or my butt. That’s my rule. That’s my boundary. Not because The Bible says so, but because I say so. Right or wrong, it’s my choice.

So hands off.

Having shared this rule about my personal space, I admit that I don’t enforce it all the time. Recently I ran into someone at Walmart and let them hug me even though I was anything but into it. I mean, it was midnight and I was taken by surprise. My defenses were down. If I had it to do over again or my leg worked better, I’d say, “No thank you” or run away. But shit happens. Anyway, my point is that even when we have rules for our lives, nothing ever works or is true one-hundred percent of the time. That is, nothing in life is that certain because life isn’t that certain. Said another way, life is fluid, like our emotions or the weather. We want something solid, a rule we can follow all the time, but there’s no such thing. Things are always changing.

This means our rules are always changing too. I’m not arguing for extremes in morality. I mentioned the ten commandments, but not to suggest that one day it’s not okay to envy or kill you neighbor and the next day it is. I only brought them up to say that often, for me, my personal rules (like, finish what you start and don’t drink coffee) feel as if they have been handed down to my by the heavens and, therefore, have cosmic consequences if broken. Of course, this is not the case. I made those rules up and can break them if I want to. Because, for one thing, I’m not even the same person I was when I made the rule. Like the weather and everything else in life, I’ve changed since then.

Even though my clothes haven’t.

This is the most difficult thing for me, letting myself and what I need change from day-to-day. Because I’d prefer something more permanent, something fixed, something certain. My friend Bonnie says that I thrive on a good routine. She’s right. I do. Still, I’m coming to think that routines and rules are like seasons. They last a while, then they disappear. If they come back again, fine. If they don’t, fine. I’m free to determine what’s best for me from moment-to-moment. I’m free to invest in a book, behavior, or relationship for hours or years then decide it’s no longer working for me. (Bye, Felicia.) We are all this free. We are all autonomous.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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Let’s Taco Bout Gentrification (Blog #109)

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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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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