The Experience of Living (Blog #884)

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What a fabulous day. I spent this morning getting a slow start where I’m house sitting, doing some things online. Then I painted for a few hours, and–for whatever reason–was in the best mood. I guess my body felt decent, I was making good progress, and I had my tunes turned up. I didn’t finish the room I’m working on, but hey, it’ll get done soon enough. What’s the saying? All things in good time.

This evening I went to dinner with my parents and an extended relative we’ve recently reconnected with (my second cousin). And whereas you might think, Gosh, Saturday night with your family–that’s hot–it actually was. I had the best time. I guess there’s something about being around family, people who have known you forever.

Of course, the margaritas may have helped.

After we finished eating, my second cousin invited me to go bowling with him and a couple of his friends. My first thought was to call it a night, to come back to where I’m staying and–I don’t know–watch Netflix. But then I thought, Hell, Marcus, live a little. Get to know your family. So after I ran back to the house to let the dogs out (again, who let the dogs out? I did) I hauled my happy ass over to Midland Bowl and joined the party on lane 31.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a trip this was. When I was in junior high, I used to spend every Wednesday afternoon at Midland Bowl. My sister and I were part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. For years I partnered with my friend Jeff. First we were Double Trouble, then The Terrible Twosome. Intimidating, right? Anyway, bowling was my social life–my sports life (sexy, I know). I had my own ball and bag. I used to go out of town to tournaments. I had patches–and trophies! I still have: so–many–memories.

Alas, that was decades ago, and any time I’ve tried to bowl since it’s just been a disappointment. Like, I have all this knowledge in my head about what should happen–the mechanics and physics of throwing a ball down a lane–but I’m sorely out of practice. In the last twenty years, I’ve been lucky to break a hundred maybe twice. However, tonight–for whatever reason–I did. My second cousin, his friends, and I bowled two games, and my first score was 124. Then–get this shit–my second score was 151. Granted, the second game I was given a free strike because the pin setter screwed up, but still. There were several throws when I was able to relax and everything just came back–get your alignment, breathe, settle in, take four steps, swing back, follow through.

Right in the pocket.

What I loved about tonight more than getting a decent score (there’s a sex joke there somewhere) was the fact that–for whatever reason–I didn’t give a shit. What I mean is that when I’ve bowled in the past my perfectionist has shown up in full force and taken the fuck over. Like, You should be better than this. You used to be on a league. Geez, you’re screwing this up. You’re a total failure. But tonight there was VERY LITTLE of that. Rather, it was about having fun spending time with new people. Several times when I got up to throw the ball I thought, It doesn’t matter WHAT the hell happens–I’m still worthy. This is one way I know The Hard Work is, well, working. Situations that used to trigger me don’t now (as much). Things that used to bother me don’t anymore (as much).

This is what you want as you proceed down The Path. Progress, not perfection. The experience of living, not the final score.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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Life Is Full of Gutter Balls (Blog #594)

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It’s six in the evening, and I just finished going to therapy and having coffee with a friend. By coffee, I mean hot tea, I just don’t think tea sounds as cool as coffee. Unless you’re British, of course, which I’m not, and neither is my friend. Anyway, my friend had to leave, so now I’m hanging out by myself at the coffee shop. I mean, there are other people here–about twenty–they’re just not sitting at my table. That would be weird, since I don’t know them. And crowded, since my table only seats four.

I told my therapist that lately I’ve been feeling “blah,” that I hate the cold weather, that my body’s felt “just okay,” and that I haven’t made a dollar in two weeks. “Two weeks?” she said. “That’s not a big deal. Let’s talk when it’s two years. Do you have a roof over your head, food in your belly, and gas in your car?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then relax,” she said. “You need to calm the fuck down.”

So I’m working on that.

Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
Everything is just–what’s the word?–hunky-fucking-dory.

Now it’s six-thirty, and I’ve been sitting in this chair for three solid hours. When I first got here, the place was warm, but someone must have turned on the air conditioner. Never mind the fact that it’s literally freezing cold outside. I don’t know, maybe it’s just because so many people have left. Body heat is like, a thing.

I’m planning to go to a dance in a little while. That should help warm me up. Plus, it’s nice–well, usually nice–to be around people. I’ve been cooped up at home with my parents and Days of Our Lives for the last three days, and whereas I love my parents (and sometimes actually like Days of Our Lives), it’s good to have a change of pace. A little social interaction. A conversation or two.

Everything is fine.

Just before I left therapy, I told my therapist that I recently blogged about commitment versus obligation, two things she and I discussed in our last session. She said it was okay to feel “some obligation” to things, like to this blog. And that’s good, since I definitely feel that at times. Take now, for instance. I’m distracted and ready to get out of here. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately, and I don’t know HOW to calm the fuck down. The last thing I want to do is sit here and sit in my feelings. Seriously, sitting in your feelings every day, every damn day, can get old real quick.

Last night while cleaning my room I found a caricature of me that was drawn in 1994, back when I was a big bowler. My sister and I were actually part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. This was our idea of organized sports. We had handicaps and everything. We even went to several tournaments, collected a few patches. Woo. Anyway, I’m not sure why it’s relevant now. I just remember that Arkansas ball cap. I used to wear it all the time. And I remember how I’d get nervous and my palms would sweat before it was my turn to throw the ball, especially if I needed to hit so many pins in order to progress to the next round. But then I’d hold my hand over the air vent, pick up my ball, and find my spot on the lane. Then I’d take a deep breath and throw the ball.

Sometimes it was a strike, sometimes a gutter. More often, it was something in between.

My therapist says that in life you need to be prepared to fall on your face hundreds of times, sometimes thousands. Believe it or not, this was said as an encouragement. But I get it, not every moment of every day is a strike. Life is full of gutter balls and in-between moments. It’s certainly full of sweaty-palm moments. Full of I-don’t-know-what-to-do moments. So we do the best we can. We tell ourselves, “Everything is fine.” We try to find our place, we take a deep breath, and we try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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