Flipped Upside Down (Blog #595)

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It’s 7:55 in the evening, and I’m at the local Starbucks. I’m alone, and so far I’ve sat at three different tables. At the first one, I had a video chat with my sister and my nephews. Then, after deciding to stay to blog, I moved to a table with built-in electrical outlets so I could charge my laptop and phone. But the outlets didn’t work. Now I’m at the third and final table, scrunched up in a corner with a giant, not exactly energy-efficient window to my back. So I’m cold. But at least I’m all plugged in and am recharging.

The History of Where I Sat by Marcus Coker.

I’ve felt off for the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday’s therapy session was a lot. I mean, it brought up a lot, mostly around my issues with money and business. Those topics always makes me a little squeamish, although it has gotten better lately, a lot better. (Now I only half-shit myself when discussing money.) Anyway, I came home last night and baked a frozen pizza in order to help me process everything my therapist and I talked about. The only problem was that I left that round piece of cardboard under the pizza when I put it in the oven. (You’re not supposed to do this.) And whereas the cardboard didn’t catch on fire–phew!–it did keep the pizza from cooking properly. This really sucks, when you try to eat your feelings but can’t because you don’t have any kitchen skills.

“You have a lot of talents, Marcus, but cooking clearly isn’t one of them,” my dad said. “You can’t even bake a frozen pizza!”

“Is this you being an encouraging parent?” I replied. “Are we having a father-son moment–is that what’s going on here?”

Today, at least on the outside, has been pretty dandy. This afternoon I had lunch with a friend who made me laugh, laugh, laugh. Then later I had coffee with another friend, and when we discussed my hatred for winter and the fact that my outfit of choice is jeans and a t-shirt, they said, “When you dress appropriately for each season, it’s easier to enjoy them.” So I’m going to work on that, maybe get some thicker socks and a fluffy coat.

I really am trying to take steps to enjoy the colder weather and not be so miserable. Last night before falling asleep I rubbed lotion into my hands and elbows, since they always dry out during this time of year. There’s no reason to add to your suffering, I told myself. A little bit goes a long way. And it’s not like the fall and winter don’t offer up their wonders in exchange for the light and heat they take away. Last night after the pizza incident but before I went to bed, I ran to Walmart to get a new headlight bulb for my car, Tom Collins, since I’d noticed one of them had burned out. Then when I got home, I saw that the sky had cleared (it’s been cloudy at night for weeks), and that the stars were out.

Wow! There was Orion, and next to him Gemini, The Twins. Y’all, it’s been so long since I’ve really gotten to study the sky. All my favorite players from two months ago–Pegasus, Perseus, Triangulum–had all moved from east to west. It was so disorienting–everything that was “right side up” had flipped upside down. (This is the consequence of our earth’s rotation.) My brain didn’t know what to do. Still, all of it was gorgeous, and I actually got excited about what the next few months will gift me in terms of experiences like these, despite the cold package they’ll surely be delivered in.

I came to Starbucks to chat with my sister because I have a meeting online tomorrow and wanted to test out my laptop’s camera and microphone first. Thankfully, my sister agreed to be my guinea pig. And whereas I’d assumed we’d just talk long enough for me to know whether things on my end were working, we ended up talking for twenty-five minutes. There I was in the middle of Starbucks, carrying on a rather loud conversation with my laptop screen and honestly acting a fool, since my sister and I got silly, silly, silly. Anyway, the whole thing put me in the best mood.

It’s weird how you can make such a big damn deal about things in your head. Like, yesterday, I was really worked up about life, and that mood carried over until–sometime–this afternoon. And it’s not like I wasn’t trying to make it go away–I was using every trick I know to stop worrying. But then I quit trying and told myself, Just let it be, Marcus. Just be with the people you care about. Just be here now. Somewhere along the way, my anxiety lifted. Now I’m thinking, What was the big deal about, Marcus? Why all the fuss? It’s weird. Without my trying or even meaning to, me emotions have flipped upside down, like a constellation in the night sky.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Stop buying your own bullshit.

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Life Is Full of Gutter Balls (Blog #594)

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

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

“Yes,” I said.

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

So I’m working on that.

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

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

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

Everything is fine.

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Beating yourself up is a far cry from self-respect."

On Bravery (Blog #412)

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Two days ago I saw my therapist and we discussed money, which is a theme lately. Later that day while talking to my friend Bonnie, I said, “I wonder what I’ll write about tonight. I could talk about my therapy session, but it was emotional, and–believe it or not–there are days when I don’t want to share my emotions with the internet. There ARE times when I want to keep my therapy sessions private.”

Bonnie didn’t miss a beat. “I understand, but your blog IS called Me and My Therapist.”

Of course she was right (damn it), so that night I wrote about–you guessed it–me and my therapist. You can read the blog post here, but it’s essentially about my crying in therapy because I’m often paralyzed by anything involving finances (which is most things). The post also talks about why this is the case, the main reason being that when dad went to prison when I was fifteen, I had to handle the family finances (and it was terrifying). Anyway, I saw my therapist for another session this afternoon, read her the “I cried in therapy about money” post, and cried AGAIN.

Y’all, not to brag, but I’m getting pretty good at this crying thing.

My therapist and I talked more about money today, but I’m honestly worn out with that topic for this week, and I’m not sure I could even do her wisdom and encouragement justice right now at three in the morning. (I’m exhausted and am TRYING to keep this short, but I will say that she said overcoming my fears about money was largely a matter of gaining perspective, of realizing that the “monsters in the room” are simply shadows.) But there is something I would like to talk about, and that’s that after hearing my blog post, my therapist repeated her recent comment that I have big balls.

Well, she didn’t actually say that today, but she did before. Today she said, “Marcus, you’re really brave to share your emotions and experiences the way you do.”

Y’all, other people have said this before, and I never know quite how to respond. I get that it takes a certain amount of courage to put yourself out there, but having done it for over a year now, I guess I take it for granted. This project has been so beneficial for me personally, I think, Why WOULDN’T you completely expose yourself (emotionally, not physically) to the entire planet? But I do get it–it’s scary to tell the world your secrets. So I tried to flesh out with my therapist why I do this, and the best I came up with was, “I have to. I just have to.”

I guess this statement–I just have to–could be taken the wrong way. Even as I’m writing and reading it, I think, That sounds like I’ve “been called” to write this blog, like I’m a missionary of emotions who has no other choice but to share his feelings because “it’s the right thing to do.” That’s not how I mean it. Yesterday I mentioned situations in which my heart pounds with anxiety and the only way to get it to stop is to do the thing I’m afraid of, and THAT’S what I mean when I say, “I just have to.” I mean I’ve been shoving down my emotions, disconnecting from myself, and living inauthentically for so long that I simply can’t handle the pain any longer.

I wanted a way out.

So for me this project isn’t the result of my bravery or courage–it’s the result of my suffering. It’s a result of my desperation, my hoping that something–anything–will fix my hurting heart. That’s why I went to therapy in the first place–I was miserable and wanted a way out. Even now I want a way out of my financial fears, a way out of my health problems. I’m tired of them, tired of dragging these things around by myself. They’re exhausting. That’s why I talk about everything to my therapist, and that’s why I write about (almost) everything on the internet–because doing so makes my burdens lighter. It turns my monsters into shadows. If this looks like bravery to someone else, perhaps it is, but it feels like healing to me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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The Thing I Was Forgetting (Blog #365!)

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Since moving in with my parents over a year ago, I’ve developed this nasty habit–I can’t walk out the door to go somewhere without walking back in. Like, I get to my car and realize I’ve forgotten something–my car keys, my laptop or phone, my coffee mug. It drives me crazy. My dad says I’d forget my head if it weren’t screwed on. (Everyone’s a comedian.) This is my dad’s way. He’s taken to making jokes, at least laughing, every time I say goodbye and fifteen seconds later say hello again. “I forgot something,” I always say. “Who does THAT surprise!” he responds.

Y’all, I guess this really has become a thing, since I even did it in one of my dreams last night. I was leaving some sort of convention, already on the outside of the building, and remembered I’d forgotten something. (I don’t know what it was.) Sometimes in dreams I’m trying-trying-trying to run, but I can’t. Instead I move in slow motion. (My therapist says this is about my feeling that my life isn’t moving fast enough.) Well, in last night’s dream, I RAN back inside the building, looking for whatever it was I forgot. The building was huge with lots of levels and stairs, and I ran down every one. On the way back up and out, however, I crawled.

A weird thing happened this morning while I was getting ready to make breakfast. My mom started radiation this week, so she and my dad were gone and I had the house to myself. I know, I thought, I’ll put on some music–I’ll listen to a CD. Well, our stereo system is older than Moses, and I guess it has a short in it, and I couldn’t get the CD option to work. So I started futzing with the wires, and a song crackled through the speakers. I only caught a few words, but they sounded familiar. Moving me down the highway. Figuring I’d briefly tuned into the radio somehow, I switched the function button on the stereo from “CD” to “Radio,” but a different song was playing. Go figure, I thought. Still, all during breakfast, that lyric kept running through my head. Moving me down the highway.

Each person is important.

Y’all, thank God for the internet (and peanut butter). That lyric–Moving me down the highway–is from a song called “I Got a Name” by Jim Croce. It’s beautiful. As soon as I looked it up and played the full version, I started crying. I’ve had it on repeat for the last two hours. The first verse of the song starts off like this–Like the pine trees lining the winding road, I got a name, I got a name. Like the singing bird and the croaking toad, I got a name, I got a name. To me this means that I am equal to, just as important as, any other one of God’s creations. To me this means that each person, including me, is important.

Talk about a hand-delivered message from the universe.

Today’s blog is number 365 (in a row). Tomorrow (March 31) is technically my “blog birthday” or “blogiversary,” but as soon as I hit “publish” today, I’ve officially crossed the digital finish line and completed one full year of daily writing. Holy crap, y’all, I did it. It took a ton of time, a lot of tears, and not a little frustration, but I did it. (Way to go, me.) Honestly, I don’t know what to say. Earlier today my dad said, “It’s got to feel good.” And he’s right, it does. I feel happy, proud, nostalgic, hopeful, and even sad. It’s everything.

Big dreams take commitment.

As I’ve said before, when I started this project a year ago, it was mostly to establish a daily writing practice. I truly believe that writing is part of the reason I’ve been put on this planet, and I’m not ashamed to say that I have a lot of big dreams around the topic I’d like to see come true. Therefore, my logic when I started this blog was the same as it is now–if you want to see your dreams come true, you’ve got to be willing to consistently do your part. Several times over the last year, my friends and family have referred to me as “disciplined.” Personally, I think that word makes it sound like I’m punishing myself over here, that every day I sit down and grit my way through a thousand-word blog. Not that every blog is easy, but overall gritting my way through is not my experience. So a better word for me is “determined” or “focused.” The way I see it, I’ve got a big dream over here, and big dreams take commitment. It’s that simple.

If I’ve learned anything over the last year, it’s that big dreams (and life in general) may “happen,” but they don’t happen the way you think they’re going to. (What would be the fun in that?) Another thing I’ve learned is that as long as you’re working on your dream or–better said–doing the thing you believe you’re called to do, it matters less and less whether or not your dream actually comes true. In “I Got a Name,” Jim Croce says it like this–Like the north wind whistlin’ down the sky, I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song. Like the whippoorwill and the baby’s cry, I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song. And I carry it with me and I sing it loud. If it gets me nowhere, I go there proud. In other words, at some point it becomes enough to try. So long as you’re following YOUR path, it doesn’t matter where it leads you.

But back to my forgetting things. Just like in last night’s dream, when I started the blog a year ago, I thought I was ready to go “outside,” to step out into the world and make a way for myself. But true to life, I forgot something. I forgot to go “inside” first. In the dream I RAN inside and down (into my unconscious), which I think represents my last four years in therapy and all the work I’ve done on this blog. In the beginning, I was “gung-ho.” But as anyone who has walked this path knows, going inside takes a lot of hard work. Just like daily writing, it takes determination, focus, and commitment. Also, most the time you feel like you’re going nowhere, which is what it felt like in my dream as I was crawling. (Encouraging, I know.) But the point, I think, is that I was moving. Moving me down the highway, slowly working my way up and out.

In the dream, I never found whatever it was I was looking for. Perhaps this means that whatever it was wasn’t important, but I think it means that as I pursue my real-life dreams, the point is not to find something or get something. Rather, the point is to go inside before you go outside. This has been my experience in my first year with this blog. A year ago I thought I was looking for something external, but what I found was something better, something internal. 365 days ago, I thought I was sitting down to write about me, but now I know I was actually sitting down to MEET me, to get to know my authentic self and remember to take him along no matter where I go. As it turns out, what I was looking for was myself. All this time, the thing I was forgetting–was me.

Freedom is everyone’s birthright.

In “I Got a Name,” Jim Croce never says where the highway he’s moving down leads. But he does say this–I’m gonna go there free. More than any other goal I have or dream I’d like to see come true, this is my determination–freedom. And after a full year of going “in and down,” here’s what I know–if you’re stuck in a bad relationship, if you’re constantly worried, if you can’t let go, or if you don’t fully love and accept yourself–you’re not as free as you could be. But more and more I believe we live in a universe where freedom is not only possible, but also inevitable. Indeed, no matter how deep your wounds or how profound your pain, I believe freedom is everyone’s birthright, that even if you have to crawl, you will somehow find your way out of the darkness and into the bright light of day.

[To any and everyone who has spent any amount of your time on this blog these last 365 days, to anyone who has offered a kind word or thought in my direction, to anyone who has given me their support and encouragement–I am profoundly grateful. May all good things be yours, and wherever life takes you, may you go there free.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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The Cave You Fear to Enter (Blog #364)

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Tonight’s post is number 364 (in a row). That means it’s the next-to-last post for “year one.” Wow. First of all, what a trip. Second of all, tomorrow is the big day. To use an analogy I got from my friend Bonnie, I feel like a high school senior. Like, I’m graduating. (I feel like I should have a ceremony with a cap and gown to celebrate, but I’ll probably just drink a beer instead.) And yes, just like a high school senior, everyone is asking me, “What are you going to do next?”

My answer: Hell if I know.

As I’ve contemplated my last few posts for this year, part of me feels like looking back. Several months ago I told myself that I was going to go back and re-read all my previous posts before the one-year mark, maybe do a “highlight reel.” Remember that time I was in a car wreck and later cried in my driveway while listening to Bette Midler? Well, that hasn’t happened. I still intend to re-read everything at some point, but not before tomorrow. Also, I’ve considered using my last couple of “year one” posts to discuss what’s happened this last year in terms of my site statistics and talk about some of my personal rules for blogging–things I absolutely insist on doing or not doing every time I sit down at this keyboard. Lastly, I’ve thought about listing my goals, what I’d like to see happen next. And whereas I do intend to do these things “soon and very soon,” I’ve decided not to do them until after March 30th (that’s tomorrow).

My reason for waiting to deviate from my current format is that I’d like to finish out this year the same way I began it. A year ago I remember going to the library and starting this project–just me, my laptop, and an idea. My primary goal at the time was to develop a daily writing practice, and that much I’ve done. My secondary goal was to stick to a theme–my life, my search for truth and authenticity, my mental and physical well-being. This is why, even when I meet someone else with an incredible story, I never talk about them unless there’s a direct application to something I’m dealing with. If my blog’s theme were “incredible people I’ve met,” that would be a different matter.

My story is our story.

Sometimes I look at the number of people who have read this blog since I started it and think, Meh. Other times I think, Holy crap! Honestly, the fact that anyone reads it on a consistent basis (which some people tell me they do–thanks, Mom) blows me away because this is clearly a blog about me, and I don’t find my day-to-day life all that interesting. But I guess what is interesting are some of the things I deal with or struggle with, things like balance, boundaries, growing up, letting go, patience, and self-acceptance–since these are things WE ALL struggle with. In short, if someone finds a connection here, surely it’s only because my story is our story.

My therapist says that when one person lives authentically, they give other people permission to live authentically also. Like, if you wear what you want to wear every day (because YOU like it) and don’t give a shit about what society thinks, you somehow communicate that others are free to decide what’s best for themselves. Likewise, even if you have to keep a friend at arm’s length because they’re overbearing or rude or whatever, you’re modeling healthy behavior to both your friend and anyone else who cares to notice. Of course, in both examples, you’re primarily taking care of (and loving) yourself, which is the main thing.

This afternoon a friend and I were discussing authenticity and the blog, and she said she thought I was brave, that it was a big deal to put myself “out there.” So I’ve been thinking about this today, like, Do I think of myself as brave?

Uh, sort of, not really.

Y’all, I get that what I’m doing here may sometimes seem like a big deal. Like, not everyone would get on the internet and talk about their sexuality, their crush on Zac Efron, their Dad having been in prison, their mom’s cancer, or whatever they happen to be nervous, thrilled, or angry about on any given day. But just so I’m clear, I don’t sit down and write about this stuff intending to brave. Sure, there are times it takes a deep breath and an internal pep talk in order for me to hit the “publish” button, but being brave is always a secondary consideration. The main thing–the primary consideration for me–is always, “Am I going to be honest?”

As I recall, this question presented itself to me in my very first post, which included a story about how I ran into a man who had previously hit on me. At that time, I knew I wanted to start the blog, but I hadn’t planned on “coming out” my very first day as a blogger on the world-wide web. But there it was on day one, and I was either going to honestly talk about what went on in my day and in my life or I wasn’t. Having spent most of my life being vague or private about my sexuality (and even having lied about it years ago), and likewise having been largely unsatisfied with the results of that behavior, I mustered enough courage to try something different–the plain, simple, unadulterated, this-is-me, take-it-or-leave-it truth.

What a novel concept.

Perhaps bravery is simply having run out of better options.

Joseph Campbell says, “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” In my experience, this is true. (I hate it, but it is.) For all the times I’ve been afraid to hit “publish” and did, it’s paid off a hundredfold. For every time I’ve questioned whether or not to share my authentic truth or experience and did, I now look back and think, Why did I even hesitate? That’s what a positive experience it’s been for me. Now I think, Why did I wait so long (to quit that job, tell someone to fuck off, or wear what I want to)? Yes, it takes courage or bravery to step into the cave you fear to enter. But I know from personal experience that when you’re absolutely worn out by everything else NOT working, that’s when you’re also the the most willing to step into the shadows. Perhaps this is what bravery really is–simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

[The dog in tonight’s photo belongs to one of my dance students and is named CoCo, which is one of my nicknames and the “author name” I use on this blog. Curiously enough, CoCo and I have become fast friends.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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Talk about a Serious Gain (Blog #362)

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It’s two in the morning, it’s been a long but good day, and I don’t know what to write about. Tonight’s blog is number 362, the first of “the final four” that will complete “year one,” so it feels like it should be profound. But–chances are–it won’t be. Still, at least I’m here writing. Barring something catastrophic, I’ll soon be celebrating having written every day for a year, at which point it won’t matter which posts were profound and which weren’t. At that point what will matter is that each post, just like each piece of a puzzle, has contributed to the entirety or the wholeness of this project.

Today my therapist and I celebrated the anniversary of our first session together, which was technically four years ago this last Saturday. (My friend Bonnie refers to this date as my “psycho-versary.”) Granted, the “party” wasn’t a huge deal–like, Zac Efron didn’t jump out of a cake or anything. We didn’t even have streamers. But we did take a few moments to acknowledge all the progress I’ve made and all the work that both of us have done these last several years. This is something I hope to do more often–stop and recognize how far I’ve come, rather than simply thinking, But I have so much further to go.

Tonight I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house, and this afternoon she sent me a message that said, “If you show up early, the boys (her young sons) would like to show you the Legos they put together over spring break.” Y’all, these kids are adorable. For maybe twenty minutes they showed me their all the toys and gadgets they’ve put together recently. And despite the fact that most the toys were recommended for children below the age of ten, I was fascinated. I used to play with similar toys when I was their age, and I still love figuring out how one thing connects to another.

As the boys were showing me their treasures, they kept using a phrase I’ve never heard children use before. They’d say, “One new thing we gained is this robot” or “One other thing we gained is this dinosaur.” That word–gained–is something I’ve been chewing on tonight. First, I’ve been thinking about the fact that gain implies something positive and worthwhile, something you’re proud to have. Like, I’d never say, “I gained another sinus infection.” But I’ve also been thinking that in order to gain something, you have to lose something else. In order to gain something, you have to pay a price. The boys, for example, may not have had to purchase their toys, but somebody did, and the boys at least had to spend their time putting the toys together.

As I think about it now, I realize that how a person spends their time and resources is a dead giveaway as to what they value. Like, I can look at the boys’ room and tell they LOVE building things, creating things, and learning. Personally, I love these things too. Also, I love and value writing, which is why I write this blog every day (every damn day). Granted, I lose or give up plenty in order to do so–hours of my time, hundreds of my dollars (for web hosting and design), and missed opportunities (time with friends, etc.). Sometimes, I’m sure I have bitched about these losses. Just tonight I told my friend Bonnie that I was “still” living with my parents. But I’m reminded that for every thing I’ve (willingly) given up in order to write this blog and practice my craft, I’ve GAINED so much more in return.

For one thing, I love, like, and accept myself a hell of a lot more than I used to.

Big gains come at a high price.

Naturally, this same line of thinking could be applied to my time in therapy. Today I told my therapist that of all the good things that have come out of four years of therapy, the very best–like, above and beyond all the others–has been reconnecting with my authentic self, my truth. Talk about a serious gain. The more authentic I am (the more I share myself “warts and all”), the more comfortable I am in my skin and in the world around me and the less anxiety, stress, and nervousness I feel. Sounds great, right? Well, it is. But big gains, naturally, come at a high price. In my case, I’ve spent countless hours and dollars on therapy, books, and other personal growth material. I’ve shed a lot of tears and had a lot of hard conversations.

Still, every minute, every cent, and every challenging thing has been worth it because I’ve gained me. (Now I think, What a terrible thing, to live without yourself.) In this sense, just like I think every blog post is important because each is a link in an unbroken chain, I’m starting to think that every good, bad, and ugly thing in my life is important, perhaps even necessary, because each has somehow brought me to where I am now, this place where I’m meeting myself. I’m always saying that I don’t recommend this inward journey (because it’s hard), but that’s not true. It is hard, but I absolutely recommend this inward journey because in my experience it’s the only way to really put the pieces of your life together, to see how one thing connects to another, to finally become whole.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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And God knows you don't make everyone else happy. But this is no reason to quit or be discouraged, since doing what you love and feel called to do is never--never--about gaining acceptance from others.

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The Most Important Lesson (Blog #359)

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Currently it’s just after midnight, and I’m in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve stayed here, sometimes in the spare bedroom upstairs, sometimes on the couch downstairs. (I’ll be on the couch tonight.) When I was in my twenties and traveling to various dance events, I used to pit-stop here a lot. At some point my aunt just gave me a key, like, come and go as you please. You know how it is when you’re part of the furniture. You walk in, throw your keys on the table, and immediately relax. No matter what kind of day you’ve had, it’s okay because–well–you’re home.

Y’all, I’ve had the best day. Spring is in the air, the weather is glorious, and Tom Collins (my car) and I had a great drive into town this morning. Right off the bat, my friend Frank and I had coffee. Frank and I met each other through our Reiki group and keep up by email. Plus, Frank reads the blog and regularly sends me encouraging messages, like, You’re not alone–I feel that way too. Well, we had a delightful chat, and get this shit. As we left the diner where we met, Frank said, “I was cleaning my closets out recently and–I don’t even know where I got it–but I found something I don’t think you can live without.” Naturally intrigued, I said, “I can’t WAIT to see it.”

Y’all–it was a 2009 High School Musical (Zac Efron!) wall calendar! Talk about the perfect gift. I seriously couldn’t stop smiling.

I can’t wait to hang it up.

And yes, I’m a 37-year-old man.

Well, as if that weren’t enough, I then met my friends Kara and Amber for dinner. We were supposed to meet recently in Fayetteville (we all live in different cities), but I got stuck in a bad traffic jam and couldn’t make it, so we rescheduled for today. And whereas the company was amazing–like, it really was great, and I love, love, love our talks–what I’d really like to discuss now is the desserts. We split this chocolate cake and gelato thing that was UH-MAZING, as well as a gooey blueberry cake situation that was better than any one-night stand or long-term relationship I’ve ever had. I’m not even a big fruity cake fan, but this thing knocked my socks off. I mean, it was a huge FO.

FO (pronounced eff-oh) stands for Food Orgasm, Mom.

After dinner I attended a local swing dance. I didn’t tell any of my Tulsa dancer friends that I was coming, so I got to surprise a few of them. Plus, some of my Arkansas dancer friends were in town, so it felt like a little reunion. Y’all, I had some great dances. By the time the night was over, my shirt was dripping wet. Plus, it turned out to be my friend Marina’s birthday. No kidding, she turned 96 today. 96, and this woman was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Where’s the WIFI at?” Talk about an inspiration.

For me, there’s something about dancing in Tulsa. When I was cutting my teeth as a young swing dancer, my friends and I used to drive to Tulsa to learn how to Lindy Hop. (When it comes to dancing, Oklahoma is “slightly” more progressive than Arkansas.) Anyway, that’s how I met my friends Gregg and Rita (whom I’ve traveled with over the years), and that’s how I (eventually) met Marina. And no kidding–as much fun as dancing can be with a stranger, it’s even better with your friends. Really, there’s nothing like it, moving to the music while you’re holding hands with someone who’s known you and loved you through all of life’s peaks and valleys.

Tonight’s blog is number 359, which means that I only have seven more posts to go (including this one) in order to reach a solid year of daily writing. Just thinking about this fact, about crossing the one-year finish line, makes me emotional. A year ago this was just an idea. I remember exactly where I was standing and what was going on when it came to me. And whereas I was excited about this blog, I had no clue (none) how it would change me for the better. Closing in on “year one,” I can honestly say this is both the most difficult and simultaneously most rewarding project I have ever undertaken.

No exceptions.

In the beginning of this project, there was a part of me that imagined my life would look different by now, that I’d either have more readers or a book deal, or that I’d be living in a different city. Now I think it’s safe to say that none of those fantasies will materialize within the next week. But honestly, that’s okay. You see, the universe likes to play tricks on people. A year ago I thought I was starting this blog in order to get something, like a ticket to a better life. Perhaps I wouldn’t have started it any other way. But somewhere along this journey, I realized that a deeper, wiser part of me actually started this blog in oder to BECOME something.

In almost a year, I’ve written over 350,000 words, each one as honest as I could make it. Some of you–God bless your hearts–have been there for every frickin’ one. And yet despite all these honest words, this is where words fail me, since I can’t find a way to properly describe what a beneficial thing this strange trip has been (and is). I can try (I have tried and will continue to try), but I really believe that if you want to know, you have to take the trip for yourself. You have to go where your spirit calls you.

When I talk about “becoming something,” what I really mean is “becoming someone,” specifically–yourself. And that’s the weird thing–a year ago I wouldn’t have said that I wasn’t me. And yet there were so many places in my life where I was intimidated or afraid, places where I felt “less than.” Likewise, there were so many times that I’d bite my tongue or people please, hide my truth or shut myself down in some way. And all of that is different now. I can’t say exactly when it happened, but I can say exactly where it happened–right here at this laptop. This is where I’ve sat down 359 times in order to–often unknowingly–discover and meet myself, to get honest about what I want, what I feel, and what’s happening inside.

Of all the lessons I’ve learned, perhaps this is the most important…

But back to words failing. When I walk into my aunt’s house, I know I’m part of the furniture. Likewise, when I sit down to dinner with my friends Kara and Amber, I know I can let my hair down. It’s the same when I’m on the dance floor with my friends Greg, Rita, and Marina. In these moments, these fleeting moments, I’m home. But after this strange trip, now it’s like I’m home all the time. Somehow I got a ticket to a better life, but it’s not an external one–it’s an internal one. Now no matter where I am or whom I’m with, not only am I less intimidated and less afraid, I’m also more comfortable in my skin. Less and less do I feel “less than.” More importantly, I know that no matter what happens, I’ll always have one person on my side, one person who will be there for me and love me unconditionally. This one person, of course, is me. Of all the lessons I’ve learned in the last year, perhaps this is the most important–this one person is enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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An Unbroken Chain (Blog #244)

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Currently it’s almost three in the morning, and I’d rather be reading. This afternoon I went for a walk, then started Turtles All the Way Down by John Green. It’s young adult fiction and just under three hundred pages, and I’m already two-thirds of the way through. Since I don’t get absolutely sucked into a book very often, I’d like nothing better than to curl up in this chair, immerse myself in story, and forget about the rest of the world until the last page has been turned. But, of course, I have this daily blog, so here I am–once again, world, it’s me–looking for meaning in the mundane, searching high and low for hope (come out, come out, wherever you are).

Honestly, I don’t know whose idea this was–trying to knock out a thousand-word blog every day for a year. A year–that’s been my goal for a while. I talked to my therapist about this recently and said that I didn’t know what I expected to happen after 365 days. Like, I don’t expect the sky to open up, for angels to descend with a bouquet of flowers, congratulations, and a check for a million dollars. Although that’d be nice–a parade would be nice. My therapist said, “Who knows? Once you hit a year, you may decide to keep going.”

Ugh, that sounds exhausting. But who knows?

Of course, writing every day for a year was my idea. But I don’t mind saying it’s not exactly easy pulling a thousand words and a life lesson out of my ass on days that, quite frankly, could easily be summed up like, “I went for a walk, I read a book.” Maybe another writer would make a day filled with those activities sound like a gripping adventure, but that’s not my style. Come on, waking up at three in the afternoon then taking a nap four hours later isn’t quite a-thrill-a-minute literature. And then I snored. And while I’m on the topic–why–why am I so tired anyway? I’m guess it could be the anti-histamine I took when I first woke up (which has been helpful), or maybe the fact that I was just sick for six weeks.

There’s an idea.

There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

I know that I have a tendency (just a teeny-weeny tendency) to underestimate what a big deal things are. Like, I think I can be sick for six weeks then reasonably expect my body to be able to run a marathon three days after it’s initiated recovery–instead of thinking, Wait a damn minute, my body has been through a lot lately. (And by lately I mean my entire life.) I don’t know if anyone else is like this, but I’m guessing I’m not alone here. We go, go, go and push, push, push then get frustrated when our bodies run out of gas. So I’m trying to remember–my body has been through a lot–I’ve been through a lot–there’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

Another area where I tend to underestimate things is this blog. Like, most the time I don’t think it’s remarkable that I’ve sat down to write and lay myself bare on a daily basis for the last eight months. But today I heard a quote about forming habits by the philosopher and psychologist William James that said, “Never suffer an exception to occur till the new habit is securely rooted in your life,” and I realized that’s exactly what I’m doing here–not suffering one exception. Sick or well, tired or full of energy, I’m writing. I honestly don’t know why it’s so important to me, why I’m more committed to this than I have been to anything else in my entire life. I mean, I don’t even floss every day. But I do know that if I skip even one day of writing before I get to a year that I’ll lose a lot of respect for myself.

The flip side of this equation, of course, is that by writing every day I’m building self-respect. I wouldn’t for a minute pretend that every word or blog I write is parade-worthy, but each is a piece of this giant puzzle, so each is ultimately important and valuable. From my perspective, there’s not a single night’s work that I’m not proud of because each is a link in this (so far) unbroken chain. So to anyone, including myself, who’s consistent about anything, please know–it’s a big deal, it’s remarkable, and it’s okay to be your own parade.

Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

I didn’t mean for this to turn into a pat-myself-on-the-back session, but I think it’s okay, especially considering all the years I’ve spent beating myself over the head. (Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.) I guess a lot of us beat ourselves up when we don’t have to. We make a big deal about what we can’t do and where we don’t measure up and refuse to acknowledge where we’re knocking it out of the damn park. Honestly–and I don’t mean for this to sound like whining–being human is hard. That’s just a fact. Our bodies and souls are under stress from day one, and it’s not like there’s a rule book that tells you what to do when the shit really hits the fan. As my friend Suzanne says, “Life is like getting pulled through a knothole backwards.” For these reasons, I really think anyone who bothers showing up on this planet is courageous, that it really is a big deal to go for a walk and keep putting one foot in front of the other, to do the best you can as one day links to the next like an unbroken chain.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

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The Beatles, Bananas, and Blogging (Blog #187)

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Today I overslept, even by my standards, because I forgot to set my alarm last night. Despite the fact that I woke up “on my own,” I still had plenty of time to eat breakfast and get ready to go to my one hour of work this week. I guess there’s an advantage to having a dad who screams when he’s on the phone and a mom who tries to quiet him down by saying, “RON! BE QUIET–MARCUS IS SLEEPING!” I mean, who needs an alarm clock when you live with people who are losing their hearing?

This afternoon I met with the group of ladies I’ve been teaching lately. For about two months, they’ve been practicing a routine to perform at a talent show/fundraiser, and the event is next week. Today was our next-to-last rehearsal, and I think everyone was scared shitless. I guess this is how it should be. In my experience with dance performances and event planning, it doesn’t matter how early you start–everything comes together at the last minute. More often than not, things go better than planned. Thankfully, even when they don’t, life goes on.

Ob-la-di.

After dance I sat on the porch with Bonnie and Todd and convinced myself that drinking two beers was the equivalent of eating of a light, healthy dinner. Well, right about the time I was counting calories, Bonnie brought out Todd’s bananas, and I mean that literally because Todd has a banana tree in his backyard. Anyway, this was the first bunch Todd’s ever picked or plucked or whatever you do with bananas, so when Bonnie gave me a bite to sample, I kind of felt like a celebrity judge on one of those cooking shows. Taking care to cleanse my palate first with alcohol, I raised my pinky finger, placed the banana in my mouth, and tasted away. Well, we all agreed the bananas were still a little green, at least on the inside. Maybe that had something to do with Arkansas and bananas, but it could have just been that we ate them too soon.

When I left Todd and Bonnie’s, I went to the library, which is turning out once again to be a great place for high-speed internet and watching videos. Plus, it’s quiet and people leave you the hell alone. I did get a little nervous in the bathroom today, however, just after I’d used the urinal. Intent on washing my hands, I got distracted by the mirror and started dancing to the music in my headphones. Well, I heard a toilet flush, so I stopped. I’ve been caught again, I thought. But then I realized the flush came from the urinal I’d just used, since everything is automatic and on a slight delay these days.

Phew.

So I got to the library two hours before they closed and started watching a two-and-a-half hour video about personal transformation. Considering I have a hangup with completion, this thirty-minute time difference turned out to be a real problem. Well, since Starbucks is open late, I just went there to finish watching the video. This worked out beautifully, since I could really spread out, drink hot tea, and basically pretend I had a regular job–or just a job, period.

I guess I give myself a lot of shit about the fact that I’m not working and really earning a dollar lately. I mean, I pick up stuff now and then, but I spend most my time going for walks, reading books, and blogging, none of which currently pay the bills. Whenever I talk to my therapist about this, she says it would be difficult to not feel pressure about not working because I’m a man who lives in America, and pretty much everyone over here believes men should work for money and money is equal to self-value. But she also says I don’t have to play by everyone else’s rules, that what I’m doing now is an investment, and she thinks that investment will pay off. In her words, “It’s just the way the universe works.”

Some days it’s easier to believe this than others.

When I first started blogging, I was checking my site stats every day to see how many people were visiting the site and how many pages they were clicking on. Well, this is an exhausting thing to do. No matter what the number is, you always wish it were higher. If one person comments or gives you a thumbs up, you want it to be two. All that being said, I just looked at my site stats, and they seem lower than normal. Of course, part of me gets why this could happen, and another part of me thinks, Fuck blogging–I could be watching Will and Grace.

All things become ripe when they’re ready.

It’s moments like these that I have to remind myself why I started this blog in the first place, and it wasn’t to get a certain number of page views each day. That’s nice if it happens, of course, but I started this blog to develop a discipline of consistent writing and to further my self-growth with daily honesty, vulnerability, and introspection. With those things as standards, this blog has been nothing but a success. When I really think about what this blog has done for me personally, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I guess sometimes I get so focused on some future performance that I forget to enjoy rehearsing, which is, of course, where the real work takes place. It’s like I’m trying to eat a banana while it’s still green, forcing something to grow before its time. With this in mind, I simply return to the keyboard, trusting that all things become ripe when they’re ready, things usually go better than planned anyway, and ob-la-di and no matter what, life goes on.

[Here’s a link to that song by The Beatles.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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