Trying to Stay in First Person (Blog #142)

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Last night I found out my friend Brian doesn’t have a smart phone and spends very little time on Facebook. (These people exist.) Additionally, despite the fact that he’s straight and lives in the south, his life doesn’t center around sports. He said, “I try to live my life in first person.” I took this to mean that he preferred to have his own real experiences rather than simply watching someone else’s virtual ones.

Genius.

Honestly, this is something I struggle with. I don’t spend a lot of time watching sports or reading celebrity gossip magazines, but I do tend to get caught up in the lives of others on Facebook, the life of Zac Efron on Instagram. I honestly don’t even follow the man, but I do often get enamored with the online lives and bodies of certain dancers or yoga instructors–people with “perfect” physiques–people I don’t even freaking know. My therapist says that social media is “impression management,” so I try to remind myself that a lot of it is smoke and mirrors, but it’s a challenge.

In writing there’s something called point of view, and it basically answers the question, “Who the hell is telling this story?” Generally speaking, point of view can either be omniscient or limited. Omniscient means that the storyteller knows EVERYTHING–they’re like God. They can know what’s happening in two places at once, and they can also know what every character is doing and thinking. Limited, however, typically follows the experience of one character, and is usually told either in first person or third person. In first person, the main character might say, “I woke up this morning. I cleaned my ear with a Q-Tip. I can wonder what my friend is doing, but I can’t know because I’m not God.” In third person, someone else tells a story about one character, and they only know that one character’s actions and–maybe–his thoughts. Harry Potter is like this. Harry got on the train to Hogwarts–whatever. As a reader, we don’t know what Ron and Hermione are doing–unless Harry Potter is with them.

Now that we have that lesson out of the way.

Today I had lunch with my writer friend Marla. I told her about Brian’s “first person” comment, and she said she recently had an epiphany (or, as Smee says in the movie Hook, “an apostrophe”) around the same subject when she got all worked up about what someone else was doing, what someone else was thinking. (I’ve done this once or twice myself. Maybe you have too.) But then she realized that she’d slipped into omniscient or third-person narrative, instead of staying in first person. In short, she’d started telling someone else’s story instead of her own.

Byron Katie refers to this sort of thinking as being in someone else’s business. She says there are only three types of business in the entire world–mine, yours, and God’s. If I dye my hair blonde or say the F word–that’s my business. What you do with your hair and your mouth–that’s your business. Everything else, like tornadoes and hurricanes and when either one of us dies–that’s God’s business. Katie says that being outside your own business never feels good, and the problem is that you have to leave yourself in order to do it. In other words, if you’re worried about your sister in New Mexico, then she’s there in New Mexico and you’re mentally there in New Mexico, so who’s left right here, right now for you?

Uh, no one, that’s who.

This evening it’s been a challenge to stay in first person and in my own business. I mean, it’s had its moments. I spent a couple of hours putting together the Lego set I bought last week. It turned out to be this tree house thing, and it was super fun. The whole model folds in half, and when it does a bridge automatically collapses. When it opens back up, the bridge automatically raises. I actually laughed out loud with excitement. Notice the bluebird, the telescope, and the little lantern by the flag. How creative!

When the Lego project was over, however, my thoughts started drifting to the future–what will happen next, whether or not I’ll be poor for the rest of my life. This sort of thing happens constantly. But as I think about it now, I realize that this is just another way of being outside my right here, right now business (of putting the Legos together, going for a walk, or writing this blog). Specifically, it’s a way of trying to be in God’s business, since he’s obviously the only one who can know what’s going to happen next.

With Mom having cancer, I’ve been worrying a lot about her future too, the future of our family. It seems the diagnosis and the treatments are starting to affect her mood, her joy, and it’s difficult for me to watch her struggle. Of course, I want to do anything I can to assist her, and at the same time I notice that my mood, my joy, are affected whenever I leave the first person (I love you and what can I do to help?) and enter the third (Mom’s life is so hard and she must be hurting).

Personally, I think I could spend the rest of my life trying to stay in first person and out of everyone else’s business. I mean, it’s not an easy thing to do. It’s MUCH EASIER to get wrapped up in the online lives of others, to start worrying about what someone else is doing or thinking, even to start telling God how he needs to do things, despite the fact that he obviously knows more than I do. (He really does have an omniscient point of view.) But I’m reminded tonight that true joy comes from being present and not imagining you’re life (or the life of anyone else) to be any different than it is in this moment. To me that means that whether I’m playing with Legos or simply sitting in a room with my sick mother while I listen to her breathe, that has to be more than enough because it’s the life I actually have now–raw, honest, and real.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sickness and health come and go, just like everything else. It's just the way life is."

The Way Life Progresses (Blog #134)

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Okay, I just paid my credit card bills for the month, and my blood pressure is still within normal limits. Phew. Glad that’s over. Now it’s 3:23 in the morning, and I’m in downtown Springfield. The television in the living room is still on. My friends Anne and Andy are asleep. Their three cats are God-knows-where. Most importantly, their books are organized.

I’ll explain.

My job today was to “feng shui” Anne and Andy’s bookshelf. Like me, they love books, and most of them have been piled-up in no particular order, along with several knick knacks and such, on the bookshelf in their hallway–and it’s been that way for years. Anne said, “Please help,” so I said, “Sure.” Here’s what we started with.

Okay, I thought, this might take a while. (I was right.)

The whole project took even longer than expected because I moved books and knick knacks from the living room to use in the hallway, which meant I had to redecorate the living room too. More than once I thought, I don’t know what to do, but I just took it one step at a time. First I found a bunch of colored glass bottles in the desk in the living room, pulled them out, and decided they needed to go on top of the desk so they could be seen. Then I added the glass bottles from the top of the bookshelf, and a theme became apparent–blues, greens, and browns. I didn’t take a before picture, but here’s the after. I just love it–it kind of makes me want to own things again just so I can arrange them.

The furniture in the living room is neutral–grays, wood, glass, and metal–so I kept the color on the shelves to a minimum. A little red, a little green. I placed the heavier objects (books) toward the bottom of the shelves and the “lighter” objects up top, since I didn’t want the shelves to feel like they were going to topple over. Also, I added some larger books to the coffee table because I think every coffee table needs large books. Again, no before picture, but here’s where we ended up. I didn’t put the cat on the couch, but I do think she complements everything quite nicely.

Finally I went back to the bookshelf–the original project. Shit, I thought, I just used up all the good books in the living room. What am I going to do now? So I started digging around in the guest room (my room when I’m here) and found some Raggedy Anne and Andy dolls, which I paired front and center with a Raggedy Anne book I found on the bookshelf. Then I grouped the non-fiction books together (yoga, martial arts, home decor), the fiction books together, and the vintage (old) books together. When it was all said and done, after four hours of work, here’s what happened (from a different angle because you can see better).

I don’t know if anyone else gets excited about this sort of thing, but I sure as shit do. It’s almost orgasmic to me to make everything pretty, get stuff “right where it belongs.” I mean, being anal-retentive and hyper-organized can really drive you crazy, but if there’s a benefit to being so fucking picky, this is it–you can have nice bookshelves!

This evening I helped Anne and Andy and their staff tear down from today’s wedding and set up for tomorrow’s. We swept and mopped the floor, rearranged tables and chairs, added tablecloths, and restocked the bar. (Can you imagine actually living above a fully stocked bar?) When we finished, we ate leftover cake from today’s wedding. Who knew you could get the best part of a wedding without having to attend one?

Just because it’s pretty, here’s what the cake looked like before.

Here’s what it looked like after. And no, I did not eat every piece of cake in the photo–but I did eat two of them.

This afternoon Anne said she thought it would take us four hours to tear down and set up the ballroom. Well, most everyone helping had worked plenty of times before, so I guess they had it down to a science. All the tables and chairs got moved to one side, then the floors were cleaned, then everything was moved back. One table at a time, two chairs at a time. All the while, Anne and Andy played music. I whistled. Then all of a sudden, we were done–in about two hours instead of four.

Tomorrow the couple getting married and their friends and family will take over. One by one they’ll pour into the ballroom and decorate it. One by one they’ll come back after the ceremony, eat food, drink beer, and celebrate. Before midnight, maybe two hundred people will leave the ballroom the same way they came in–one step at a time.

I suppose our entire lives are lived this way–one step at a time. We brush our teeth, we make the difficult phone call, we go the funeral, we eat two pieces of cake. (Well, some of us do.) So often I start projects like redecorating a bookshelf or writing a blog, and then I get overwhelmed and think, I don’t know what to do next. But without fail, something happens, I do something, even if it’s just scratch my head, move one blue book from here to there, or write one word. There, that’s one word that wasn’t there before.

Byron Katie teaches that most of our suffering or stress (but only all of it, she says) is caused by our believing thoughts that aren’t true. Something terrible happens–maybe someone dies–and we think, I don’t know what to do. (She asks, “Does this thought bring peace or stress to your life?” My answer: stress.) But then we cry, or eat a casserole, or get up and go to the bathroom. So the reason the thought “I don’t know what to do” is untrue is because, in the moment, you do know what to do–you’re doing it.

There’s a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace.

It seems that this is the way life progresses–moment by moment. Projects go undone for years, then one day they get finished. You live your whole life single, then one day you’re married and there’s leftover cake. We get so worked up, so stressed out about the little things, the big things in our lives. We think, I don’t know what to do. We think, I can’t wait. And yet there’s a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace. I suppose we forget that we too are like the planets, part of a larger universe that is always proceeding one step at time, never in the wrong place, everything always right where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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The Truth Will Set You Free (Sort of) (Blog #126)

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Some days I drown myself in self-help wisdom, like oh heck, I’m up to my neck in self-reflection and transformation. Honestly, I love it–drowning that is–it’s great. You should try it. Then again, it’s exhausting–change, change, change! Sometimes I think, God, Marcus, give it a rest. Do something stupid for once–binge watch Beavis and Butthead, sniff glue, whatever.

Today I read two-thirds of a book called I Hope I Screw This Up by Kyle Cease. I found out about Kyle, a former comedian who now talks about personal transformation, through an ad on Facebook. It used to bother me that Facebook knew I would like something like this. I mean, it’s weird, right? Once there was an ad in my feed for a t-shirt that said, “I’m the Gay Uncle,” and I thought, Shit–they know. But now I think of it like having a personal shopper, someone who really gets me. (Here’s a homosexual who wants to help himself!) Anyway, I’ve wanted to read Kyle’s book for over a month now, so I finally pulled the trigger this afternoon and downloaded it from Amazon.

So far the book is a gem, and I’m highlighting a lot of passages. I’ll spare you every single quote I like, but one of my favorites is, “Sharing my deepest truth, no matter how scary it is in the moment, is freedom. My only pain would come from repressing that truth.” I guess I like it so much because I’ve found it to be true. Time and time again in relationships with others and also on this blog, it’s been the truth that’s set me free. When I started the blog, I subtitled it, “The truth will set you free (sort of).” I added the “sort of” because so far the truth has set me free from a number of friends and lovers, most of my worldly possessions, and a good deal of money.

Let’s face it. The truth can be a real bastard.

That’s the part they don’t tell you. It’s said like–the truth will set you free (yippee!)–as if the truth were a carnival ride. And whereas maybe a child would be dumb enough to not think twice about a roller coaster called “getting honest with yourself and others,” an adult knows better. You don’t ride a ride like that without losing your lunch. The truth has the power to change you, turn your life upside down. That’s the reason we run from it–eat fried chicken, smoke cigarettes, sniff glue, whatever.

Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

This evening I went to see the musical The Secret Garden at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Several of my friends are in it, and my friend George is the musical director. (It’s great, check it out.) Before the show started, while I was in the men’s room, a man who used to take dance lessons from me at Mercy Fitness Center struck up a conversation. At one point he said, “You look good–are you still working out?” Well, rather than simply saying, “Thank you,” I immediately said, “I could do better.” My grandma used to do shit like that, and it always drove me nuts. I’d say, “I love the mashed potatoes, Grandma,” and she’d say, “Well, they’re cold. I just bought a new oven.”

Crap. Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

At intermission a friend of mine asked me about my still living in town (everyone thinks I moved to Austin already) and said, “How are you earning a living?” Then the strangest thing happened. I laughed and said, “I’m not–it’s great.” What’s strange, I guess, is that I actually meant it. I’ve told a lot of people lately–I have fewer things and less money now than I ever have, and I’m happier than I ever have been. This fact, I assume, is in no small part due to my work in therapy and my insistence on honesty and vulnerability when blogging (every day, every damn day). So maybe the truth really does set you free (maybe).

After the musical tonight, I went to eat with my friend George. Inevitably, we always end up talking about self-help, spirituality, and how to “live well,” and tonight was no exception. (So much self-help today!) When I told George about the compliment I brushed off in the bathroom, he said, “The correct response is, ‘Thank you.’ There’s no humility in aggrandizing or degrading yourself.”

Chew on that.

I wonder what that is–we spend so much time wanting recognition and praise (or is that just me?), and then when we get it, we act as if we aren’t worthy of it. (Me, looking good? No. I ate fried chicken last night.) Or maybe sometimes we try to take more than is given. (I’m the best worker-outer ever–no one works out better than me!) My guess is that we all walk around with mental images–versions–of ourselves that are anything but true, anything but kind. Byron Katie says, “If you realized how beautiful you were, you’d fall at your own feet.” I love this quote because it reminds me that “God doesn’t make junk.” And yet it seems that a part of me, a part of most of us, is used to being small, to not accepting compliments and acknowledging (graciously) someone else’s generous opinion. (You look nice.)

The truth is that I’m often uncomfortable with compliments because part of me doesn’t feel good enough to receive them. (Please say that again after I have abs.) But–go figure–just by admitting that, I feel better. I guess the thing about the truth that sets you free is that it puts you in touch with who you really are in the moment. (I’m tired, I’m insecure.) In my case, I’ve found out I’m not the guy with all the stuff or all the jobs. I’m not the guy who never gets upset, and I’m certainly not the guy without a sexuality, even though I pretended to be all those things for years. I’m not even my body weight. Rather, I’m something beyond all of that. I can’t say what exactly, but it feels like a carnival ride might feel to a kid with a strong stomach–wild, unpredictable, and free.

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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A Tiny Miracle Involving Balloon Animals (Blog #103)

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I used to have a cat named Mister. Like most cats, he was an asshole. He’d knock over shit in the kitchen, throw up on the wood floors, and never offer to clean up the mess. I’d be in the kitchen trying to eat my damn breakfast, and the little jerk would suddenly appear on the table as if he owned the place. He liked to hide behind corners until I walked by, and then he’d jump out, tag me as if we were playing a game, and then run away. It was all very cute except for the fact that he still had claws, which would often get stuck in my skin (that bleeds). On rare occasions, Mister would stop scratching, stop chewing, and simply lie on my stomach or around my neck like a scarf. But only when he wanted to.

A few weeks ago I was having dinner with my friends Bonnie and Todd and told them I was fascinated by the way animals do whatever the hell they want. For instance, I said, if a cat wants to be around you, it just snuggles right up without even asking. Maybe it rubs your leg, perches on your shoulder like a parrot, or sits in your lap, but it basically says, Here I am. Love me. A few minutes later, Todd got up to get something from the refrigerator, and when he came back to the table, he sat down in my lap–like a cat–and we all started laughing. I thought, Good thing I didn’t use the example of a dog sniffing someone’s crotch.

Later when Bonnie and I were in Austin, she observed that I often ask waiters and waitresses a lot of questions. Where are you from? Why’d you get that tattoo? Who does your hair? “I guess I do,” I said, “I’m almost always curious, and you can learn a lot by talking to strangers.” But Bonnie’s point was that my asking questions of strangers was a lot like a cat crawling up in someone’s lap. Here I am. Talk to me.

This afternoon Bonnie and I ate lunch at Joe’s Mexican Restaurant in Fort Smith. How I’ve managed to live here my entire life and just now find out that Joe’s has delicious tacos for one dollar a piece on Tuesdays, I’ll never know. But seriously, if you’re not already, it’s time to start spreading the taco gospel. Hungry? Fear not, my child. Salvation is near–and affordable.

Anyway, while Bonnie and I were partaking in “taco communion,” there was a lady in the booth beside us who was making balloon animals. I’m not kidding. She was like a clown at a kid’s birthday party–but dressed better. Well, not to be creepy, but I sneaked a picture of this lady blowing up a long, white balloon–right by her chips and salsa. And then I put it on Instagram. (This is the world we live in.) So a few of my friends started commenting. I know her! She makes balloons at my school. And then my hairdresser insisted. GO TALK TO HER.

Of course, I know better than to argue with my hairdresser, but I said, “She’s on her cellphone–and it looks like it came over the ark. Really. It looks like a brick. All that’s missing is a bag.”

“Marcus,” she said, “some things in life are worth waiting for.”

And then the lady got off the phone.

Fine. I’ll be a cat. Here I am. What big balloons you have.

Oh my god, y’all, everyone was right. Bonnie and I introduced ourselves, and the lady immediately gave me a balloon panda, the one she apparently made while I was stuffing six dollars worth of tacos in my mouth.

And then she opened up her purse and it was FILLED with balloons of every color. It was like she was a balloon–dealer. “What would you like me to make you?” she said with a smile, and then before I could even ask, “Could make one that looks like Zac Efron?” she said, “I know, I’ll make you an apple.”

“Sure, an apple sounds–delicious.”

And then–and then–she made a monkey–climbing a tree–to get a banana. She even talked to the monkey as she “helped” him climb the tree. Climb the tree, monkey. Doesn’t that banana look tasty?

The lady, who said her name was Carolyn, said she’d been making balloon animals for thirty years. She said, “God has all the talent, and he lets me have all the fun.” When we got ready to leave and Bonnie apologized for keeping Carolyn from her chicken fajitas, she said, “That’s secondary.” Naturally, I asked Carolyn if I could take her picture, but she pointed to a bandage on her cheek and said, “Don’t you dare. I just had surgery.” (I’m not Catholic, but I feel like this is the point at which I should say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I took a picture of a balloon lady at a Mexican restaurant and posted it online without her knowledge.”)

Afterwards Bonnie and I went shopping to look at furniture, and I carried the panda around with me. When I got home, I gave it to my mom. The whole affair really helped make my day. It was sort of like a tiny miracle, if miracles even come in sizes. So I’ve been thinking this evening about the little ways in which we give to each other, how it truly is simple to share a smile, a story, a talent, even with someone you don’t even know.

Byron Katie, a spiritual teacher, tells a story about once when she sat down on an airplane, exhausted. She held the hand of the man beside her, even though they’d never met, and then fell asleep. She says when she woke up, he was still holding her hand. Perhaps it sounds bizarre, but Katie uses the story to illustrate the idea that our true nature is kindness. We want to help. We want to share with each other. So whereas I’m not suggesting that you reach out and grab just anyone’s hand or go around sitting in the laps of strangers, I am suggesting that if you feel like being a cat and saying, Here I am. Love me. Tell me about your big balloons, it’s not unreasonable to expect a positive response–and maybe–just maybe–a tiny miracle.

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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really good news (blog #28)

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A couple of days ago, I got the most lovely text message from my friend Sara. Sara and I met each other twenty years ago when we both worked at a summer camp in Mississippi called Camp of the Rising Son (CRS). (If it’s not obvious, CRS is a Christian Camp.) If you ever want to see my heart melt, ask me about the people at CRS. Ask me about the kids. It’s truly a magical place, and I guess as long as I live I’ll remember all the silly songs we used to sing, and all the ridiculous costumes we used to wear to entertain the children, and that one kid named Charles who threw up his chicken strips on my white shorts because he was homesick. (Thanks a lot, kid.)

(The above photo is of Sara and me, at camp. Funny how I thought I was in the closet back then, I know.)

Even now, I think of people like Sara and think, Family. And actually, for several years, I used to drive to Kansas City to see Sara and her brother Zach and her sister Joanna and their friend Liz, all of whom worked at camp. I’d spend holidays with them. I was there when Sara married my dear friend Mark (also from camp), and I was there for Sara’s mom’s funeral. Like I said, Family.

But for all the years I spent at summer camp and all the nights I stayed up late with my friends after the kids had gone to bed and all the soul-searching conversations, I never talked about my sexuality. Not that it wasn’t there, I just didn’t talk about it. I guess that was during the (really long) phase when I hoped it would change. (It never did.) I mean, I knew the camp’s policy. It was a sin. That was the line I used, even believed, when I went through my job interview when I was sixteen. So it was never discussed.

And it’s not like CRS was the only Christian institution where I’d heard that line. Hell, I grew up in the Bible Belt. I went to a Baptist Church on Sundays. I attended a Christian High School. And whether it was explicitly said or not, the message I internalized was, “This is wrong and I’m wrong. This is something to be ashamed of. It’s certainly nothing to brag (or blog) about.”

So that sucks.

As the years have gone by, I don’t believe that stuff anymore, and I can’t tell you how good that feels. But the residue of it all has been that anytime I get around Christians I grew up around or worked at camp with, I automatically assume that I would be judged or not accepted if I were to be completely honest and vulnerable about who I am (and whom I like to do). God, Marcus, you don’t have to type every thought that pops into your brain.

Tonight I had dinner with my friend Jim and his wife Sue. I met Jim years ago when I worked out at a gym he owned, and we ended up being working partners. There for a while (before I rediscovered my love for carbohydrates), we were working out all the time. And we pretty much talked about everything, but again, nothing that touched on my personal life. Well, when I broke up with my ex, I was a wreck. At first, Jim didn’t ask questions, even when he helped me move out. But I clearly wasn’t myself, and eventually I stopped working out so I could spend more time crying and eating pancakes.

One day I got this text message from Jim that said something like, “What the hell is going on with you? Whatever it is, it’s okay. NO JUDGMENT. We can talk about it.”

So I told Jim that guy wasn’t just my friend. He was my boyfriend. And my heart was broken.

And guess what? Jim cared about me, but he didn’t care about that other stuff. It didn’t change a thing.

(Here’s a picture of a really cool piece of art from Jim’s house, just because.)

One of my favorite spiritual teachers is a guy named Eknath Easwaran. (He’s dead.) He teaches a type of meditation that I really like called Passage Meditation where you repeat a spiritual passage (like the Lord’s Prayer or the Prayer of St. Francis) over and over again. Anyway, he wrote a book called Original Goodness, and in it he explains that whereas some faiths teach that man is inherently sinful or evil or bad, many faiths teach that man in inherently good, that at the core of each of us resides a spark of the divine.

I can’t tell you how much I like this idea.

There’s another spiritual teacher whom I like named Byron Katie, and if you’ve been around me much, you’ve probably heard me talk about her. Now I just say, “My therapist says,” but I used to say, “Byron Katie says.” Well anyway, Byron Katie says something similar. She says that our nature is good, kind, and loving. She says that she knows this is true because anytime we act differently, it feels like stress.

In my personal experience, I find this idea to be true. It never feels good to be angry or unkind or un-compassionate for very long. I always feel more “at home” when I’m patient or generous or giving.

What’s more, I find this idea to be true in my experience with others. It’s not that people don’t do or say shitty things. But overwhelmingly, I find people to be more good than I do sinful or evil or wrong. When Sara sent me that text message, she said she’d spent part of the day with my blog, that she’d read every word, that she saw my insides and my guts. And it was a really long text message, so I kept scrolling, just waiting for some judgment, any judgment, somewhere. But then I got to the end and didn’t find any. Sara’s exact words were, “Please know I love you—FOR ALWAYS.”

We were made to love without conditions. That’s the packaging we were sent with.

And I guess when I think about those messages from Jim and Sara, I’m reminded that people are good. (I wish I could tell you about all the wonderful folks who have, without even knowing it, shown me that my fears of judgment have been unfounded. I mean, it’s really good news to find out that the world isn’t as scary as you thought it was.) Sure, we all have our moments, we all forget our true nature at times, but we were made to love without conditions. That’s the packaging we were sent with. That’s what we are capable of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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