Today was a day for beginnings. Why some days are for beginnings and other days are for endings, I don’t know. But I suppose this is simply how the universe works. One day you pick up a cigarette. Another day you put it down. You tell yourself for weeks, maybe months, that it’s time to quit, but then one day it actually is. For me, there’s always a feeling that accompanies a fresh start. I wish I could tell you that such a feeling involved angels and trumpets, a parade where suckers are handed out to people who start diets. But that’s rarely the case. Rather, the feeling I get is more like a soft hum, something that tingles and buzzes inside of me and sounds like I’ve had enough. I’m ready. Shit. No more Camels and chocolate cake.

Or something like that.

Fortunately, today wasn’t about quitting anything. (Ugh. No one likes a quitter.) Although I guess anytime you start one thing, you have to quit another, even if it’s simply quitting not doing the thing you weren’t doing before. (I’m about to confuse myself, so I’ll just say it.) Today I started swimming again. There, I’m glad that’s out in the open, along with everything it implies. Yes, I wear Speedos (the square-cut kind). Sometimes I shave my legs (and absolutely love the way it feels). Of course, as is obvious from the above picture, I haven’t shaved anything lately. Anything–at–all.

Anyway, today I swam a thousand meters–sixteen hundred is a mile–and it felt great. When I first started swimming four years ago, I liked it, but it was difficult because it always felt as if I was sucking in more water than air. But after a few years, I started to get the rhythm of it. We’ll see how the summer goes, but I really think the sinus surgery I had is going to make all the difference, since I can actually breathe now. I mean, I haven’t swum in a year, but the ten laps today seemed easier than anything I’ve ever done before.

This afternoon before I went to the pool, I got two voicemails–two!–from my dentist’s office. I didn’t even listen to the second one, but the first one requested a “verbal confirmation” that I would be at tomorrow’s teeth cleaning. This after I verbally made the appointment last week and digitally confirmed by text a few days ago. I told my dad, “I’ve forgotten appointments before, but I’m an adult. I said I’ll be there, and I’ll be there. Hell, they used to send emails too.”

Dad said, “Marcus, not everyone keeps a calendar. I don’t think you realize how stupid some people are.”

The old Marcus would have called back to confirm, but the new Marcus thought, “Fuck that. I have better things to do.” Of course, it’s taken a long time for me to come around to this way of thinking. Really, I’ve spent most my life returning every text message, every email, every phone call. But therapy has taught me that messages from other people are requests, not demands, certainly not requirements.

Today at the pool I focused on my breathing, lifting my head every odd-numbered stroke so that I alternated sides. For the longest time, I’ve only come up on my right side, and I think that’s contributed to the imbalances in my body. Of course, lifting on the left side today felt weird, awkward, anything but smooth. I probably swallowed some pool water, so don’t even try to remind me how many little kids pee in it every day. I mean, they make chlorine for a reason!

While swimming, I was thinking about how often we to run away from anything that feels weird, awkward, anything but smooth. I know I used to see that in dance a lot. If people didn’t get something “right away,” they’d get frustrated, cry, even walk away. But–and I hate this–any new thing takes time to master, whether it’s dancing, swimming, or setting boundaries with secretaries at your dentist’s office. (My next step is to call them and say, “I have an appointment tomorrow and would like a verbal confirmation that my dental hygienist will be there.”)

A couple of years ago I had three incidents happen–bam, bam, bam– that involved bad customer service. In one instance, I was treated rudely at a medical facility, and in another given incorrect change at a restaurant. (It may sound high-minded, but I HATE IT when servers owe me $9.13 and bring me back $9.00 instead, like the rest doesn’t matter.) So when I talked to my therapist about these incidents and said I wanted to write letters to all the respective managers, she leaned forward in her chair, raised her eyebrows, and said, “DO IT!”

So I did, and it felt great.

In the case of the medical facility, I believe someone lost their job, or at least got a stern talking to. Either way, the manager said that if I had to return, please contact him personally. I also got a gift certificate from the restaurant. But none of that was the point to the letter writing. The point was to express myself, to confront a damn problem for once. Honestly, I’m still not a pro at confrontation. I usually have to be pushed pretty far before I’ll speak up. In any form, confrontation feels anything but smooth. But just like my breathing at the pool, it’s a hell of a lot better than it used to be because I’ve been willing to practice, even with little things like not returning phone calls that I simply don’t want to return.

This evening I started reading a book called The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to High Creativity by Julia Cameron. The book has been around for twenty-five years, but I’d never heard of it until a few weeks ago when two people told me about it within the space of a few days, which I figured meant the universe wanted me to read it. (God works in mysterious ways.) Well, I’m only a couple chapters in, but I’m riveted, and I already have homework. Specifically, starting tomorrow, I’m supposed to starting writing, by hand, three pages (called Morning Pages but will be Afternoon Pages in my case) about anything and everything that comes to mind. Sometimes called “brain drain,” the idea is that the practice gets out all the junk that’s currently blocking any creativity.

I’ll let you know how it goes, but I’m both excited about nervous about the idea. Excited because it makes sense, and I want to see how it changes my creative life. Nervous because, like learning to swim again and learning to handle confrontations, it’s probably going to feel weird and awkward for a while.

They say that if you want a different life, you have to let go of the one you have. You have to do things differently. Personally, I’m finding that changes that really matter are usually a process. Maybe there are angels there to help, but they don’t blow trumpets because they know beginnings are pretty much always rough and not really trumpet-worthy. But anything you consistently work at–dancing, swimming, finding your voice, creating–will eventually smooth out. Just give it a little time, and it won’t feel weird or awkward at all. No, you’ll get the hang of it, and–what’s more–you’ll have a different life, a life that tingles and buzzes–and feels great.