The Puzzle of Our Lives (Blog #711)

I was grouchy all day yesterday, critical of myself and others. This is often the first sign that I’m not feeling well, that something is off in my body. Sure enough, I woke up sick this morning. And whereas it wasn’t full-blown awful, it was the start of another sinus infection. Shit, I thought, I just dealt with this two weeks ago. Like feeling sorry for yourself makes any difference. Life does what it does.

This afternoon I saw my chiropractor and massage therapist, who both worked on my shoulders, where I apparently have a pinched nerve. Thankfully, I think whatever they did helped. The random pains I’ve been feeling haven’t been coming as fast and furious since I left their office. “Come back later this week,” my chiropractor said. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

Let’s get this done and over with. And all god’s people said Amen. Along these lines, after I left the chiropractor’s office, I ordered more of the probiotic powder I use to help my sinus infections (online) and bought some more kimchi (at a grocery store), which I also use to help my sinus infections. (What I had at home had expired.) As these two products have worked reliably in the past, I plan on hitting them hard for the next few days, in addition to eating well and trying (trying) to get plenty of rest. Fingers crossed. Let’s get this done and over with.

I spent this evening at the local library. I’ve been meaning for almost a year now to go back and re-read all my blog posts, and since I’m coming up on two solid years of blogging, I figured now was a good time to start. Oh my gosh, y’all, I talk a lot. Tonight I re-read forty-two blog posts (in no particular order), and it took me just under three hours. So this project’s going to take a while. But already it’s been the best thing, a reminder of my good and bad days, the people I love and love not-so-much, and where and how I’ve grown. Every day I sit down at this computer and am literally two feet from the screen. Then, it’s one post at a time, one day at time. My point is that it’s easy to lose perspective, to get so close to your own life that you don’t see what’s happening. So I’m looking forward to standing back and getting a bird’s-eye view of these last two years.

It’s important, I think, to get some distance from yourself every now and then. In the midst of a problem–a simple sinus infection, let’s say–it’s easy to hyper-focus on whatever is bothering you and lose sight of the bigger picture, to forget that our hurts and hangups are often only one piece of the puzzle of our lives. This is the benefit of journaling. When you put your life on a page, it automatically creates some space between you and your internal narrative. Likewise, a good (objective) friend or therapist can offer a different perspective from you own, one that’s probably more accurate, one you might like better. So often I think of myself as sickly and weak, but my therapist says, “From my viewpoint, you’re young, healthy, and strong.”

“Um, did you say I was young?” I reply.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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On Measured Effort (Blog #710)

Last night, thanks to the time change, I got five hours of sleep instead of six. Color me not impressed. My body’s been off all day. Currently it’s ten in the evening, and I’ve been ready to go back to bed for twelve hours. Fingers crossed I’ll be asleep by midnight.

One can hope.

This morning I woke up early to teach a swing dance workshop in Fayetteville. It went well. God bless everyone who got out of bed to attend and listen to me say, “one more time” over and over again. One more time, I’ve probably said that more times that I can count. That and, “five, six, seven, eight.” Today a student, making reference to a basic step we covered in class, said, “I already know that.” I remember thinking something similar when I was a new dancer; I wanted to learn the cool shit. But the older I get, the more I find myself going back to the basics–taking clean steps, being on the beat, doing the same thing over and over again.

I say this a lot as a teacher, but the only way to really learn is to go slow. There’s so much going on when you dance, you mind and body need time to become aware of what’s happening and integrate the information. Granted, as a student, I hate that. I want to zip through new dance patterns like everybody else does. I’ve been learning to knit recently, and I can’t tell you how eager I am to knit a blanket. But my first project was a pot holder, and my next one’s going to be a cap. That’s the deal; with anything, you have to start small and work you way up. You can’t just dive into the deep end without learning how to swim first. Yesterday I said my therapist thought the universe was trying to get me to slow down (because I injured my knee a few months ago). If she’s right, it’s a hard lesson to learn. After the workshop today, there was a dance, and I wanted so badly to really cut loose. But I forced myself to stick to the basics, to go slow.

One friend I danced with noted that my steps were “measured.” She was right–I was super careful this afternoon during the workshop and especially this evening on the dance floor. And whereas that was frustrating as hell, it’s what my body requires. And it’s not awful. Actually, I wish I had gone slower when I first started dancing. I wish my steps had been measured back then. That is, I wish I’d taken more time to move slowly and deliberately, to really focus on my technique, to not develop bad habits.

Alas, I didn’t become interested in the technical, finer details of dancing until much later, when I started teaching. And even though being a teacher has taught me the value of not being in a hurry, I still often am. I start a project, like this blog or rehab-ing my knee, for example, and I want to get to the end. I see those motivational posters that say, “Life’s not a destination, it’s a journey,” and feel like vomiting. I want to do that fancy dance move, I want to be published, I want my knee back. Get me across the finish line already.

Hell, just get me to bed.

Your relationships won’t get better until you do.

It occurs to me that everything I’m really proud of–my dancing ability and knowledge, my relationships, my work in therapy, this blog–has come from measured effort. Not that I’ve been measured (or patient or calm) every minute of every damn day with any of these things, but I have been measured enough to be 1) intentional and 2) consistent. That’s what I’d say to anyone wanting to learn a new thing or grow themselves in some way–be intentional and consistent. That is, act on purpose. Obviously, you’re not going to accidentally become a good dancer, nor are you going to slip on a banana peel one day and have a completed novel fall out of your brain on your way down. Likewise, your relationships won’t get better until you do. It takes a decision. After that, it takes dedication. Simply put, you have to keep showing up.

Even if you’re not in the mood. Even if you only got five hours of sleep last night.

I say this for myself more than for anyone else. I constantly struggle with knowing when to push myself (for example, when to lose sleep in order to write this blog) and when to back off. Today in class I talked about how Lindy Hop has “built-in” times to rest. That is, certain steps take up more beats in the music, which gives the dancer time to breathe and not feel hurried. So I’m trying to recognize that these times exist in my life too, that it’s important to be measured or intentional about slowing down as well.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

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On Learning a New Language (Blog #680)

Here’s something fun. Sitting or standing up, flex all your toes into the floor. Then try to lift only your big toe(s), but leave the other 4 (or 8) on the ground. Do this several times. Big toe up, big toe down. Then reverse the process. Keep your big toe(s) on the ground, but lift the others. Go ahead, try it.

See if you don’t cuss.

I got this exercise from Kate Galliett and The Unbreakable Body, an online coaching program I signed up for years ago and recently rediscovered. The exercise is meant to rebuild and/or strengthen the arches in your feet, which, by the way, you apparently have three of on each foot, not just one. For me, the exercise is difficult, especially the second part, especially with my left foot. My toes shake and quiver and won’t do what my brain tells them to. (My nephews don’t obey me either.) And whereas that’s frustrating as hell, it motivates me to keep trying.

With my toes and my nephews.

Kate says that if you were going to learn a new language you’d learn a little at a time and it would be awkward at first, and it’s the same with your body. If you want to learn a new movement, or even teach your tense muscles how to relax, it’s going to take time. But positive changes can occur. You just have to slowly teach your body the language you want it to learn. Relax, be strong, be mobile, whatever.

Lift your damn toes in the air.

This idea of language has been on my mind today. This afternoon I finished reading a book by Joseph Murphy about your subconscious mind and positive self-talk. I have an off-and-on relationship with these types of books, the kind that tell you to affirm the things in your life that you want to see increase or grow. Sometimes I think they’re fabulous. Sometimes I think they’re crap. Still, I can’t deny there’s an inner monologue going on in my brain virtually all day long, and it makes sense to me for that monologue to be positive (God, you’re a handsome devil, Mr. Coker) rather than negative (I’m so disgusting, I’m going to eat a worm). I mean, if I have a choice in what I think (and why wouldn’t I, it’s my brain), I might as well choose thoughts that feel good rather than thoughts that feel bad.

Along these lines, the book said one positive affirmation is, “I am the only thinker in my universe. No one call tell me what to think about (blank).” I really like this. Recently someone gave me crap about my long hair. I was not amused by this. (My therapist says it’s not appropriate for one adult to tell another adult how to live their life. I agree.) I bring it up because even if the entire fucking world told me they didn’t like my hair, I am the only thinker in my universe. No one call tell me what to think about any part of my body. Likewise, even if someone has done me wrong (ripped my heart out and stomped that sucker flat), I don’t have to think bad thoughts about them. Indeed, I can wish them well if I want to, if for no other reason than letting go of a grudge feels better than holding on to one.

I am the only thinker in my universe.

Granted, it’s not easy to turn your thoughts around, just like it’s not easy to control your awkward toes (if you toes are anything like mine, that is). It’s not easy to learn a new language. Most of today I’ve felt nervous and fearful. Not because anything bad is looming on the horizon, but I do have a few tasks and appointments coming up this next week that I’m not looking forward to. Hell, I didn’t want to write tonight’s blog. Even now I’d rather be watching a movie and zoning out. My point being that along with my feeling nervous and fearful, I’ve had nervous and fearful thoughts (duh). What if I do something wrong? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m not good enough? And whereas I wish I could immediately banish these thoughts and feelings, I can’t.

Learning a new language is hard.

Still, I am determined to learn–determined to learn how to lift up my little toes while my big toe stays on the ground, determined to learn how to think about the world differently. Everything’s going to be okay. People like me (and if they don’t, fuck them). I’m good enough. And I’m finding there’s a lot of relief in just starting. That is, even though I can’t lift my toes quite right, I’ve started to learn, so the process isn’t as intimidating as it was before. Even though my self-talk has a long way to go, I’m at least aware of what’s going on “up there.” They’re just thoughts, and thoughts are changeable. Nothing is set in stone.

More and more, I’m learning to not come at myself with a sledgehammer. My dad’s been going with me to work out at night, and tonight he said, “I’m trying to add one or two new exercises each time we go.” How perfect is that? A month ago when I started going to the gym to rehab my leg, I wasn’t even breaking a sweat. But, like my dad, I’ve been adding in exercises one at time, and now I leave the gym glistening. (My next goal: leaving with a wet t-shirt.) So both at the gym and at home, I’m trying to add in good habits, add in good thoughts. I keep telling myself, Sweetheart, be patient. We’re learning a new language.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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On Continuing Sans Perfection (Blog #675)

For the last twenty minutes I’ve been trying to get my hotspot to work so I could blog on my laptop. Alas, for whatever reason, it’s currently defunct, so I’m blogging on my phone, using my thumbs to punch in one letter at a time. What a drag. What a serious drag. I hope I don’t get a callous.

This afternoon while most of America was eating cheese dip and preparing for the Superbowl, I went to the gym to rehab my knee and work out my upper body. As today was my second time this week following this regimen, I’m really surprised I don’t have pecs yet. Geez, some things take forever. And as if that weren’t disappointing enough, when I came home I pulled out a box of medjool dates for a snack, and the sticker on the box said, “Had a date lately?” I thought, Do you have to rub it in? Shit, a single guy can’t even eat a healthy snack without having his lack of a love-life thrown in his face. By a fruit, no less.

For the record, I’ve NEVER had this problem with chocolate cake.

This may come as a surprise, but I’m not a football fan. So while everyone else was wondering if Adam Levine would take a knee during his performance, I took a nap. I did, however, wake up in time for the half-time show, which I watched while I knitted.

Recently my friend Kara asked if I was learning to knit in order to get some sort of gay merit badge.

The answer is yes.

A couple things. In a previous post I said my current knitting project, a pot holder, would eventually have 36 rows. That was (an unintentional) lie. It’s going to have 60. Anyway, today I did twelve rows, so now I’ve done a total of 28. Almost halfway there. My big hangup today was that I noticed a mistake I made a few days ago. I guess I dropped a stitch or knitted instead of purled or something. Honestly, it’s not a big deal. You probably wouldn’t even notice it if I showed you. But I noticed it wasn’t perfect.

Instead of ripping out the entire damn thing and starting over, I forced myself to keep going. After all, this is supposed to be for fun. Plus, I kept thinking about all the hundreds of mistakes I’ve made dancing through the years and how much I’ve learned from them. Indeed, mistakes are necessary when we’re figuring things out. And as my therapist says, “You’ll be done figuring things out when you’re six feet under.”

In other words, mistakes are simply part off living. Like it or not, they come with the job.

The other thing that encouraged me to continue knitting sans perfection was thinking about this blog. That is, in over 600 blog posts, I’m SURE I’ve made plenty of mistakes. I proof each post three times, and I know mistakes still slip through. But whatever. This project doesn’t need to flawless, each word spelled correctly, each sentence punctuated just so. Indeed, the greatest benefit I’ve gotten from writing every day can’t even be measured in terms of the finished project because the greatest benefit has been internal. Likewise, whether you write, dance, or knit, it’s not about the actual thing or what you produce. It’s about how doing the thing changes you. It’s about what you learn and how much you grow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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One Stitch at a Time (Blog #672)

Today I’m generally content. This is a phrase my therapist uses a lot, generally content, that feeling somewhere in between being on top of the world and having the world on your shoulders. For me, it’s not feeling fabulous, but not feeling unfabulous either. It’s loving the results of your new diet, but not loving the fact that you just ate chicken and rice for the third time in two days. Generally content–it’s that feeling you get when you finally embrace your age and the fact that you enjoy a good prune.

So sue me.

This afternoon and evening I’ve done a little of this, a little of that. That is, I read in a book, watched an old television show on my laptop, did my knee rehab exercises, and knitted. Yesterday my friend Bonnie gave me my first official pattern or project–a pot holder that has the word HI stitched in the middle of it. When it’s finished it will be a square–36 rows with 36 stitches each. (That’s 1,296 stitches.) Tonight I spent about an hour doing the first six rows. (That’s 216 stitches.) Right at the end some stitches slipped off one of the needles, but after a lot of concentrated thinking, I figured out how to fix them. Phew.

I plan to go to the gym whenever I get done blogging. I went last night and tried a few new exercises, some for my knee, some for the rest of me. Y’all, at one point, while I was standing on one leg and passing a weighted ball from one hand to the other, I actually found myself having fun. What the hell–having fun at a gym?! Now, despite that fact that I’m often intimidated at the gym and am afraid of not knowing what I’m doing, I’m thinking about adding in some other exercises tonight. Because the truth is, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Granted, I’m no stranger to the gym, this isn’t my first workout rodeo, but I mean in general I’m not a pro. I’m not a pro at knitting, not a pro at working out. Fortunately, it turns out you don’t have to be a pro to either get good results or enjoy yourself.

This also applies to dancing, cooking, and love-making (I’ve heard, Mom).

I’ve blogged about it before, but it’s really been on my mind today that a little bit at a time goes a long way. I’m reading this book about resetting your body’s nervous system (in order to eliminate tension and pain), and it emphasizes that all the exercises should be done SLOWLY. It says, even if you just feel a SLIGHT feeling of relaxation, that’s significant. And whereas my inner completionist just wants the results, I know this is how results manifest–a little bit here, a little bit there. As in knitting, progress comes one stitch at a time.

Earlier I realized that it’s basically been two months since my knee injury. The accident happened December 1, and today is the last day of January. Just over sixty days, and so many of those days I’ve wanted to cry or pull my hair out it’s been so frustrating. But shit, look how far I’ve come. I’ve had surgery. Now I can walk without crutches. I can’t dance yet, but I’m making other noticeable improvements week by week. If things go according to plan, in one more month I’ll be jogging. A month after that, it’ll be spring; it’ll be warm out. Yes, this is doable. I’m gonna dance again, me and my constantly cold feet are gonna make it through winter, and I’m gonna get that potholder done.

One stitch at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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The Ten-Cent Turnaround (Blog #653)

A couple weeks ago I started a new medication for my upset stomach. However, I forgot to pack it (the medication, not my stomach) for my trip to Nashville, where I am now. No big deal, I thought, I don’t think it’s done much good anyway. Well, I was wrong. Last night (after eating pizza), I got the worst case of acid reflux, and it woke me up several times during the night. Between that and my knee that I recently had surgery on, I slept like shit. I was achy, nauseated, all the things. Still, I made it through the night.

This morning I got up early to do my knee rehab exercises. I’m seriously sick of them. It’s not a big deal to do them two or three times, but two or three times a day for two weeks has begun to take its toll. And it’s not like this routine is going to get any better. It’s going to be my life for a while–sleep (sort of), eat, rehab. Rinse and repeat.

I realize I’m whining.

A big part of my problem is not the fact that my life has been turned up side down. I’m perfectly capable of doing knee rehab two or three times a day for the foreseeable future. However, doing so takes almost all the energy I have. Almost everything does. Yesterday after I packed for Nashville and this morning after I got dressed, I felt like I’d run a marathon. And the day had just started. Today my friend Bonnie, her son Tim, and I met their family for brunch (today is Bonnie’s daughter-in-law Mallory’s birthday), and whereas I really wanted to be awake, alert, and lively, it was all I could do to just be present. I hate that, not being able to focus on anything other than my aching leg, my sore tummy.

Every party has a pooper, that’s why they invited me?

When we got to the restaurant, our party of seven was seated in a booth made for six. I was on the end, my left leg (and butt cheek) hanging off the side. But then the folks at the larger booth next to us left and suggested we take their table. So we did. And whereas it confused the hell out of the hostess and our waitress, we used my leg as an excuse. “He just had surgery,” one of Bonnie’s in-laws said. So that’s one good thing that came out of this damn situation. We got a bigger table. Happy Birthday, Mallory!

After brunch, Bonnie, Tim, and I came back to Tim’s place and all fell asleep. Talk about a good idea. Y’all, I crashed hard for a couple hours. Then I woke up and had a talk with myself. Okay, I said, it’s time to do rehab exercises. “Again?!” I replied. Yes, again, I said. This is the deal, I’m just working off willpower right now, trusting that as I do as I’ve been instructed, things will eventually improve.

I repeat–things will eventually improve.

Now I’m obviously blogging. I need to wrap up, since in an hour we’re going out to eat (again) for Mallory’s birthday. This time, I believe, there will be a big crowd, forty of fifty people, so I’m going to try to turn it on. Also, I’m going to try to get some antacids or something to hold me over until I get back to Arkansas. Anyway, I don’t mean to be a gloom merchant. It wasn’t my intent to kvetch. But sometimes life is an uphill climb, and that’s the truth. Recently my therapist said, “Given your background, I know it’s really difficult for you to believe that things can get better, but I’m telling you they can. Things can turn around on a dime.” So I’m trying to believe her and I’m trying to hope. I’m trying to hang in for the ten-cent turnaround.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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I’m Not in Charge Here (Blog #651)

This afternoon I had my second physical therapy appointment to rehab my recently repaired knee (I tore my ACL, had surgery). Today they added new exercises–heel raises, balancing on one foot, one-leg presses, and this thing where I sit in a rolly chair, dig my heels into the carpet, and pull myself around the room. Talk about feeling conspicuous. That being said, pretty much everyone in the room today was gimped up in one way or another. One lady was doing leg exercises like I was, another was doing shoulder work, and another was working on her elbow. Hell, even one of the staff members had his leg in a boot and was walking with a cane. I thought, THESE are my people.

For forty minutes I stretched, lifted, and flexed my left leg. The hardest thing was practicing going DOWN stairs, since apparently you bend your knee twice as much going down stairs as you do when you go up them. Anyway, I broke a sweat. But then they wrapped my leg in an ice blanket, and I quickly cooled off. Especially since the machine sprung a leak and squirted water all over my leg and all down my sock. That felt good.

After physical therapy, I came home and took a nap. Seriously, I don’t have a lot of energy and can’t seem to get enough rest. Probably because my leg keeps waking me up at night. I keep telling myself this is normal, that the doctor took a drill bit long enough to tunnel through a stack of two-by-fours and ran it through my leg, so it should be achy, tired, and pissed off. Still, I have a hard time slowing down and giving my body what it’s asking for (rest). For one thing, I’m used to being active. For another, I’m supposed to be doing rehab exercises two or three times a day at home or the gym, and I can’t exactly do those while I’m sleeping.

To be clear, the rehab exercises aren’t so much difficult as they are time-consuming. Originally there were nine exercises, and now I think I’m up to twelve or fifteen, depending on whether I’m at home or at the gym. Again, that’s three times a day. As my mom says, getting better has become a full-time job. Still, it’s paying off. Today my physical therapist seemed impressed with my ability to balance on one leg and said I was actually “ahead of the curve.” So that’s something.

Lately–over the last year–I’ve been trying to lower my standards. What I mean is that I’m used to a certain level of energy and activity, and my body simply hasn’t been consistently capable of that for a while now. So I’m trying to listen to it. My therapist says something big happens whenever you can really give into the universe and say, “Fine, damn it. I’m not in charge here. I’m on your time schedule.” What that big thing is, I don’t know. Probably inner peace or some shit like that. But again, I’m trying, to be okay with how things are right here, right now, to let sleeping as much as possible and doing my rehab exercises be my life for a while.

Okay, I’m off to the gym.

And then to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a lot of magic around you.

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All Is Not Lost (Blog #628)

This morning I woke up early–me, awake before noon–because we’d scheduled to have our carpets cleaned and my dad and I needed to move furniture around before the carpet cleaner guy got here. Well, when I rolled out of bed, Dad had already done most the work. But I didn’t go back to bed; I stayed up. Later the guy said he could have worked around me while I slept, but that would have been awkward. Not to mention the fact that this was the first time in–well, a long time–that I’ve had a man in my room, and like I wasn’t going to be awake for that.

But seriously, y’all, this carpet cleaning guy was worth getting up for; he was absolutely hilarious. You know how some people are just natural born performers–always on. Well, for two hours he chatted and worked and had me and my dad in stitches. When my dad (who’s a big guy) razzed him about having gained weight since he was last here, he said, “Hey, this is my winter weight!” Then he looked at my dad’s stomach and said, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Seriously, I was rolling in the floor. It was better than going to the movies.

Oh my gosh. Stop the presses! I just heard a joke from my friend Jeffrey on Facebook. (Sometimes I get distracted while I’m blogging.) Anyway. Why do Santa’s helpers have to see a counselor?

Because they have low elf-esteem!

Okay, back on track. This afternoon I went to see my massage therapist. And whereas she couldn’t work directly on my injured knee, she did work above and below it. That is, she worked on my hip flexors and my calves. Wow, they were seriously tight, I’m sure because I’ve been “walking funny” in order to protect my knee. Thankfully, whatever she did helped. Granted, my knee is still stiff, but it’s not nearly as sore or as rusty as it has been. Anyway, I’m grateful for all the help I’m receiving. As my massage therapist said when we were discussing the severity of my injury, “All is not lost.”

“That sounds like the quote of the day,” I said.

So get this shit. All day I’ve been tired and nauseated. I’m assuming the nausea has something to do with my upset stomach or perhaps my leg. Pain can do that. The point is that when I got back home from seeing my massage therapist, I settled in for a long winter’s nap and ended up dreaming about preparing for an improv show. (Ironic, I know.) Anyway, in the dream I had my laptop out and was searching for a particular song–“Saturday in the Park” by Chicago. You know–Saturday in the park. I think it was the fourth of July. Well, when I woke up, in an effort to figure out my dream, I looked up the lyrics to the song, since the first two lines were all I could remember. And no kidding, right at the end of the bridge it says, Listen children, all is not lost. All is not lost. Oh no no.

Talk about crazy. I’m into this connected universe shit, but even I was weirded out. Granted, I’ve heard that song dozens of time, but I never in a million years could have told you “all is not lost” was part of it. Still, clearly it’s a message I need to hear. Because I have been overwhelmed this last year, and I have felt like all is lost. Not that I’ve been hopelessly down in the dumps or ready to jump in front of a moving vehicle. Far from it. (Don’t worry, Mom!) But I have felt pretty beat down by life and haven’t been able to believe “there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” (My first thought when people say that: It’s probably another train.) But the last time I saw my therapist, she actually got emotional talking about HOW MUCH she believes things are going to turn around for me before long. “I’ll believe it until you can believe it for yourself,” she said. So I’m going to try to let this sink in. Life can get better. Things can improve. All is not lost.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

Your Feelings Won’t Kill You (Blog #622)

Currently it’s just before midnight, and I’m house sitting for friends. Me, with the bum leg, on crutches. You should have seen me moving my things from my car, Tom Collins, into the house. It took two trips. The first one was easy enough, since all I had to do was strap my backpack and my man-bag around my neck, then crutch my way inside. Granted, navigating two screen doors (my friends have a porch) and five concrete steps was difficult. But I was determined and made it. The second trip was the real challenge, since I had to move my luggage (on rollers), my walker, and me. It looked like this–

Move my walker two feet, move my luggage two feet, move myself two feet.
Move my walker, move my luggage, move myself.
Move my walker, move my luggage, move myself.
Over and over again.

On the second trip, I figured out that it’s easier for me to go up stairs BACKWARDS instead of FORWARDS. Like, if I turn around and leave my crutches on the bottom step, I can hop backwards on to the one above it. Not that this isn’t challenging, but it’s less challenging than either putting my crutches on the higher step and pulling myself up or leaving my crutches on the lower step and hopping forwards. Anyway, every day I spend on crutches gets better and better, and this new technique is seriously a game changer, especially considering the fact that my friends not only have steps GOING INTO their house, but also have a staircase INSIDE their house leading to the room where I’ll be sleeping.

Their advice: be careful and take your time.

I’m glad I’m here. The last few days have been stressful and overwhelming. This leg situation, on top of every other situation in my life, has simply been too difficult. And whereas I won’t have as much help here as I’ve had at home (my parents have been super), I will have time to myself–time to get quiet and hear myself think, time to process, time to heal.

Yes–now that I’m inside–this is perfect. It’s been a long day. This afternoon I saw my therapist, and it was one of our tougher sessions. Mostly because I actually lay back on her couch and let myself fall apart. This was by design–my design. So often I grit my teeth and push my way through when life gets hard, despite the fact that everything in me wants to fall apart. My therapist says I cover a lot up with humor. (I’m pretty funny.) Anyway, after blogging yesterday about welcoming my emotions, I figured it was time to let my defenses down and talk about how fucking overwhelmed I’ve felt lately. To be clear, by “lately” I mean the last twenty-five years.

Give or take.

I guess you could say our talk went well. I mean, I cried. My therapist says it’s always good anytime you empty out “the poison pot.” Plus, my therapist said today was THE WORST she’s seen me since our first meeting over four-and-a-half years ago. I know that sounds like a bad thing, but my therapist actually seemed delighted about it. Maybe delighted is too strong a word. What I mean is that she really believes that things are darkest before the dawn, so the fact that I’ve hit my emotional rock bottom makes her think that things are about to start improving for me. Talk about optimism. Like that kid who gets excited when he sees a roomful of shit. Jumping up and down in the manure, he says, “There’s GOTTA BE a pony in here somewhere!”

When my therapist saw that I wasn’t on board with her positive outlook for my life, she said, “You can tell me to go fuck off if you want to.” This is a thing with her. Like, she gets excited when clients tell her to go screw herself. I guess because it means they’ve empowered themselves in some way. So I said, “Fuck you,” but she said it sounded wimpy. “Try again,” she said.

I sat up on the couch. “FUCK YOU!”

“Okay, that’s better,” she said.

Leaving therapy, I still felt less than optimistic. “It’s okay if you don’t believe things will get better,” my therapist said. “I believe it enough for the both of us.” So that’s something, a sliver of hope between two people.

Ugh, so many emotions.

Lately I’ve been reading a book called It Didn’t Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle by Mark Wolynn. Honestly, it’s one of the most profound and helpful self-help/psychology books I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a few (hundred) of them. The basic idea is that often our emotional and even physical problems begin long before we’re born. Said another way, our problems, rather than simply belonging to us as individuals, more rightly belong to us as families. For example, for a long time I’ve had a hangup around money. Well, my grandpa on one side went through the Depression. My grandmother on the other side had a father who wouldn’t give her a quarter (a quarter!) for a library card (but he WOULD bail her alcoholic brother out of jail). My parents essentially lost everything twice, once in a fire, once when my dad went to prison. So scarcity is a pattern of thinking that’s–um–pervasive in my family.

The book says that we often adopt not-so-helpful beliefs and even physical illnesses as a way of bonding with our family members, or in an effort to take their pain away. However, when we do this, we get confused about “what belongs to whom.” So one of the exercises the author suggests is to make a family tree of trauma, a list of family members with notes about who died, who lied, who cheated, who mistreated, who blamed, who felt shamed, etc. My parents have been gracious enough to help me do this. Last week my mom and I discussed her side of the family, and tonight my dad and I discussed his. And whereas both conversations were truly helpful, they were also A LOT. Not that I imagine our family is all that different from anyone else’s, but suffice it to say there’s no small amount of grief, disappointment, fear, and sadness in my family tree.

Personally, I think this is why–in addition to my screwing up my knee–this last week and this afternoon have been so challenging. That is, I’ve given myself permission to feel the weight of my family history in an effort to not only honor my lineage but also put some of our traumas to rest. This is not fun; I don’t recommend it. But seriously, I do, since I don’t believe we’re meant to carry our pain indefinitely. At some point, it’s gotta come up, and SOMEONE’S gotta feel whatever it is. (Might as well be you.) In my case, if it takes an injured leg, a confrontational therapist, and some tough conversations for that to happen, then so be it. As one of my friend says, “Your feelings won’t kill you.” But as I’ve felt lighter this evening than I have in a long time, they might just set you free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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Go Eff Yourself, 2018 (Blog #616)

Okay. Phew. It’s five in the evening, I’m at home with my bum knee, and I’ve got an hour before I need to get myself up, get myself together, and get to the theater for our holiday variety show. It’s opening night. Woo. I’ll let you know how it goes. Really, if I can get my pants on, things should be fine. If I can’t–well–the audience may get more than they’ve bargained for.

Earlier today I went to see my therapist, and when I walked in on crutches, her receptionist said, “WHAT did you do?” After I explained, she told me how she once tore her ACL while playing Fantasy Football. No kidding, apparently she got excited while watching a game, jumped up from the couch to hoot and holler, and her leg just gave out. So you know–shit happens, you’re never alone in your challenges, and all that.

Merry Christmas.

When my therapist walked into the waiting room and saw me, she did a double take and literally took a step back. After a brief pause she said, “I can see you have A LOT going on today.” Then as I stood up and grabbed my crutches–which are decorated with tinsel and a Christmas stocking because of the theater show I’m in–my therapist disappeared. Reemerging from wherever she went, she dropped a handful of candy into my stocking. “Candy for Tiny Tim–No!–TALL Tim,” she said. Later she added, “Hopefully everyone else will take the hint, and that thing will be overflowing by Christmas.”

Fingers crossed.

About my injury and how frustrating it’s been for me (because this year has been one damn thing after another), my therapist reminded me that “not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.” This is something she’s said before and comes from a story about a small bird whose wings froze one winter. There this little fella was, stuck on the ground shivering to death, and a cow came by and took a dump on him. Well, the heat from the manure thawed the bird out, and he was saved! (Cute, right?) Anyway–“The universe has taken a shit on you,” she said, “but we don’t know WHY. We don’t know what GOOD could come from this or what DOORS this may open.”

Then she said, “And it’s okay to be pissed off and tell 2018 to go fuck itself.”

Go fuck yourself, 2018.

The other thing my therapist said about my current situation is that it’s always darkest before the dawn. Well, she said that it’s always darkest before things turn around, but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “The myths are full of stories about how things get worse before they get better,” she said, “and that’s because myths mirror real life.” (Personally, I have the getting worse part down and am waiting on the getting better part.) Then when I told her that several people are taking my injuring myself as an opportunity to remind me that I’m no longer a spring chicken (aren’t people great?), she said, “You’re ONLY 27! How old do they want you to be–17?!”

This is why I give her all my money.

All right, I’m wrapping this up and am going to TRY to wiggle into my jeans, my dress shoes, and my slightly undersized sweater that says, “Ho Ho Ho.” And to be clear, that’s something Santa says, not a reference to my moral character or what I act like on the weekends.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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