An Attention Intervention (Blog #503)

It’s five in the evening, and all I want to do is read. I’m still in the middle of the book by Richard Bach I mentioned yesterday, and I just picked up two more (one about the moon, one about the practice of alchemy) at the library. Really, “the hunt” is as much fun as the reading, looking around, digging for new sources of information and knowledge. I really have a hard time turning it off. Earlier this week my friend Marla said, “Marcus, you’ve GOT to watch this television show on Netflix,” and I said, “I CAN’T STOP READING!”

“Do you need an intervention?” she said.

Yes, yes I do. An attention intervention.

Earlier today I saw my therapist. She said I seemed “anxious,” which I guess I am. I’ve been working a lot lately, I’m going out-of-town next week for business, and–consequently–I have a hundred things on my mind. Plus, I’m signed up with the United States Postal Service to receive digital images (pictures) of the mail that’s being delivered every day, and this morning I found out that later today I’ll be receiving a letter from my doctor. I’m assuming it’s my results from last week’s cholesterol, thyroid, and testosterone tests. And whereas part of me wants everything to be “okay,” another part of me “wants” there to be SOMETHING wrong in order to explain why my health and energy levels have been so up and down this last year.

So I’m on edge.

At one point during our conversation today, my therapist used the phrase “enough for the moment.” I think it was in the context of dealing with stressful or self-critical thoughts. Like, putting your hand up and saying, “STOP. Back off, jerk-wad. That’s enough for the moment.” But later we were talking about that concept–enough–since I often feel like EVERYONE ELSE has what they need to succeed, but I don’t, as if I need to be smarter, or better educated, or richer, or better looking in order for my life to “work out.” But my therapist reminded me that I AM enough, that WHO I AM is enough.

“You have EVERYTHING you need to succeed,” she said.

So now I’m telling myself, I am enough. I am enough for this moment.

This is something that’s been on my mind lately–this moment. Earlier today I started re-listening a set of Caroline Myss lectures that are some of my favorites–Fundamentals of Spiritual Alchemy. (Alchemy is a theme for me lately.) The basic idea is that in “this moment,” your physical body may be sitting in your chair in the living room (or wherever), but that–chances are pretty good–your spirit or soul is what Myss calls “non-local.” Like, you’re still thinking about that argument you had with a co-worker yesterday, or angry about what your mom said to you twenty years ago, or worried about what you’ll wear for your date this weekend. In other words, you (and me too) are way spread-out, anywhere but right here, right now.

Myss says that the point of alchemy and the ancient mystery schools was to train a person (an “initiate”) how to be in present time. Jesus said it this way–“Give no thought for tomorrow.” Of course, this is hard work, but worth it– since being out of present time creates psychic “lead,” which not only is a bitch to carry around (we’ve all got baggage!), but also literally slows down the pace at which your life moves–how quickly you can manifest your dreams, even how soon you can heal a physical illness. It’s fascinating. (It’s terrifying.) As Myss says–it takes AT LEAST an entire lifetime to learn.

In my way of thinking, so much of this work comes down to what you let yourself think about, what you allow to command your attention. Maybe this is a good way to say it: Do you let the circumstances of your life command your attention, or do YOU command your attention? When my therapist and I were talking about not feeling good enough, she said, “That’s a slippery slope to go down–the ‘poor me’ slope.” (I said, “Yeah, it’s a real Black Diamond.”) But the point is, we do have a choice about which hills we step onto and consequently go down. We CAN work at putting our focus on the here and now, rather than the past and awful, or the future and terrifying. We CAN self-initiate an attention intervention.

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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Feeling Oh-So-Welcome (Blog #471)

Yesterday I left Houston about one o’clock and drove to Dallas for dinner with a friend. We ate Mexican and were given complimentary magic desserts that were cold to the touch and made fog come out of our mouths and noses. I’m not kidding. Some sort of dry ice thing, maybe. Anyway, after dinner I dropped my friend off at a play, then went to ANOTHER bookstore–number six in the last two days. But this time I just looked–I didn’t buy anything. I did, however, notice how badly my toe was hurting, I guess because I stubbed it earlier in the day. So when I left the bookstore, I taped my hurt toe to the toe next to it with electrical tape, which–believe it or not–helped.

Sometimes I can be really clever.

Having decided that I would stay in Dallas, I went to The Roundup, the land of unicorns–or, rather, gay cowboys. I’ve been there a number of times to two-step, and it’s always been fun. Last night, however, didn’t live up to my expectations. For one thing, I went alone, and although I recognized some faces, I didn’t “know” anyone. So for thirty minutes I just stood around watching, trying to work up the courage to ask someone–anyone–to dance. Finally, I did–I asked a girl who was a great, probably trained, dancer–and she said no, she was taking a break. So that sucked–it’s never fun to muster the courage to ask someone to dance and then be turned down, even if they’re “nice” about it.

Going back to my perch, I waited a while then tried again. This time I asked a lesbian, but someone else got to her at the same time I did. I said, “Will you save me a dance for later?” And get this shit–she didn’t say yes. Instead she said, “Do you know how to dance?” Opening my mouth like a codfish and bobbing my head, I said, “Yeah.”

So that sucked too. In nearly twenty years of asking others to dance, this was the first interview process I’ve ever been a part of. Strike two. I think I waited close to an hour before I tried again with someone else. This time I asked a guy who was the best dancer there. I’d met him once before, although I’m sure he didn’t remember. Anyway, he said yes and was very kind. However, he treated me like a beginner and only led the basic pattern. He said, “I’m testing you.” I guess I didn’t pass. Granted, they do a different form of two-step in Dallas than I’m used to, but I HAVE danced it several times in the past. Plus, I’m no slouch on the dance floor. I can almost always keep up. (I do teach dance for a living.) Of course, he didn’t know that.

Regardless, it bruised my ego.

After these three successive experiences, I had a series of good dances–nothing amazing, but good. All with kind people, one of whom approached me. And that was nice. But the point is this–even with all my years of dancing and objectively being able to say that I was one of the top five dancers in the club last night, it never really gets easier to approach strangers and ask them to dance. No one wants to be rejected. I don’t know if you’ve ever had this experience, trying to break into an already established crowd. I really think that’s what it was about. Most the places I go, people know that I can dance. But to the group last night, I was just an outsider.

I definitely felt not-so-welcome.

Caroline Myss talks about tribal dynamics, the way any group instinctively protects their own and is cautious of The Other. She says it doesn’t matter if it’s a crowd of teenagers, a fraternity, or a bunch of dancers–there’s always an initiation process or hazing for new members. “I’m testing you,” is what the guy told me. Back to the idea of the tribe, had I passed the guy’s test, he probably would have introduced me to his friends, let them know “this dude’s all right.” Maybe he would have asked me to dance again. Since I didn’t pass his test, however, I stayed outside, at least for him and his friends.

Understanding this helps me to not take last night personally. It didn’t help last night, mind you. What did help was a man named Carlos, who danced with me and smiled the entire time. (Never underestimate the power of your smile.) He said, “Don’t be nervous.” Still, I couldn’t shake that icky feeling from earlier, so about midnight I thought, I’m done with this shit and left, heading across the street to meet my friend from dinner. Then when we finished visiting, I ate chicken and waffles, loaded up on coffee, and hit the road for home. I thought, I don’t want to wake up in this city. So I drove all night–from two until seven in the morning. Not that I would recommend this behavior to anyone else–driving while you’re exhausted–but that’s what I did. And it did help chill me out a little–I got to see some stars–I even got to see the sunrise–I got to sleep in my own bed.

Today has been better. I’m still tired from this past week and staying up last night, but things are coming into perspective. This afternoon a good friend reminded me, “We all have off days.” Plus, I’ve spent today taking care of myself, doing things I love–reading, window shopping. Tonight I installed a fun light-switch cover a friend gave me over a year ago. It has gears and a lever that moves up and down to turn the switch on and off. This reminds me of my childhood, since I made something similar out of Tinker Toys when I was little (and I AM IN THE SAME ROOM).

Because I’m living with my parents.

Earlier I stepped outside to look at the stars. Because of my travels and light pollution in “the big city,” this is the first time I’ve been able to “take in” the full sky in over a week. I really have missed it. Lying down in our driveway, I began to relax. There’s just something calming about the stars, especially once you begin to recognize the constellations. Hercules, The Serpent Bearer, Bootes (pronounced Boe-OH-teez)–it’s like they are their own tribe, smiling down upon and welcoming every single one of us. Now I can’t wait to go back out there. There’s a meteor shower going on in Aquarius this month, and I wonder if I can see it yet. (It peaks in two weeks.) It really is wonderful how the heavens can erase your worries; how their quiet, steady movements can gently remind you to slow down; how their large open arms can make you feel oh-so-welcome here.

[I snagged the above screenshot from a desktop application called Stellarium, which allows you to look at the stars as they appear anytime, anywhere in the world. Shown here is what the sky looked like in Van Buren, Arkansas, at 11:00 this evening. (It’s 1:00 now.) Notice the three planets–Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars–and the imaginary line that they appear to travel along, the ecliptic. The text in green on the left-hand side is where the meteor shower should be, just “behind” Mars.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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The Long, Slow Road (Blog #389)

This morning I officially started the Autoimmune Paleo Diet (AIP), and I don’t mind saying it sucks. Granted, all the food I’ve eaten, which basically amounts to meat, vegetables, and fruit (minus nightshades, nuts, and eggs), has been delicious. But no matter how much I eat, I just stay hungry. This has always been my experience whenever I’ve given up breads and sugars in the past–it takes a while to get adjusted.

My main irritation is that whenever I look in the refrigerator or cabinets, all I can see are the things I CAN’T eat–things like peanut butter, peanut butter, and peanut butter.

I’m trying to remind myself that it’s not that I CAN’T eat peanut butter and all the other no-noes in the kitchen, but that I’m CHOOSING to not eat them in order to give my body a chance to heal. Last night a friend explained to me that nightshades (one of the forbidden foods on AIP) is anything with a “cap”–tomatoes, eggplants, peppers. Later I read that nightshades can contribute to inflammation in some people, that they can actually cause or exacerbate eczema or contact dermatitis. Having spent the last several months with generally irritable skin and having recently endured a rather disconcerting skin reaction to a change in laundry detergent, I’m really hoping that CHOOSING to cut out nightshades will help. Not that I want to give up ketchup and paprika forever, but I would like my skin back. So here’s to Day One of Good Choices.

Let the healing begin.

Part of AIP is not just avoiding certain foods and eating others, but also “feeding your gut,” which means ingesting nutrient-dense foods and probiotics like bone broth, kombucha, and sauerkraut. (The plan also suggests eating liver and heart, but as my dad said, “No.”) Anyway, I “cheated” and bought bone broth powder last week, and this afternoon I picked up some kombucha and sauerkraut at the local health food store, since the grocery store I went to yesterday didn’t have the brands I wanted.

So this has been today–I’ve eaten two meals and two snacks, run one errand, and–y’all–I’ve taken two naps. For whatever reason–my recent immunizations or the change in diet (did I mention it doesn’t include coffee!)–my body is exhausted. I’m trying to go with it. This is a lesson I’m slowly (slowly) learning, to TRUST my body, to believe that if it’s irritated, there’s a reason, if it’s tired, it needs rest. Sounds simple, I know, but you wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve refused to listen to my body’s messages, the number of times I’ve completely ignored them or insisted on soldiering through.

Of course, I wish my body’s messages were clearer. Like, if tomatoes are contributing to my skin issues, it’s obviously a cumulative effect, since it’s not like I eat one tomato and break out in hives. So I wish I had an internal buzzer that went off or maybe a blinking light that flashed whenever I picked a tomato up, some sort of warning signal that announced, “Danger, Will Robinson, Danger.” OH!–I’ve got it. What if our fingernails turned black when we touched something harmful like a handful of peanuts or even a sociopath?

That would be cool.

This is one of my big gripes about the way the planet earth is set up, that cause and effect aren’t always very clear down here, that we often have to look and look and look some more before finding answers. I realize God and the universe aren’t in the habit of asking for feedback, but if they ever do ask, that’s what I’d say. Like, did you have to make everything such a big mystery? And if tomatoes are such a problem, why did you have to give them a cute little cap and make them so damn tasty?

I mean–a vegetable with a hat–who WOULDN’T want to gobble that up?

You stop thinking you know everything.

Caroline Myss says that a big part of the spiritual journey is learning endurance, and I guess that means you can’t have everything handed to you on a silver platter. Rather, it’s been my experience that anything worth having–mental or physical health, money, whatever–are best enjoyed when they are hard-earned. Then they aren’t taken for granted. Plus, when you’ve had to look and look and look some more, you have more compassion for others who are looking, others who are trying to find their way. When things don’t come easily or quickly, you stop thinking you know everything. Consequently, you go easier on yourself and others. Yes, this is the benefit of long, slow road, the road that makes you stronger, the road that makes you kinder.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself an abundance of grace.

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Listening to Your Gut (Blog #298)

You know how sometimes people, especially southern people, will compliment you and insult you at the same time? Like, I just love that shirt you’re wearing! It completely covers up your muffin top. (Uh, thanks?) Well, I had something like this happen not too long ago. I ran into an acquaintance, and in the midst of catching up, they said something unkind about me. (I’m intentionally being vague.) It was said as a joke, and since we were in public, people nearby were laughing–hell, I was laughing. But as soon as it happened, I felt my solar plexus tighten up, the way it might if some guy in a van handed your toddler a lollipop or you were on the Titanic and felt ice-cold water rushing into your cabin. Like, Houston, we have a damn problem. The conversation quickly moved on and ended, but there was no denying what my gut–my physical body–was telling me. This person wasn’t joking–they were being a douchebag. Sure, they’d disguised their insult, but it was an insult still the same.

I walked away like, Thanks for this big wooden horse. Where did you say it came from again–Troy?

Today I had therapy and told my therapist about this situation, with more specifics than I’m including here. “Am I making something out of nothing?” I asked. “Am I just being sensitive?” My therapist said that no, I was reading things correctly. She said, “They weren’t even being a douchebag. Douchebags cut you off in traffic. They were being straight-up mean.” Then she said, “You may not have done anything about it in the moment or called them up later and gave them what-for, but it’s a really big deal that you instantly knew there was a problem and that your body is speaking to you like that.”

Honestly, I think we all know when something is “rotten in Denmark.” Caroline Myss says that our chakras, our energetic bodies, are always “scanning” our environment and giving us feedback. Like, You need to get out of here now, This job isn’t right for you, That guy can’t be trusted, or, Something’s wrong–call your mother. Most of these messages come through our third chakra (located at the solar plexus), a feedback loop which is alluded to in such statements as, “I can feel it in my gut,” and, “He makes me sick to my stomach.

Personally, I know that my gut has been talking me for a long time, but I also ignored it for a long time. Had the Trojan Horse deal happened five years ago, I would have thought about it for days and convinced myself they were just joking. I would have thought, They hugged me! As I understand it, a person’s relationship with their gut (or instinct or intuition) is like any relationship. It has to be nurtured. In other words, it’s not that your gut ever stops talking to you, but it only speaks loudly and clearly if you freaking listen it. This loudly and clearly part is what I’m currently focused on. I told my dad about this situation tonight, and he said, “Were you offended?” I said, “No, I wasn’t offended–I just KNEW I was being sold a pile of shit.”

The truth has to come first.

This quick-read, I think, is the result of all the work I’ve done in therapy and on this blog. As I see it, it’s the result of authenticity. The clearer you see what’s going on inside of you, the clearer you see what’s going on outside of you. It’s that simple. I’m not saying I’m the absolute-truth meter in all situations, but I am saying that the more I develop a rapport with the truth, the more it sets me free from everything unlike it, including “fake” relationships. This process isn’t always fun, and I don’t necessarily recommend it, but my therapist says the benefits “will serve you until you’re six feet under.” Plus, it beats inauthentic living and lying to yourself. I mean, whether it’s a run-in with a Trojan Horse, a bad relationship, or a miserable job, you can ultimately only do something about a problem when see it for what it actually is–a problem. And if anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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Everyone Has Pus to Deal With (Blog #245)

Currently it’s just after midnight, I’ve only been awake for ten hours, and I’m worn to a frazzle. I honestly haven’t done much–I went for a walk, attended improv class, bought groceries–but my energy level is squat. (Squat, I say.) Since I tend to obsess about my health, this only concerns me–a lot. Logically I can say that my body feels so much better than a week ago and that my cough has disappeared, so I must be getting better. But logic doesn’t do much good around here–in my brain, that is. All I can think of are the hundred and one reasons why something must be wrong. Maybe I’m not taking enough vitamins. Maybe I’m taking too many vitamins. (That could be it.) Maybe I’m pregnant–my sister says being pregnant can really drain a person.

Honestly, I want to slap myself. Get a grip, Marcus.

I’m not sure where I got the idea that I need to figure my body out. I mean, I think it’s a good idea to be educated about a few things, take a vitamin c every now and then. But in my experience, my body seems to be able to handle most problems on its own. I mean, for an entire year I ran around with little warts on my face, trying everything under the sun to get rid of them. (The internet said to try duct tape!) I think my dermatologist was half-convinced I had HIV because my immune system wasn’t recognizing the invaders on my pretty face. Well, I got tested and was negative. Then one day the warts just went away. Who knows what happened? Maybe my body was just waiting for me to quit trying so hard.

I can just hear it saying, “Would you stop looking over my shoulder and let me do my job, please?”

I guess I have a really hard time with that, letting go of control. I really think a rational human being would say, “Of course I’m tired–I’m healing–that takes energy. I know–here’s an idea–I’ll sleep more!” Like, it could be that simple. Instead I want to complicate things, spend an hour on the internet trying to diagnose myself. This, of course, is a terrible idea. Tonight in improv class I noticed my brain was offline. I felt kind of foggy and couldn’t think of a single funny or witty thing to say. (I still can’t.) Anyway, if you Google “tired, brain fog” and click on more than one article, you’ll walk away wondering how you’re even alive. It’s like I have to tell myself, Step away from the internet, Marcus.

Step away from the internet.

About ten years ago I saw an acupuncturist and Chinese medicine doctor who gave me a magic powder that was supposed to “lock in” health. “Take this on a day when you feel really great,” she said. Well, I never took it. Maybe I just have high standards, but I kept thinking, I could feel better. (I still think that.) So I guess if I weren’t worried about feeling tired, I’d be worried about my allergies, or my high cholesterol, or the fact that my ears crackle and pop sometimes, even though my ear, nose, and throat doctor said, “You’re normal. That’s the way God made you.” Quite frankly, that’s a hard pill for me to swallow, the idea that I’m normal and okay, that it’s normal to always have something going on because the body is forever adapting to an ever-changing environment.

I know we all worry about our health. Both my sister and my mother have been worried about their cholesterol lately. My mom is battling cancer. As of today, my dad is dealing with allergies or a cold, and he has a whole list of other problems as daily struggles–diabetes, high blood pressure, you name it. But if you were to ask him how he’s doing, he’d smile and say, “If I were any better, I’d be twins.” Then there’s his son, who takes to the internet each night to fret about being tired. Honestly, I’m not sure which is better–sweeping your problems under the rug or airing them out on the front porch. Once again, it’s probably a matter of balance.

I’ve been thinking a lot today about community, thinking I could use some more of it. I recently finished re-listening to a Caroline Myss lecture, and she said that the process of growth and self-empowerment first looks like separating from people (in order to find your inner strength), but later looks like reconnecting with them (because life isn’t just about you). Personally, I know I try to do a lot on my own–figure out my problems, whatever. I’m rather independent. And whereas that feels familiar to me, it’s also exhausting, and I’m starting to believe that’s because we’re simply not created that way. Rather, we’re tribal creatures–we’re meant to connect with each other.

This afternoon I ran into our next door neighbor Carree. She pulled up in her Hyundai as I was going for my walk, and since I have a Hyundai too, I couldn’t help but start a conversation about our vehicles. (Incidentally, we both love our Hyundais.) Anyway, we started talking about the blog, and things got real pretty quick. I said, “I’m not sure why I’m so dedicated to it, but I really believe it’s the most important and transformative thing I’ve ever done. Still, it’s hard, working through all your shit every day.” Carree said we all do what my dad does, put on a face and say we couldn’t be better. “But we all have things we’re working though,” she said. “We all have wounds that fester, pus that bubbles up. [Carree’s a nurse.] You either deal with it now or you deal with it later.”

Then she said, “If you ever want to talk, I’m right next door.”

Our burdens are lighter when we share them.

Personally, I don’t think it was an accident that I ran into Carree on the same day I was feeling a little isolated. (I mean, we never run into each other.) I guess it’s easy to assume everyone else has it together, to see your neighbors in their new cars or the celebrity on television and assume they don’t have any problems, that they never have days when every part of them feels like throwing in the towel. And yet everyone has something going on. Everyone worries, struggles, and falls apart at times. Everyone has pus to deal with. But I’m reminded that we truly are all in this together and that our burdens are lighter when we share them. What’s more, there are people out there who want to connect with us, people closer than we think.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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The Hot Guy Who Hugged My Aunt and Not Me (Blog #218)

About six weeks ago, for my birthday, my parents said we could go out to eat, which we finally did today. That being said, Dad told our waitress we were celebrating my birthday, HIS birthday, MY MOM’S birthday, AND MY AUNT’S birthday, so it really just felt like we were–well–eating out on a Friday for no particular reason. Lest I seem ungrateful, I did get to pick the restaurant–Outback–a place I not only love, but also meets my current dietary regimen. This morning I remembered the quote, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Of course, this sounds good if you say it fast, but as my entire family passed around chicken wings and ice cream while I forked my zucchini, I was like, Yeah, right.

A week before my birthday in September, I bought my first pair of stretchy jeans. Y’all, I love them–I wear them practically every day–but they are the worst thing in the world for someone who doesn’t want to gain weight because–well–THEY STRETCH. I mean, they offer absolutely no feedback whatsoever. Not once have they said, “You’re going to have to lie down if you want this zipper to close, buddy. You better watch the burritos.” Nope. Every day it’s been, “Don’t worry about that cheeseburger you inhaled last night–we’ve got room for plenty more.”

Anyway, the thing about owning only one pair of jeans you like is that you eventually have to wash them. So this afternoon before I met my family at Outback, I washed my stretchy jeans and figured I could wear my ex-favorite pair of jeans. After all, I reasoned, I’ve been on a diet for two days; they should fit fine. Wrong–they did not fit fine. Granted, I didn’t have to lie down to zip them, but they were so tight around my thighs that they cut off the circulation of blood to my toes. I was so afraid of ripping them that I spent the entire day taking steps so small they bordered on shuffling. Getting in and out of my car required holding my breath, keeping my thighs no more than eight inches apart, and praying.

God, grant my jeans the serenity to let go wherever possible, the courage to hold on everywhere else, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Determined to see the day when my jeans won’t have to work so hard to keep me inside them, I stayed true to my diet at Outback–even though it was (sort of) my birthday celebration. But then just when I thought life couldn’t get any more interesting than a plain baked sweet potato, some hot guy with perfect teeth and great hair brought my mom a salad. Well, naturally, I perked up, but get this–my seventy-year-old Aunt Tudie perked up too. Even before the guy walked away from our table, she said, “Did you see that?”

“Uh–of course I did,” I said. “It took everything in me to not fall out of my chair.

“Well, I really liked looking at him,” she said.

At this point our meal became infinitely more interesting. My aunt said she guessed he was in his late twenties, but I said he had to be in his early twenties, or I wouldn’t have been attracted to him. Then my mom (my mom!) said, “Marc, what’s your gaydar say about him?” (Gaydar is gay radar.)

“Well, his fingernails were really clean, so it’s definitely possible.”

My sister and I were mortified.

You know how every family has that one person who always goes out of their way to be embarrassing, like, they could do it for a living? Well, for our family, that’s my dad. When my sister and I were teenagers and our family would go out to eat, if my sister said something about our cute waiter, my dad would flag the poor fella down and say, “My daughter thinks you’re sexy. Are you single?” I remember once we were at a gas station, and my sister liked a cute boy’s Razorback t-shirt. So my dad approached him, gave him something like a hundred bucks, and honest-to-god swapped shirts with him right there in front of god and everybody. My sister and I were mortified.

As I think about these stories now, I’m actually grateful I didn’t come out until I was an adult. Can you imagine how my dad would have acted? Excuse me, young man, my daughter AND MY SON think you’re a–what’s the word?–studmuffin. Which of them do you prefer?

Well, Dad hasn’t changed much. After my aunt and I made such a big deal about the hot salad delivery boy at Outback, my Dad told our waitress that it was my aunt’s birthday and “she would love it if that handsome man would come give her a hug.” I thought, Oh my god, this is not happening. But the next thing I knew, the guy was marching over, my aunt stood up and put her arms out, and they were in a full-frontal embrace. She said, “You are SO cute. If I were thirty, well, forty years younger, I’d be chasing after you,” and he smiled and said, “I’d let you!”

I. Was. So. Jealous.

Y’all, it didn’t stop there. My aunt got so twitterpated about this guy that she couldn’t let him get away. Just before we left the restaurant, I thought she was getting up to go to the restroom, but no, I looked up, and she had this guy backed against a wall. Apparently, she’d turned her trip to the toilet into a reconnaissance mission. When she came back, she had his name, age (twenty-two–I was right), and sexual preference (girls–harumph). When my aunt came back to the table, she said, “I asked him if he had a girlfriend, and he said, ‘I can’t manage to keep one for very long.'”

My mom said, “Maybe because he’s gay.” (Thanks, Mom.)

My aunt said, “He said I made his day. I told him he really charged my battery.”

Charged my battery–that’s a direct quote from my retired aunt. I thought, I didn’t know your “battery” needed charging, but I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to talk about it.

My therapist says that if you see someone at a cocktail party and you get that “zing” feeling, run the other way because that’s a sure sign you’re looking at a disaster. Rather, she says, go up and talk to the ho-hum person that’s “just all right.” I guess the theory is that everyone’s subconscious is a shit-show that wants to be figured out. The best way to do this, of course, is hook up with a person who will push all your buttons and bring all your dramas to the forefront–that way you have to deal with them (or start seeing a therapist). That’s what the zing is all about.

As my therapist says, ‘Do you really want to go down THAT road again?’

Personally, I think this theory sucks and is no fun, but so far it’s proven to be true. Looking back, every guy that I was immediately attracted to and ended up dating ended up being a disaster. Perhaps better put, we ended up being a disaster together. That being said, I still feel that zing now and then. Honestly, I felt it at Outback today. I mean, if I had the balls my aunt does, I would have cornered that guy against the wall like she did. But seriously–a twenty-two year old who dates women. As my therapist says, “Do you really want to go down THAT road again?”

Well, when you put it that way, no–no I don’t.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve walked (or ran) down that road or one similar to it. It’s never ended well. And yet there’s always a part of me that thinks it will be different THIS TIME. It’s probably the same part of me that thinks I can eat chocolate cake and Taco Bell and still fit into my ex-favorite pair of jeans. Caroline Myss calls this our saboteur, the part of us that effs everything up when life is going well. But she says when we learn to work with it, our saboteur lets us know where our weak spots are, what roads not to walk down again. In my experience, I still desire chocolate cakes and pretty faces and whatever. But I’m slowly–slowly–coming around to the idea that “zing desire” often ends up looking like tight pants and relationships that land you therapy. The desire to be healthy, on the other hand, is more ho-hum, and it honestly looks more attractive all the time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When we expect great things, we see great things.

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Forced Down a Rabbit Hole (Blog #213)

It’s midnight-thirty, Mom and Dad are watching the world series, and I really have no idea what to talk about. Personally, I think we could all use a break from discussing The Daily Snot Report and What Time Marcus Woke Up This Afternoon (2:30). But what else is there? This evening I went to Walmart to look for a magnesium supplement in the pharmacy section, but there were so many options that I got overwhelmed, threw up my hands, and walked to the dairy section instead. (I can usually find answers in the dairy section.) That being said, I’m still having muscle spasms in my leg, so if anyone would like to suggest a miracle magnesium product, go ahead.

I’d prefer one that goes well with cheese.

Lately I’ve had just a skosh of writer’s block, usually toward the end of each blog. I think it’s because I haven’t been feeling well and my body and mind are tired. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve been blogging after midnight. I’m a night owl, but even I’ll grant that four in the morning is not my finest hour for putting a sentence together. Anyway, several times this last week I’ve said–out loud–to the muse, “Come on, I could use a little help here.” So maybe tonight the muse is on vacation, pissed off, or sleeping with someone else. Ugh–another cheater–that’s just what I need.

This afternoon I had coffee with a friend who was recently dumped. Being dumped is never fun, of course, but it sounded like it needed to happen. I won’t go into details, but I’m sure you can imagine a situation in which you hang on to someone who’s a total shit-show because you keep hoping that person will change. When things finally come to an end, part of you knows it’s for the best, but most of you is devastated. At least that’s been my experience. People say things like, “You’re better off,” “Time heals all wounds,” and “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” but none of that helps put your heart back together. After all, what good is a sea full of fish when you’re drowning?

A fucking mess, those were the exact words my therapist used to describe me.

As my friend told their story, I completely related–not to the specifics, but to the heartache that comes after a breakup. That’s what I was going through four years ago when I started therapy. It felt like there was a hole in the middle of my chest. On the surface I was going through the motions, but inside I was lost in the woods. A fucking mess, those were the exact words my therapist used to describe me. As if the sorrow weren’t enough, I also had to find a place to live. My friend is in a similar situation–everything familiar is being dismantled at once. God–sometimes life can really turn up the heat.

“It sounds like the universe has you by the balls,” I said.

What I meant by that statement is that I no longer believe the major events in our lives are accidental. Caroline Myss says, “God stops your life in order to step in it,” and that’s been my experience. Looking back, I absolutely needed to be cheated on and heartbroken. I don’t hope it will happen again, and I don’t recommend it, but that’s what it took to get me to therapy and raise my damn standards. Having come through the last four years, I can see that all my fears were unfounded. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t been provided for. It took time, of course, but I eventually found a place to live, and it ended up being the perfect place to heal my heart. There I also learned about boundaries, being authentic, and speaking my truth. In short, it was the place I learned to take care of myself.

The way I see it now, dramatic upsets in our lives are like being forced down a rabbit hole. Suddenly you’re falling, tumbling into a new world, searching for solid ground. But there isn’t any–nothing is ever solid. Even if it were, we wouldn’t realize it after a trauma because the territory is not familiar. Familiar is where we came from–our old world, the place we want to go back to and often do. Maybe it’ll be different this time. But if that world had been working, we wouldn’t have been so rudely invited into a new one.

Healing is never a straight line.

Rude invitations, like the tornado that swept Dorothy off to Oz–that’s how I’ve come to think of the curve balls life throws my way–chances to explore new worlds, new ways of being. More often than not, this is three parts frightening and one part exciting and feels like writer’s block. Come on, I don’t know where I’m going. I could use a little help here. (Silence.) Fine, I’ll just eat some cheese until you decide to show up. And yet, somehow you progress down the yellow brick road–the words come and the answers arrive. It’s never a straight line like you want it to be–healing is never a straight line–but you get there. One day you look back and see how far you’ve come. Maybe your outside looks the same, but your inside looks like a whole new world, and that’s your new familiar. Naturally, there will be other rabbit holes and tornados, other invitations to travel deeper into yourself and the divine mystery. But at least you’ll know something better is waiting for you should you choose to accept the invitation, pack your bags or (even better) leave them behind, and learn to swim in the sea again.

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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Adventures in Skin and Self-Care (Blog #211)

Praise the lord. I’ve actually felt better today–not perfect, but better. Maybe it’s the new sinus irrigation technique I started last night, or maybe it’s the fact that I used my dad voice with my immune system in yesterday’s blog. It’s time you start pulling your weight around here, young man. Either way, I’ve had less crud today, haven’t been coughing as much, and have had more energy. Maybe I’m not going to die after all and am headed in the right direction–toward recovery. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This morning I went to Johnson Dermatology in Fort Smith for my somewhat-annual checkup. A few years ago I had a case of warts (on my pretty face!) that wouldn’t go away, so I went once a month for over a year to have them burned off. (Ouch.) Anyway, the warts finally cleared up, and by the time they did, I felt like part of the furniture. I was friendly with the staff, knew where all the restrooms were, and basically had my own parking space–it was like an episode of Cheers, except with skin problems instead of nachos and beer. Anyway, going to the doctor usually makes me nervous, but today felt like going home again. Well, other than the fact that Mom and Dad don’t ask for my insurance information as soon as I walk through the front door.

My skin care wizard today was Nina, and she was super patient. When I asked about my body odor problem (which is pretty much over now) and told her all the things I tried from the internet in order to get rid of it, I think she only rolled her eyes once. Anyway, she said the problem was most likely due to the high number of antibiotics I’ve been on this year. She also said that was probably the reason I got folliculitis (inflammation of the hair follicles) around my nipples a couple of weeks ago. I mean, my being in a hot tub obviously had something to do with it, but she said my immune system and good bacteria were probably “compromised.” (Alert, there’s been a breach in security.) She also said that although my folliculitis is better, the reason it isn’t completely gone is because it’s fungal and not bacterial.

Strike one for the emergency room doctor.

So I guess for the next week or two I’ll continue rubbing cream on my nipples. Not that I’m complaining. There are certainly less enjoyable things to do in life.

I don’t know if you realized this about me, but I have a lot of moles. I know, I know–I wear them well, so this information may come as a shock. But it’s true. The doctors say I have “over fifty,” which I’m assuming qualifies as a plethora. Anyway, for as long as I can remember, the only bumpy or raised moles I’ve had have been on my head, where I and only I would notice or give a shit. Still, catching my comb on a mole drives me crazy, so I asked Nina if we could remove some today. She said yes, so now I literally have not one, but three new holes in my head.

Incidentally, they take off moles with a razor blade–uh–like the kind you buy at the hardware store to cut through carpet or a cardboard box. Granted, they numb you first, but then they just scrape your skin directly off–whoosh–slice right through it as if it were a block of hard cheese. Next thing you know either you or your insurance is considerably poorer, and something you carried around on your body for over a decade is in an envelope on its way to be analyzed at a lab in Poughkeepsie.

Like, there goes a part of me, via FedEx.

The cream Nina prescribed for my folliculitis is being mailed to me, so it won’t arrive until next week. Being the hypochondriac I am, I’m hoping my nipples won’t fall off before then. I mean, I’ve grown rather attached to them. (Or is it the other way around?) Anyway, tonight I took a shower with special soap, applied what cream I have to my nipples, then had Mom put Vaseline on the mole-holes in my head to encourage healing. I’ve had moles removed before, so this will be our routine for the next couple weeks. At first it will seem like a nuisance, then it will simply be part of our routine, and then it will be over. Perhaps one day we’ll sit and recollect about it–those two weeks I sat on the floor while Mom sat in her chair battling cancer and helping me take care of my skin.

Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

Tonight I’m reminded that things get worse and things get better. One day you wake up sick, spend two weeks feeling like crap, then at some point know you’ve turned a corner. Something about your body bothers you for years on end, then just like that it’s gone with a razor blade and the flick of a wrist. Other problems hang around–maybe they’ll be gone next week and maybe they won’t. Caroline Myss says we’re always healing something. This, of course, means that problems come and go because nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same. This also means we always have room to grow. For surely even the smallest irritations bring us into the present moment, prompt us to ask for help and connect with others, and encourage us to be more caring for ourselves.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my nipples are calling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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The Tiniest Seeds (Blog #178)

Three and a half years ago I met my therapist–my first and only therapist–for the first time. I haven’t been keeping track, but I’m guessing I’ve sat in her office roughly a hundred times. By anyone’s standards, I’ve come a long way. The journey has–without a doubt–changed the course of my entire life for the better. In one way or another, the things I’ve learned about myself and the world around me in that office impact me positively every day. I think about this stuff constantly. Hell, I started a blog about it. (You’re reading it.)

Tonight’s blog is number 178. That’s five days shy of half a year–almost six months of daily writing and self-reflection. Even for someone obsessed with mirrors, it’s a lot. Aside from going to therapy, however, I’m coming to believe it’s the best the thing I’ve ever done. Little by little, I’ve come to understand myself more, come to understand others more. Word by word and post by post, I’m growing in self-acceptance, balance, and authenticity. I have a tendency to get wrapped up in the outer–the number of readers I have, the number of likes I have on Facebook, the amount of money I have in my wallet. But when I think about what’s inside and what really matters, I’m forever grateful for that first trip to see my therapist, that first blog post on March 31, 2017. I didn’t know it at the time, but these two things would change me from the inside out.

About a month ago my therapist suggested I buy a plant, so I did. Honestly, I don’t have a green thumb. I mean, I can water plants and keep them alive in a pinch, but I don’t talk to them, pay them much attention, or buy them pretty things. Plants, after all, aren’t twinks. Consequently, I’ve never had a plant that lasted very long. But this time around, I intend to do better. For the last few weeks, I’ve watered the plant as instructed, kept it in a good spot, even gazed at it fondly once or twice. I haven’t named it yet, but I’m thinking about it. Maybe Grant–Grant the Plant.

That sounds good.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been listening to an audio series by Caroline Myss about archetypes. The theory is we all have them, and they play a huge–huge–role in how we live our lives and the way in which our souls develop. Whether you realize it or not, you speak the language of archetypes constantly because your soul speaks in symbols. This is the way dreams work too. Anyway, as an example, recently my mom said, “I know you’re not a caregiver.” Well, she was right. It’s not that I can’t be caring, but don’t ask me to be a nurse (like she is), or watch over a sick relative. I simply don’t have the caregiver archetype. But if you need to learn how to dance, how to write, or–say–what an archetype is, I’m your guy because I do have the teacher.

With that background laid out, last week Caroline was discussing the gardener archetype. She said some people just have it–the green thumb. They can make something grow no one else can because it’s IN them. They respect the spirits of plants, and the spirits of plants respect them and respond to them. If this sounds like you, you’re probably a gardener. If it doesn’t, you’re like me–something besides a gardener. Anyway, when I heard all this, I immediately thought of my Aunt Tudie. She LOVES gardening–she’s great at it–always has been. Oh my god, I thought, she has the archetype!

So tonight I took my “therapy plant” down to my aunt’s house to repot. I recently bought a bigger pot for it so that it will have room to grow, along with some peat moss. Y’all, this plant is already becoming an expensive little son of a bitch. But that’s okay–it makes oxygen, which I’ve heard is important.

Watching my aunt work tonight was nothing short of beautiful. It probably wasn’t a big deal to her, but it was to me. You know how you tend to take your relatives for granted? Like, Oh, that’s just my aunt. As if someone’s life stops when you’re not in it. Well, I guess I’m guilty of this. Maybe I’d just never paused long enough to watch my aunt do the thing that she loves. Tonight she slowly removed my plant from its old pot and gently tugged at the bottom roots. Then she added the peat moss to the new pot, put the plant in, and lightly packed down the dirt with the care of a mother rocking a newborn to sleep.

“Have you always loved plants?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “I’ve always had my hands in dirt. I love watching things grow–the way something can start as the tiniest seed and then absolutely blossom into the biggest thing.”

After my plant was potted, my aunt pointed out the new growth on top. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” I said.

“See how they’re drooped down? That means they need more water. But the fact that they’re there means the plant is doing well on your kitchen table.”

Then she noticed the dust on the leaves, so she took a spray bottle, misted the leaves with water, and used her fingers to clean them off–one by one. Y’all, it may come across strange on “paper,” but I started crying. The way my aunt held those leaves–there’s not a person alive that wouldn’t want to be held that way. She was so tender. Personally, I won’t forget it for a long time–the night I recognized my aunt for who she is–a talented, skillful, and kind gardener.

It’s not a little thing.

Sometimes it’s necessary to “repot” yourself.

Before I left, my aunt showed me a plant she had potted beside her carport. On top were buds that had dried out, and she picked them off and tossed them in the yard. She said next year there would be flowers everywhere, and she figured that out by trial and error. I’ve thought a lot tonight about the seeds we plant, sometimes when we don’t even know it. I guess that’s what I was doing when I started therapy three and a half years ago. Once my therapist told me that everything I ever needed was already inside of me–if she did anything, it was only to provide an environment in which I had room to grow. So I’m reminded tonight about the importance of environment, self-care, and kindness. Sometimes–it seems–it’s necessary to “repot” yourself. As I continue to write every day, I’m reminded to treat the process and myself with respect, trusting that as even the tiniest seeds are planted and cared for, they’ll absolutely blossom and grow into the biggest things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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Worthy of Celebrating (Blog #176)

For the last couple months I’ve been working with a group of ladies who are preparing for a talent show. We meet every week or two, they actually practice in between (image that), and the performance is in a few weeks. Anyway, we met tonight, and after we exchanged pleasantries, I went right into work mode. “How’s practice been going?” I said. Well, I was listening, but I was turned away, plugging my phone into a speaker. But then I turned around, and all three of the girls–outfitted in party hats–started blowing those irritating little noise maker things.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they said.

Talk about a surprise. (My birthday was last week.) All I could do was smile and laugh. I mean, there are days when I seriously doubt whether or not it’s worth it to wake up before three in the afternoon in order to go to work, but today was not one of them. And did I mention there were cupcakes–like–fancy cupcakes with fruit, candy, chocolate, and chocolate? Of course, I just started a diet a two days ago, but when Jesus gives you fancy cupcakes, you eat them with gratitude, damn it. Oh, and there was singing! I tried to record it, but–not surprisingly–my phone was in selfie mode. Anyway, here it is.

This evening I shared the cupcakes with my parents, and my Dad asked how the ladies knew it was my birthday. I said, “Probably Facebook–it tells you every time someone goes to the bathroom.” Or who knows? Maybe it was the blog. I forget that people can (and do) read it. Today my mom told my aunt on the phone, “I learn more about my son on the internet than I do living with him.” Fair enough, Mom, but it’s hard to have a conversation when The People’s Court is turned up so loud. (“DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?!”)

But I digress.

After dance rehearsal with the girls, I ate a cupcake before getting in my car. My all-or-nothing personality tried beating me up for not following my diet one hundred percent, but–really–that part of my personality is a serious stick-in-the-mud asshole. So I just looked at him and said, “These are birthday cupcakes from Jesus–back off!” The other temptation I faced was to screw the diet completely and go out for fried chicken and margaritas. But tonight I stayed strong–I didn’t eat fried chicken. Rather, I cooked a healthy meal at home.

And then ate another cupcake. (Thank you, lord.)

About the time the ladies were getting ready to wish me happy birthday, one of my aunts and I were texting about potting soil. My therapist recently recommended that I buy a plant, so I’ve been talking to my aunt about how to repot it. (She has a green thumb.) Anyway, you know how some people–like my therapist–don’t like to text, so they pick up the phone and literally call you? (The nerve.) Well, that’s what my aunt did tonight. There I was playing Shania Twain on my phone, these ladies were killing it on the dance floor, and all of a sudden we were interrupted by my ringtone.

Of course, my aunt had no way of knowing. Later, when I was eating my first cupcake, I listened to the message she left. I assumed she was talking to my father, unaware she was actually leaving a message. (Technology is hard.) “He’s texting me but not answering his phone–Marcus Coker, answer the damn phone–I guess I’d better watch what I’m saying, it might be recording it.”

Why yes, yes it is.

After a while, I called my aunt back. She didn’t answer at first, then she did, so I said, “Answer your damn phone,” and we had a good laugh about the whole thing. Then she told me what I needed to repot my plant, and I went to Lowe’s and got it.

Tonight I added the card the girls got me to the others I’ve received this year. On the outside the card said, “Yes, this birthday card is late.” Then on the inside it said, “Pick up the pieces of your shattered life and move on.” Funny right? There’s something about an actual card, the fact that someone took the time to pick it out. I guess it makes you feel–special. Just today I got another card in the mail. It was from my friend Marla and said, “I’m so glad you were born.” Then Marla added, “Thank goodness your parents had unprotected sex!”

After dinner I went for a walk and listened to Caroline Myss talk about creative archetypes. She said our tendency as humans is admit what we can’t do rather than admit what we can do. Like maybe you make something, and someone says, “That’s gorgeous,” but you say, “Oh, this old thing, it’s nothing.” But that’s not really true–it’s something!–and you made it. I know I often do this with the things I make. What’s more problematic, perhaps, is the fact that I do this with myself. One of my birthday cards this year said, “You’re an amazing person and friend,” and part of me thought, They’re just being nice.

This is something I’m working on. One of my affirmations lately has been, “I’m willing to accept gifts from the universe,” and I’m learning that includes compliments, cupcakes, and birthday cards. That includes little celebrations. Of course, if you accept someone else’s celebration of you at face value–if you don’t dismiss it in some way–that means you have to also accept the idea that you are worthy of celebrating, that YOU are something. For me, coming around to this idea–sometimes–is like my aunt trying to figure out voicemail. The struggle is real. But days like today help–every encouraging note and cupcake helps to remind me that I’m here, we’re all here, and we’re all worthy of little irritating noise makers, dancing, and all good things, including family members who answer their damn phones.

[Jonelle, Sharon, Nesa–you rock. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Aunt Tudie, I love you.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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