Some days I drown myself in self-help wisdom, like oh heck, I’m up to my neck in self-reflection and transformation. Honestly, I love it–drowning that is–it’s great. You should try it. Then again, it’s exhausting–change, change, change! Sometimes I think, God, Marcus, give it a rest. Do something stupid for once–binge watch Beavis and Butthead, sniff glue, whatever.

Today I read two-thirds of a book called I Hope I Screw This Up by Kyle Cease. I found out about Kyle, a former comedian who now talks about personal transformation, through an ad on Facebook. It used to bother me that Facebook knew I would like something like this. I mean, it’s weird, right? Once there was an ad in my feed for a t-shirt that said, “I’m the Gay Uncle,” and I thought, Shit–they know. But now I think of it like having a personal shopper, someone who really gets me. (Here’s a homosexual who wants to help himself!) Anyway, I’ve wanted to read Kyle’s book for over a month now, so I finally pulled the trigger this afternoon and downloaded it from Amazon.

So far the book is a gem, and I’m highlighting a lot of passages. I’ll spare you every single quote I like, but one of my favorites is, “Sharing my deepest truth, no matter how scary it is in the moment, is freedom. My only pain would come from repressing that truth.” I guess I like it so much because I’ve found it to be true. Time and time again in relationships with others and also on this blog, it’s been the truth that’s set me free. When I started the blog, I subtitled it, “The truth will set you free (sort of).” I added the “sort of” because so far the truth has set me free from a number of friends and lovers, most of my worldly possessions, and a good deal of money.

Let’s face it. The truth can be a real bastard.

That’s the part they don’t tell you. It’s said like–the truth will set you free (yippee!)–as if the truth were a carnival ride. And whereas maybe a child would be dumb enough to not think twice about a roller coaster called “getting honest with yourself and others,” an adult knows better. You don’t ride a ride like that without losing your lunch. The truth has the power to change you, turn your life upside down. That’s the reason we run from it–eat fried chicken, smoke cigarettes, sniff glue, whatever.

This evening I went to see the musical The Secret Garden at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Several of my friends are in it, and my friend George is the musical director. (It’s great, check it out.) Before the show started, while I was in the men’s room, a man who used to take dance lessons from me at Mercy Fitness Center struck up a conversation. At one point he said, “You look good–are you still working out?” Well, rather than simply saying, “Thank you,” I immediately said, “I could do better.” My grandma used to do shit like that, and it always drove me nuts. I’d say, “I love the mashed potatoes, Grandma,” and she’d say, “Well, they’re cold. I just bought a new oven.”

Crap. Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

At intermission a friend of mine asked me about my still living in town (everyone thinks I moved to Austin already) and said, “How are you earning a living?” Then the strangest thing happened. I laughed and said, “I’m not–it’s great.” What’s strange, I guess, is that I actually meant it. I’ve told a lot of people lately–I have fewer things and less money now than I ever have, and I’m happier than I ever have been. This fact, I assume, is in no small part due to my work in therapy and my insistence on honesty and vulnerability when blogging (every day, every damn day). So maybe the truth really does set you free (maybe).

After the musical tonight, I went to eat with my friend George. Inevitably, we always end up talking about self-help, spirituality, and how to “live well,” and tonight was no exception. (So much self-help today!) When I told George about the compliment I brushed off in the bathroom, he said, “The correct response is, ‘Thank you.’ There’s no humility in aggrandizing or degrading yourself.”

Chew on that.

I wonder what that is–we spend so much time wanting recognition and praise (or is that just me?), and then when we get it, we act as if we aren’t worthy of it. (Me, looking good? No. I ate fried chicken last night.) Or maybe sometimes we try to take more than is given. (I’m the best worker-outer ever–no one works out better than me!) My guess is that we all walk around with mental images–versions–of ourselves that are anything but true, anything but kind. Byron Katie says, “If you realized how beautiful you were, you’d fall at your own feet.” I love this quote because it reminds me that “God doesn’t make junk.” And yet it seems that a part of me, a part of most of us, is used to being small, to not accepting compliments and acknowledging (graciously) someone else’s generous opinion. (You look nice.)

The truth is that I’m often uncomfortable with compliments because part of me doesn’t feel good enough to receive them. (Please say that again after I have abs.) But–go figure–just by admitting that, I feel better. I guess the thing about the truth that sets you free is that it puts you in touch with who you really are in the moment. (I’m tired, I’m insecure.) In my case, I’ve found out I’m not the guy with all the stuff or all the jobs. I’m not the guy who never gets upset, and I’m certainly not the guy without a sexuality, even though I pretended to be all those things for years. I’m not even my body weight. Rather, I’m something beyond all of that. I can’t say what exactly, but it feels like a carnival ride might feel to a kid with a strong stomach–wild, unpredictable, and free.