On Stumbling Blocks and Stepping Stones (Blog #950)

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After forty hours of fasting, this morning I weighed. The verdict: I lost 2.6 pounds in 24 hours. That’s a total of 13.6 pounds in the last seven weeks and brings me to a weight I haven’t seen in almost two years. Well, except for that time I got the flu twice in one season. But seriously tho, the last time I got down to this weight I decided I could live without losing any more, that weighing what I did in college was enough. And not that I’m deciding it’s enough forever–because my goal isn’t to reach a certain number, but rather to eat well and exercise and see what happens–but I am deciding it’s enough for this moment.

So this evening I ate cornbread.

Tonight’s blog is #950 in a row, and for whatever reason it feels like a big deal. I guess because I remember how proud I felt when I reached #50, and this is 900 more, 900 more days of–life. (I made it.) Somewhere along the way, I do feel like something shifted. I still have bad days, of course, and all the emotions. My outer circumstances haven’t changed all that much, although I guess I have lost weight and made headway with certain physical challenges like sinus infections. And whereas other inner and outer challenges remain, the last 950 days have taught me that I can handle whatever comes my way. Even if it’s not pretty.

Especially if it’s not pretty.

Bring it on, world.

I take that back. I’m probably IN my current predicaments because I’ve said, “Bring it on, world” before. Not that it works that way. If you’re here on the planet, you’re going to face inner and outer challenges because it’s how we grow and evolve. Suffering strongly encourages us to change, to transform.

I hate this as much as you do.

This evening I’ve been irritated about a business matter, which may nor may not turn out to be a big deal. Anyway, I’ve spent the entire night doing things to distract myself from thinking about it–folding laundry, downloading music files (as if I don’t have plenty to listen to already), eating cornbread. Of course, this hasn’t worked, and I’m still stuck with my feelings. The good news is that 1) recently my therapist told me she thought I was better at feeling my feelings than I give myself credit for and 2) I’ve come to understand that even uncomfortable feelings provide us with information. For example, my therapist says when she makes important business or personal decisions, she wants her heart to feel light as a feather. If it doesn’t? Then the decision’s not right. In this sense, I know that if I have feelings I want to run away from, they’re likely simply telling me that something is “off.”

Seen from this perspective, our icky feelings are our allies, in that they alert us to things we NEED to think about even if we don’t want to. For example, time and time again during the past two plus years I’ve started the day with a gross emotion and–thanks to this blog and its ability to help me process–come to a better understanding of myself, others, and the world around me. When I think about the last 950 days, the current matter that’s bothering me seems like less of a problem–not only because I’m reminded of more difficult situations that worked out just fine, but also because I’m reminded that each difficult situation offers us a pearl of wisdom if we are willing to take it.

Along these lines, earlier tonight I read a pamphlet about forgiveness that I picked up at my chiropractor’s office, and one of the points was “learn the lesson.” The point being that forgiving someone or getting past a situation is easier if you can allow it to help you grow. I’ve often said that my ex was real pill but that he was largely instrumental in getting me to therapy (thanks to his ridiculous behavior, not his encouraging words). And therapy’s changed my life. This doesn’t mean anything he did or didn’t do was right and good, of course, but it does mean he provided me an opportunity to grow.

The important part: I took it.

In my experience, few of us SEEK opportunities to grow. Like, who wakes up in the morning and says, “You know, I’ve got a free weekend coming up and think I’d like to turn my world upside and completely change my beliefs about myself, others, God, and the universe”? No, most of us have to be “offered” opportunities to grow, largely where we don’t want them. For example, I would have preferred my ex to be “the one,” to be someone he, quite frankly, was not, rather than the catalyst for my transformation. Earlier this summer a client tried to pull a fast one and get me to do twice the work I’d agreed to but for the same amount, and I would have preferred for them to be integrous, rather than my chance to speak up. My point being that we don’t get to decide how someone else behaves. We only get to decide how we respond, whether we’ll use a challenging situation to become bitter or better.

A popular concept in new age and self-help literature is that the world is an illusion. I’ve come to believe that this doesn’t mean your dining room table or headache isn’t real, although the argument certainly can be made that these things aren’t as solid as we once believed they were. Everything’s made of vibrating atoms and so on. Rather, the idea of something being an illusion is just this–that things aren’t what they seem. Something else is afoot here, Mr. Watson. Using my previous examples, what I mean is that the situation with my ex wasn’t about love or hate or any of his piss-poor behavior. Although I could have made it this, it wasn’t about me being right and him being wrong for all eternity. Likewise, everything I’ve ever been upset or worried about over the last 950 days hasn’t been about those specific things. Instead, it’s been about how I responded to them, whether or not my soul grew or shrank.

This is a mystical perspective, of course, but it’s the one that will ultimately bring you the most peace. Your diet isn’t about how much you weigh; it’s about whether or not you’re being kind to yourself. Are you losing weight as a form of self-punishment or self-love? This is the illusion part. Either way you’re on a diet, but your motivation determines whether or not you’ll be content with your results. If you’re beating yourself up, nothing will ever be good enough. If you’re loving yourself, whatever happens will be okay. In terms of your challenges, do you see them as stumbling blocks or stepping stones? Either way you’re looking at a rock. It’s just a matter of whether the rock uses you, or you use the rock.

My suggestion: use the rock.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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Capable (Blog #934)

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Five weeks ago I started intermittent fasting (eating between noon and 8 PM) and eating healthier (mostly paleo). When I weighed in a week ago, I’d lost 9.8 pounds (woowho). When I weighed today I was up a pound (boo). Still, this is a total loss of 8.8 pounds, and that’s not too shabby, especially considering I’ve been fighting some sinus junk for the last three weeks and haven’t done much exercising. Thankfully, the junk seems to be (finally) clearing out, so forgetting that which is behind, I press forward toward the mark of getting into my own pants (since I can’t get into anyone else’s).

That’s a sex joke, Mom.

Since I began intermittent fasting, a number of people including my therapist have suggested I try fasting for at least a day because fasting for longer periods of time gives your body a break (from digesting) and allows it to focus on healing. So in the spirit of trying new things for the sake of my health (and waistline), starting last night at 9:30 (after I ate a piece of pumpkin pie), I fasted for 23 hours. And whereas I was definitely hungry, it wasn’t terrible. In fact, today was kind of the perfect day. I slept in, spent six hours watching Season 3 of The Deuce, and went for a hourlong walk. Then at 8:30 I had dinner (thanks, Mom). And whereas I ate two helpings, I didn’t go crazy. Now it’s 9:55 and I feel fine–not hungry, not full.

For me the hardest part about not eating for almost 24 hours was deciding I could do it. It’s weird how attached you can get to the idea of food. You think, I’ve got to have it. Last night and this morning (before I’d fully committed to doing this thing) I thought, I’m not sure if I can skip two meals. What if I die? Of course, I didn’t really think of fasting as a matter of life and death, but I did wonder the same thing I’ve always wondered when I’ve quit cigarettes–What if I’m not strong enough? But having quit cigarettes and now having fasted for just under a day, I know I am strong enough. In both cases, it was just a matter of deciding I was going to do it.

And then doing it.

Something else I’ve recently decided to do is take cold showers. This last February I listened to a podcast about the benefits of cold exposure, and although the idea of exercising your cardiovascular system by subjecting it to varied (cold) temperatures made sense to me, I didn’t do much with it. However, last week I signed up for a free 10-day online class with The Iceman, Wim Hof, who’s a huge proponent of cold therapy and deep breathing. Wim has been awarded 26 world records, including one for climbing Mt. Everest in a pair of shorts. Anyway, I figured if he could do that, I could take a two-minute cold shower, which I did today. And whereas it was shocking at first, like the fasting it wasn’t terrible. Once I started breathing deeply (which your body does instinctively if you don’t hold your breath), it was fine. Not pleasant, not cozy, but fine.

As a self-professed cold hater, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but taking a cold shower was actually fun. At least it was fun when it was over. Wim says your body releases cannabinoids and opioids when exposed to cold temperatures, so maybe that was it. Regardless, I did feel euphoric, more alive.

Having struggled with sinus issues most of my life, there’s a part of me that always feels weak. Like I could fall ill at any moment. Consequently, I often don’t trust my body. I get invited to do things, go on long trips, and I think, What if I can’t? What if I get sick? And whereas I don’t have all the health answers I’d like to have (who does?), one of the positive things that’s come out of my journey the last few years is that I’m beginning to trust my body more. Last year I went through a battery of tests that basically said I was healthy as a horse. My immune system is stellar. I don’t have allergies. Granted, I still get some crud now and then, but little by little, I’m coming around to the idea that my body isn’t broken. At the very least I’m learning that I’m stronger than I thought I was. I can fast. I can handle the cold. I can write every day for over two and a half years. Now this is what I’m convinced of–that we are all capable of more than we realize.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your story isn’t about your physical challenges.

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Slow Your Ass Down (Blog #911)

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Twice last night I dreamed that I took a break from work and drove to In and Out Burgers for something to eat. Both times, they weren’t open. The second time, they’d locked up just minutes before I got there. The waiter, a real pimply faced kid with stringy blonde hair, didn’t seem to care that I was starving. “You’ll have to go somewhere else,” he said. “We’re closed.”

This morning I mowed a lawn then came home to eat. Thanks to intermittent fasting, this has been my routine for the last twelve days–wake up, do something for a couple hours, then–after noon–eat. I get this window every day, eight hours, to eat whatever I want within reason, and then the window closes. Currently it’s four-fifteen in the afternoon, which means the window is open. I just ate two handfuls of nuts and an apple, which means I’m still hungry. I’ve been hungry for twelve days straight. I mean, it’s not awful, I just don’t have that I’m-oh-so-satisfied-because-I-just-ate-French-Toast feeling.

But my pants fit, so there’s that.

This afternoon when I got home from mowing I noticed a plate of desserts on our kitchen counter. Our neighbor, who’s a witch with an oven, had just brought them over. “You should try this bundt cake with butterscotch rum icing,” my dad said. “Go ahead. Just dip your finger in it.”

“No,” I said. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

This makes two days in a row that I’ve turned down a dessert that was sitting right in front of my face, just begging to be eaten. What is happening to me? After breakfast I thought, I wonder if I have the willpower (dedication, motivation) to keep this up for an entire year, until I’m 40. Just how bad do I want a rockin’ bod (instead of a rockin’ dad-bod)? What I finally determined was that I had the willpower to stick with things today and that I can worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Will there be exceptions made along this journey? Absolutely. I’m positively determined to not be a perfectionist about this physical transformation. Give me a special occasion, and I’ll tear up a chocolate cake. But I simply can’t believe that a weekday qualifies as a special occasion and expect to reach my goals. It’s why I haven’t made even one exception to writing this blog every day. I know myself too well. If I take a break for a  day, it’ll turn into a week.

Know thyself.

Getting back to the dream I had last night, it obviously had something to do with my diet. Any time I’ve quit cigarettes I dream about smoking, and any time I go on a diet I dream about cheeseburgers and cookies. It’s like my subconscious is saying, “Hey! Where’d all the good stuff go?” This being said, I really think the dream was driving home the idea that I can’t nourish or sustain myself with any sort of “fast food,” anything in-and-out. This applies to food, friendships, ideologies, philosophies, and work. No, it simply takes time to cultivate anything worthwhile, either inside yourself or outside yourself. It takes desire, will, intent, focus, dedication, dedication, and patience.

I know I said dedication twice. It’s really important.

God’s not a fast-mover.

In terms of patience, I think this idea often gets represented in my dreams as waiters in restaurants. That is, wait-ers, people who wait. I hate that this quality is so needed for everything worthwhile–skills we learn and develop, relationships we cultivate, diets we go on. I hate it, hate it, hate it as much as you do. And yet it’s simply the way of things. God’s not a fast-mover. It takes an entire year (by definition) for the earth to travel around the sun. It takes about ninety days for the seasons to change. But you think you can change faster? Bitch, please. Slow your ass down. Take a deep breath. Do The Hard Work. Wait. The universe isn’t in a hurry.

You don’t have to be either.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."

You Have to Keep Going (Blog #907)

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After being on an intermittent fasting/mostly paleo diet for one full week and feeling pretty good about myself, this morning I woke up with sinus junk. Talk about a kick in the balls. My sinuses continue to challenge me. That being said, don’t cry for me Argentina. We all need our challenges, those things that keep us humble and give us compassion for ourselves and others. My sinuses are mine. Plus, they’re A LOT better than they used to be, and I’ve found something (a probiotic) that helps fight off infections. So I started playing around with that today. It’s not an exact science. Fingers crossed.

Now, back to my first full week of dieting. I lost 2.6 pounds.

Insert the “Hallelujah” chorus here.

Y’all, losing weight, or trying to lose weight, can really screw with your mind. Like, when I’m not trying to lose weight, I just eat whatever I want and think, Oh, I’ll get rid of this fat later. (You know, on some Tuesday I have free.) But as soon as I start losing weight, I’m either immediately frustrated (Why isn’t this working?!) or, if it is working, terrified that it won’t keep working (What if I gain it back?!). This means that I’ve spent today basically being neurotic. On the one hand I’ve been elated. I’m FINALLY using all those tortilla chips I ate this summer. On the other hand I’ve been worried I don’t have whatever it takes (the discipline, the knowledge, the money) to get well and stay well.

Along these lines, the part of me that loves chocolate-filled donuts wants to go ahead and quit right now. Like, 2.6 pounds–that’s enough.

All this being said, I’m going to stick with everything. This evening I went to the grocery store to buy more food and spilled an entire carton of blueberries all over checkout aisle two. I guess this situation has happened before, since the cashier had a broom on standby and said the blueberry cartons were poorly made. My point is that just because you wake up sick one day or spill some blueberries doesn’t mean you give up on being healthy, give up on buying groceries. Life is full of setbacks. Absolutely full of them. What do you do?

You clean up the blueberries and move on.

I’ve noticed my body kicks up a fuss whenever I dramatically change something in my life like my diet. Mostly, I get cranky. Someone says my name, and I want to chop their head off. I haven’t eaten a biscuit in over a week! is what I’m screaming on the inside. On the outside however, I’ve learned to remain (mostly) calm. That is, I’ve learned how to control myself, how to act socially appropriate even if I don’t feel like it. Recently I heard that these feelings of frustration and upset are simply part of the price we pay for our previous (poor) choices (to, you know, eat biscuits). Like, whenever I’ve quit cigarettes, I’ve gone into nicotine withdrawals, which are hell–and simply the cost for having smoked.

Make good choices even if you don’t feel like it.

Having quit bad habits and changed my diet (and even having gone through a sinus infection) before, I know that no feeling is final. That is, if you’re willing to let your body put up a fuss, if you’re willing to go through biscuit or nicotine withdrawals, things will eventually balance out. Give it a week or two. Make good choices even if you don’t feel like it. You’ll be glad you did. In the meantime, you just have to remind yourself to hang in there, to not give up simply because you’re not experiencing immediate gratification. You have to keep going and not overanalyze everything. This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a former student, who, despite their thinking they’d forgotten everything, did just fine. “Just keep your feet moving and try not to think,” I said. “Thinking gets you into trouble.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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.

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Don’t Look at the Elephant (Blog #906)

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It’s been one full week since I started intermittent fasting (fasting between 8 PM and noon) and eating mostly paleo. This means I haven’t had bread in seven days. This means I’m constantly hungry. This means I’m about to go crazy. All day I’ve been in a fog. Carb flu, some people call it. It’s what happens when your body is used to burning carbs for energy instead of fat for energy, even if you have a lot of fat to burn. (What?! We can use this stuff?) Fortunately, the switchover usually happens sometime between week one and week two. This means I should only have a few more days of constantly thinking about cinnamon rolls.

The good news about dramatically changing my eating habits (and getting back to the gym) this week is that I can already tell a difference. My clothes feel looser. My stomach looks flatter. I feel smaller. Now, does this mean I’ve actually lost weight? Hell if I know. Tomorrow morning I’ll step on the scales for the first time since last Monday and find out.

I’m prepared to be either elated or devastated.

If it’s the latter, I have cinnamon rolls on standby.

This afternoon I painted at a friend’s house. Currently I’m working on the kitchen. It’s room seven of seven. That is, it’s the last room in the main section of the house (there’s also a garage/laundry room area to tackle) that I’m transforming from all brown to all white (well, except some of the cabinets are going to be blue). Anyway, it’s taken longer than expected, but every time I’m there I walk around the entire house to remind myself just how much has been accomplished in the last seven weeks since I began. So often when starting a new room or new diet I get overwhelmed–like, There’s so much to do!–but looking at the progress I’ve already made reminds me it’s just a matter of continuing to show up and work on what’s in front of you (this wall, this meal).

As my friend Kim says, “What’s the secret to eating an elephant? Eat one bite at a time–and–don’t look at the elephant!”

Don’t look at the elephant. Amen.

Last Sunday night when I launched this whole program (I’m calling it the no-fun, lose-your-love-handles, beach-body-2020 diet), I made a list on my computer of health-related things I wanted to do this week–eat mostly paleo, drink half my body weight in ounces of water each day, bleach my teeth, get back to the gym, go for a walk. Just before starting tonight’s blog, I reviewed my list and–thankfully–I pretty much met my goals. Which feels good. The other thing I just did was to make a set of goals for this week, which, honestly, is a lot like last week’s list. Granted, my inner perfectionist wanted to add half a dozen new things including, Start a new workout routine!, but I forced myself to keep it simple. This is because I’d like to succeed at a reasonable program (and feel good) rather than fail at an unreasonable program (and feel like shit).

Something’s gotta give.

One thing I’ve noticed this week is that because I’ve been spending more time preparing meals and exercising I’ve had less time for things I normally enjoy like reading (and drinking beer). And whereas I wish I could squeeze it all in (and still squeeze into my pants), that’s simply not possible. There are only so many hours in the day, and as I said last week, sacrifice is required for anything you’d like to obtain or achieve. In other words, something’s gotta give. For me this means less reading, and–at least tonight because it’s almost eleven and I still need to exercise–less writing. It means being more intentional about how I use my time. It means setting priorities.

Ick.

Like an adult.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You know when someone crosses a line. You may not want to admit it, but you know.

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Things Can Turn on a Dime (Blog #901)

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Okay. I’ve been on a diet for twenty-four hours and my thighs still rub together when I walk. What the actual hell? If only deciding to take care of yourself produced immediate results. Alas, this is not the instant gratification station. This is the work hard, be consistent, make good choices station. This is the chocolate cake makes your ass bigger not smaller channel. This is planet earth.

I know. I hate it too.

I’m grousing, but the changes I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours truly haven’t sucked. Last night before blogging I went to the grocery store for snacks, fruits, vegetables, and protein, then went to the gym with my dad after. “Are we going to do this every night?” he said.

“What about every other night?” I replied.

Every other night seems like a reasonable goal, one I could achieve instead of overachieve. What’s the saying? Set yourself up for success.

Today I’ve eaten three reasonable meals–no bread, no refined sugar, no alcohol. After each meal I felt full but not stuffed. What’s this feeling of non-expansion? I thought. In terms of exercise, this morning I mowed a lawn. Tonight I went for a twenty-minute walk. And whereas I used to think a walk didn’t count unless it was at least an hour and uphill all the way, tonight I thought, Twenty minutes is twenty minutes. I mean, I broke a sweat.

What’s nice about all the changes I’m making this week–and I admit they’re a bit “all at once”–is that none of them are new. Like, I’ve eaten mostly paleo before, I’ve been a gym rat before, and I’ve gone on walks before. This means that with little resistance I can slip into these routines like an old shoe. The part of my mind that loves carbs kicks up a bit of a fuss, of course, but most of me is like, Oh yeah, we know how to do this.

All this being said, the one thing I’m doing that I haven’t done before is intermittent fasting, which basically amounts to not eating between 8 PM and noon the next day. Eat however many meals you want (within reason) between noon and eight, but then zip your lips for sixteen hours. The idea (behind any type of fast) is that it not only gives your body a break (because digestion takes a lot of work), but it also allows your body to burn fat for fuel instead of all that pizza and ice cream you’ve been chunking down your throat. (Or is that just me?) Anyway, a friend of mine has been raving about it–they’ve lost fifteen pounds in the last six to eight weeks–so I figured, What the hell? I’ll give it a shot.

Now, I realize I’ve only been at this one day, but so far I like it. Sure, last night was rough. Two hours after having a smoothie at 7:30, I was starving. I went to bed hungry. Boo-hoo. But I told myself, If I’m starving in the morning, I’ll eat. Surely a little fast is better than no fast at all. But get this shit. When I woke up at nine this morning, I was fine. Not really hungry at all. So I skipped breakfast and went to work. Well, I had a cup of hot tea (non-caloric beverages are allowed.) Y’all, I mowed and weedeated in the hot sun for two hours and was fine. What’s more, I actually had an excess of energy (an excess of fat, boo-hoo). Now, was I READY to eat when the clock struck twelve? You bet your sweet bippy. But in my head I’d made it out to be this awful thing–I can’t eat for 16 hours, somebody get me a cross to hang on!–and yet it wasn’t awful at all. It simply wasn’t.

When I got home from mowing today I took my shoes off and banged them together to shake off the grass and dirt. As I did, I noticed a small rock–a large pebble–dislodged itself from the grooves in one of my shoes and landed in my parents’ flowerbed. And maybe this is weird, but I thought about that rock as if it were a teeny-tiny person. Like, it’d probably been hanging out in Fort Smith in my client’s driveway for years, and then all of a sudden got swooped up and transported to Van Buren. Just like that.

Along the same lines, get this. This evening I taught a dance lesson to a couple about to be married. The guy was born in another country, came to the United States, bounced around a bit, and finally met his fiancee up north. Then he got a job down here, and kind of like my shoe picked up that rock and brought it across the Arkansas River, he picked up his fiancee and brought her here too. Through a strange series of events, they ended up on my dance floor. After all these years, we finally met.

I really am astounded by this. How a rock or a person can hang out in one mental, emotional, or physical place and then–bam, like that–be transported to another. Is there work involved? Of course. There’s always work involved. In terms of bodily transformations, you gotta do shit. God’s not gonna strike you skinny. (Although, I guess, you could get one of those awful stomach viruses). In terms of personal growth, you gotta do shit. (My suggestion: see a therapist.) But my point is that at some point there’s a tipping point. (That’s a lot of points, I know.) This is why people say things can turn on a dime. Sooner or later, your hard work, your patience, pays off. Sooner or later, you see results.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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Sign Me Up for the Advanced Course (Blog #900)

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After a birthday weekend (and adulthood) full of food indulgences, today I started a diet. Er, lifestyle change. Whatever. Anytime you cut out chocolate cake for breakfast and eating peanut butter out of the jar for dinner, it’s a diet.

Fight me.

No, seriously, fight me. Whenever I cut out carbs, all I want to do is slap people. Of course, I don’t. After a few days of–let’s face it–starving, my body adjusts and I calm down. But until then, look out.

I’m hungry right now.

Earlier my mom asked me what diet I’m following, and I said, “I don’t know. Mostly paleo.” Really, I’m just trying to cut down/cut out bread, alcohol, and refined sugars. Surely this will help my pants fit. This is my major motivation in doing this whole thing. Getting into my own pants–since I apparently can’t get into anyone else’s. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.) But seriously, I’m turning forty in a year (woowho), and I don’t plan on celebrating by going up a pant size. This morning I stepped on my parents’ digital scale and saw a number I’ve never seen before. Y’all, I nearly passed out.

Thankfully, when I tried again (and again), the number was lower, something I have seen before.

“That’s the number I’ll take,” I said.

Whenever I do something like this (a diet), my tendency is to be drastic, to go balls-to-the-wall and CHANGE EVERYTHING overnight. I understand this isn’t a sensible approach, but it’s my approach nonetheless. So far I already have plans to adjust my eating, up my water intake, get back to the gym, and “heal everything.” I tell myself, You’re being ridiculous, Marcus, but that doesn’t seem to stop me.

Since starting this blog I’ve hopped on the paleo bandwagon more than once, at times strictly for health, at times strictly for vanity. Ugh, even when it’s a short-term “cleanse,” it usually comes down to vanity. And whereas part of me is like, You know you’re going to peter out after six weeks, another part is like, We can do this. We can set and obtain reasonable goals. For example, losing ten pounds is a reasonable goal.

This means I want to lose fifteen. In a month.

As one of my friends says, “Sign me up for the advanced course.”

This is the story of me life. Let’s overachieve–well–everything. Let’s be the best dieter there ever was, the best comeback kid the gym ever saw. Please, somebody stop me from overachieving. It’s exhausting. Tonight’s blog is number 900 in a row, and I know as well as you do that in 900 blogs there have been some great posts and some not-so-great posts. What makes 900 posts a big deal is–largely–consistency. Showing up every day and doing one thing every day–writing. Before I had my estate sale, I downsized my possessions by throwing (or giving away) one thing every day–a pair of socks, a paperclip, a knickknack.

The point–little things add up.

This idea of doing one thing every day, I’m convinced, could be applied to one’s health, my health, as well. That is, I could make this process much simpler. Like, I could cut out bread–for breakfast. Instead of going for a beer, I could go for a walk. If I kept this up every day (or even most days) for a year, I’d see results. I wouldn’t have to change everything at once. My perfectionist doesn’t like this, but it’s true.

The intermediate course will do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

No New Damage (Blog #387)

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Last night I went swing dancing, hoping to kickstart my body’s metabolism and lose ten pounds in one night. Well, I didn’t exactly lose ten pounds, but I did lose two-and-a-half. At least that’s what the scale said this morning. So that’s a start.

Tomorrow I plan to go grocery shopping in order to stock up for a new diet, which I hope to begin Monday. It’s the called the Autoimmune Paleo Diet (AIP) and is basically like Paleo–no grains, legumes, dairy, or alcohol–plus no nightshades (tomatoes, eggplants), nuts, or eggs. And whereas I’m sure I’ll lose weight on the diet, I’m actually starting it for another reason–to help my immune system, that pesky, quirky thing that’s been such a problem for me over the years and especially lately. For example, coming back from Hot Springs and my southern eating tour, I’ve noticed that my skin is more red and irritable than usual. I got two vaccines yesterday, per my immunologist’s instructions, and last night when I took the Band-Aids off, my skin was hived up in their exact shape. This doesn’t normally happen, so I think it’s obvious my body is on “high alert.” Of course, I don’t know that the diet will solve any of my problems, but it certainly won’t hurt.

Eating well never hurts.

There’s a psychological concept that I read about recently called “no new damage.” To me this means that when your life is falling apart or things are a mess, you don’t do anything to make it worse. Like, if you’re in debt, you don’t go on a cruise; if you’re stressed to the max, you don’t volunteer to take on a new project at work; if you’re diabetic, you don’t start eating Oreos for breakfast. This is a big reason I’m choosing to try this diet. Noticing that my skin flares up when I eat breads, fried foods, and beer, I’m planning to cut those things out in order to–at the very least–stop doing further harm.

I’m mostly looking forward to this dietary change, which could last anywhere from 30 to 90 days. It’s just over five weeks until my next appointment with the immunologist, so just the idea of eating differently makes me feel like “something” is being done to address my health concerns. That being said, this diet is more restrictive than anything I’ve tried before. Like, I have to give up coffee on this plan, and I hate giving up coffee. Plus, I’m going out-of-town for a day next weekend, and I hate being on a diet when I’m on the road. But the way I see it, if I don’t start soon, I won’t start at all. I mean, there’s always SOME reason to wait until later–traveling, someone’s celebration, the cost of groceries.

So here we go.

But seriously–no coffee? You may want to keep your distance for at least a week.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a lot of magic around you.

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No Goose Is Worth Chasing (Blog #226)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the morning, which I guess means I met my goal of starting tonight’s blog before 3:00. As we speak, the house is cold, so I have a comforter wrapped around my shoulders like an old lady. I’m pretending the comforter is John Stamos. I’ve heard he likes to cuddle, and this is the perfect weather for it. Earlier I took a nap on the futon, and when I woke up, the television was screaming, the microwave was beeping, and Dad was belching. This is my life, I thought. Now the television is off, my parents are asleep, and all I can hear is the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the clacking of this keyboard. Silence never sounded so good.

Isn’t that right, John?

Yesterday I wrote about waking up on the wrong side of the bed and the fact that I was in a piss-poor mood all day. Well, today things have considerably improved. My body’s felt better all the way around, and I’ve actually been happy. This, I think, is one of the benefits to daily writing and self-reflection. It’s not that I don’t have “bad days” anymore, but fewer days get labeled that way (because they’re not “all bad”) and fewer bad days bleed over into the following days because they get analyzed and silver-lining-ed every night.

This afternoon I met my friend Lorena for coffee and watched her eat a cherry pastry while I ate a salad that tasted like air. Considering the salad was made of greens and grilled chicken and not a quarter pounder with cheese, it also wasn’t very filling. Plus, I’m pretty sure that half the salad got stuck in my teeth, so I basically spent eleven dollars to floss with kale and rinse my mouth out with hazelnut coffee. But perhaps all the dieting is worth it, since Lorena said my waistline looked fabulous.

And oh yeah–I almost forgot–I feel better too. (Yippee.)

For about three hours, Lorena and I did a lot of laughing. In an otherwise quiet restaurant, I’m pretty sure we were “those people.” When I told Lorena about a straight woman who used to have a crush on me (and pursued me even though she knew I was gay), Lorena said, “Did she think you were going to put your chocolate in her peanut butter?” Oh my gosh, y’all, I nearly died. Now all I can think about is peanut butter–but the real kind, not the euphemism. To be clear, I never think about the euphemism. (That’s what makes me gay.)

Lorena and I talked about this for a while–women who go after gay men. I mean, I get it–we talk about our feelings and like to go to the opera–some girls like that in a man–I know I do. But having had a woman pursue me more than once over the years, I can’t tell you how exhausting it is, since to me it always feels like, It’s never going to happen, Alice. Of course, if it’s exhausting for me, it’s got to be exhausting for the other person, to want something you can’t have. At least that’s been my experience, having several times crushed on gay and straight men who simply weren’t interested. So I have compassion for anyone whose heart leads them on a wild goose chase.

My friend George says crushes like these start off as fun, progress to fun with pain, then end with just pain. Think about it–how could they not? And anytime someone’s gotten carried away with me or I’ve carried away with someone else, the only answer that’s ever worked has been a boundary that looked like time and distance apart. It’s never been enough to say, “Cheryl, I’m gay,” or, “Marcus, he’s straight, can’t spell, and isn’t old enough to legally rent a car” then continue seeing the person as friends. I guess this is because feelings usually don’t respond to logic, especially when the object of their desire is paraded in front of them on a regular basis.

This is why I don’t keep cherry pastries around the house. My willpower is only so strong.

Of course, this is a lesson I’ve learned (and am learning) the hard way. I can’t tell you the number of female friendships I’ve had over the years that went south because attraction got involved and no one said anything until it was too late. In those situations, I almost always asked for time and space because it’s not fair to anyone for two people to be approaching a relationship of any kind with two different and opposite expectations. Likewise, in situations where I’ve been the infatuated person, I’ve had to either be shut down or shut myself down by stepping away from guys who–for one reason or another–weren’t good for me. Okay, Marcus, no texting, calling, or creeping on him, him, and (definitely not) him. John Stamos just doesn’t like you like that. Rules like this can be difficult to enforce, but I see them as acts of self-respect and self-care, since I know from experience that I’m protecting myself from further trouble and heartache down the road.

Often a little silence is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance.

I think what’s good about time and space is that they give you a perspective you simply can’t get when you’re too close to something or someone. We all like to think that we can see clearly a hundred percent of the time, but when our chocolate and peanut butter get involved, that’s obviously not the case. It’s like trying to think when your parents are awake and making noise–it ain’t gonna happen. Honestly, I think infatuations are a lot like addictions, little habits like smoking or junk-food eating we let ourselves slip into from time to time and think we can’t live without. So we get carried away. But (duh) we can live without those things, and often a little distance–a little silence–is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance, to remind us what we’re really looking for in ourselves and other people, and to remember that no goose is worth chasing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

Going Against the Grain (Blog #225)

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Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, which is apparently the left one. For whatever reason, my body has hurt in a number of places, and I simply haven’t felt well. This means normal, simple things, like making breakfast and deciding whether to wear a black or grey v-neck shirt have been a challenge. You know how it is when your body is off–nothing tastes good, none of your clothes fit right, and combing your hair is so difficult it feels like it should be an olympic sport. Well, that’s how today was for me, and I don’t mind saying my attitude has sucked too. I seriously considered canceling all my plans and going back to bed until the first day of spring. But now it’s four in the morning, which means I decided to not only keep my plans, but also make more of them.

As my dad would say, I’m a glutton for punishment.

Other than my sour mood, the day itself has been delightful. (Too bad I couldn’t have enjoyed it more.) Mom had chemotherapy today, and I met her, my dad, and my two aunts for barbecue afterwards. Of course, eating out like this can be a challenge when you’re on a diet, but–whatever–I did my best, ordering a brisket sandwich with no bread (BORING!) and a sweet potato. The lady taking my order said, “So let me get this straight–you just want a plain sweet potato–no butter or sugar or butter or nothin’?”

“That’s correct,” I said.

Then my dad (ever the comedian) added, “He’s always been like this.”

So that felt supportive.

It’s hard enough to hang out with a bunch of Southern Baptists when you’re in the closet…

It’s funny how a little thing like eating differently than everyone else at the table can make you feel isolated. I remember when I stopped eating pork in high school, and all of a sudden I was that guy who wouldn’t eat pepperoni pizza. I have this distinct memory of being at a holiday party in Mississippi where I only knew a couple people. Everyone was chowing down and having a good time, but when I surveyed the food, everything was either sausage, ham, or bacon. I swear, it was like all five piggies had gone to market (and never returned home). Anyway, it’s hard enough to hang out with a bunch of Southern Baptists when you’re in the closet, but it’s even harder when they all think you’re a Jew.

In terms of how people have responded to my dietary prohibitions over the years, I seriously can’t tell you how much shit I’ve gotten, mostly from people who claim to be my friends. Not to be graphic, but I’ve received more ribbing, teasing, and harassment for things I won’t put in my mouth than for the things I will. Just eat it. It won’t hurt you. Oh, Marcus is weird–he doesn’t eat that. First it was pork, then dairy, breads, sugar, and alcohol whenever I’ve been on a diet. I honestly don’t know why people give a shit, but having watched others exercise self-restraint and walk away from a chocolate cake (a chocolate cake!) at the same time I went back for seconds, I assume it has something to do with personal guilt. But the point I’m making is that you never realize how communal and bond-forming food can be until you stop eating like the masses. Even sitting at a table with your own family and not eating bread with everyone can make you feel like the odd man out.

One of the things that sucks about having a bad mood is that you take it everywhere you go. Tonight I went to see some friends in a local production of Footloose, and every time someone asked me what I’ve been doing lately, I said, “Not much, just reading and writing,” as if I were apologizing and my life were something to be ashamed about. Maybe that’s how it feels because it doesn’t currently have a paycheck attached to it. But come on, Marcus. You’re writing a thousand words a day at four in the frickin’ morning. Not much, my ass! One friend, a full-time artist, said, “I’m jealous,” which did remind me that my position is enviable to certain people, and I’m planning on enjoying that reminder once I get to feeling better. For now it feels–eh.

After the musical I met my friend Bonnie for Latin dancing, which again, is something I’m planning to enjoy retroactively. Oh yeah, those people really were nice–those dances really were fun. Now all I can think about is how it felt like everyone else knew each other and I only knew Bonnie. Maybe if everyone there had a blog, I’d find out differently. Someone looking at me might have thought I didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe we all put on a good front.

Bonnie and I left before the dance ended to get something to eat at Village Inn. Thankfully, Bonnie’s also on a diet, different than mine, but similar enough so that it made saying no to pancakes and pie much easier. Nope, you heard correct! No one at this table wants anything tasty OR fun. Referencing all the tacos, beer, and doughnuts we inhaled on road trips this last summer, Bonnie said, “Who are we, and what has happened to us?”

I’m still wondering.

While we were not eating pancakes and pie, a couple sat down in a booth across the room. At least I assume they were a couple. Either way, the guy had a coat on, and on the back in big, orange letters it said, “LEAVE ME ALONE.” Naturally, all I could think about was going over to talk to him, asking him twenty questions. Bonnie suggested poking him with one finger. We seriously considered these options for at least five minutes, but ultimately respected the man’s wishes. Still, I can’t stop thinking about his jacket, since I guess we all feel that way at times. Like, Jack–Get back. More often than not, I think this is a defense mechanism, since it’s natural to want to be included, whether we’re on a dance floor or at a dining room table.

Honestly, it’s not difficult to eat chicken and vegetables every day. It’s mundane, but it’s not difficult. But it is difficult to feel alone and keep doing what you think is right, to willingly be different from the group, even if it’s just for a meal or two. And sure, it’s worse when your body feels bad. Still, even though it’s not easy, I think this is what growing up and authenticity require–the ability to go against the grain (the metaphorical grain, not just the bread kind), to make your own decisions regardless of what others do or say. But even when you’re feeling alone, I believe there will still be friends beside you, probably more than you realize. At the very least, you won’t be pretending to be someone you’re not in order to make somebody else happy, which means you’ll have yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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