No, You May Not Touch My Butt (Blog #737)

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For the last–I don’t know–several years, gophers have been living in my parents’ yard–digging tunnels, making themselves at home, and creating a damn mess of the flower beds. Well, for some reason, today my dad got a burr up his butt, borrowed a wheelbarrow and a shovel from my aunt, and went to war with the gophers. I got wrangled into helping, so for two hours this afternoon my dad and I dismantled a large pile of gopher dirt in the flower bed closest to our front door, and I redistributed the dirt to various holes and ruts in our front and back yards. Dad said, “I’m actually sweating. I don’t even sweat when I go to the gym.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re not losing weight,” I said.

This is how we get along.

Despite working for two hours, we didn’t finish the gopher dirt/flower bed project. Unfortunately, it started raining, and the dirt pile turned to mud. Still, we made a serious dent in things. See the “after” picture below. I didn’t take a “before” picture, but just imagine eight wheelbarrows worth of dirt piled around that crepe myrtle. Seriously, it was like a gopher fort. Anyway, one or two more days like today, and we’ll have it licked. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

This evening I went with friends to see a drag show at a local gay bar. While I was there, a total stranger asked if he could touch my butt. And whereas I appreciated his good taste (I do have a nice butt), I said, “No.” Later I thought maybe I should have let him (I mean, he did ask politely), but then I thought, I’ve been in therapy for five years and have paid a lot of money for my boundaries–I might as well use them. But seriously, what’s the point in learning to say no if you’re not going to do it now and then?

Of course, this incident wasn’t a big deal. Random, maybe a little awkward, but no more difficult than telling a Girl Scout who knocks on my door that I don’t want to buy any of her cookies. (I’m speaking hypothetically, since I rarely turn down a Girl Scout cookie.) But there have been plenty of times in the past when setting boundaries or saying no was a HUGE deal, something that required days or weeks of forethought, a serious conversation, or perhaps a strongly worded letter. Looking back, the longer I’d gone NOT setting boundaries with a particular person, the harder it was when I finally decided to establish them. That’s why the gopher-dirt project this afternoon was such a chore–because we let it go for so long. Had we stayed on top of things as they occurred, it would have been a piece of cake.

Did someone say cake?

My dad mentioned today that those gophers had been persistent, that they were small creatures but had stuck to it. Consequently, they’d made a big damn mess. I imagine this is often the case with things that go awry in our lives. A little thing happens, and we let it go. Fine. But then it’s another little thing, and another little thing. One day what used to be a nice-looking front yard or relationship looks like shit. We think, How did this happen? So we have to go in with a wheelbarrow and shovel and really break a sweat to set things right. There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, but I’m learning it’s possible to stay on top of things from the beginning, to have boundaries from the start, to say, “No. No, you may not touch my butt.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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On Swerving (Blog #733)

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It’s five-thirty in the evening, and I’m house sitting/dog sitting for a friend who lives slightly off the beaten path. It’s gorgeous here–quiet, peaceful. When I arrived over an hour ago, I was still in GO mode. I thought, I need to DO something, so I unpacked, made sure I knew where to find the dog food. But then I thought, Shit, I’m free. I can relax. So I turned on my music, poured a cup of hot tea, and moved my ass to the front porch. Thats’ where I am now. The sun is going down. There’s a slight breeze. There’s less tension than before.

This morning I saw my therapist. She’s just about the only person I’d wake up before noon for. To start our session, I read her blog #730, which I wrote this last Saturday and was the final blog for year number two of Me and My Therapist. In short, it’s about my beginning to own my strengths, give myself credit, and go easier on myself. My therapist acknowledged my progress. “It’s like your learning to ride a bike,” she said. “You’re up for sure, just swerving a little, finding your balance.” Yes, finding my balance.

I can do this.

This afternoon I saw my physical therapist. I use that as a generic term, since there are several therapists who work together in the office I go to, and they all switch off. It’s like tag-team healing. Anyway, today I got a new girl, an intern. I guess she’s currently in physical therapy school and will graduate next month. And whereas I’ve been impressed with the other therapists I’ve worked with since having knee surgery last December, I was completely impressed with her. Y’all, she was a total hard ass, constantly correcting my form and making me do things the correct way. “I’m picky,” she said, half apologizing. (Sorry, not sorry.) “It’s okay,” I said, thinking of how absolutely picky I can be with my dance students. “I need to do this right, so I can do what I want to do later.”

One of the things she corrected was how I both climb and descend stairs using my left leg (the injured one). As it turns out, in both cases, I was using my right leg A LOT to compensate without realizing it. This, of course, has been creating imbalances and keeping my left leg weak. No more of that. “I’d rather you not use that leg when going up or down stairs than use it and do it wrong,” she said. So now I have homework, which includes some new stretches to loosen up my quads and an exercise where I have to get myself out of a chair using only mostly my left leg (without pushing with my right leg or my arms–much). You should see me try this.

It’s that swerving thing again.

Honestly, despite the fact that I’m glad this girl was picky, this news about my doing things wrong for the last three months was frustrating. Why didn’t someone tell me sooner? My therapist says, unfortunately, a lot of people “phone it in” at work. Maybe they got lazy. Or maybe they didn’t have the knowledge. But you’d think they should have the knowledge, considering what they charge. What the hell ever, at least I know now. We press on.

The visible mirrors the invisible.

It seems that in both my internal and external lives, I’m serving, working to find balance. Funny how the visible mirrors the invisible. I imagine this is often the case, that our bodies and even the entire universe conspire to heal us, to keep us from swerving all over the road of life and find that sweet, steady, balanced spot that feels like home. And perhaps swerving and even falling down now and then are necessary. After all, life’s road is anything but smooth. We’re bound to hit some bumps along the way. And surely these bumps create contrast and remind us that we can rebuild ourselves, that we can fall down and stand back up again stronger, freer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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Life Is Not a Race (Blog #732)

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This afternoon I saw my dermatologist for a follow-up after last month’s discovery that my skin is generally pissed off by, well, a lot of things. (Aren’t we all?) Anyway, it was the easiest appointment ever. We discussed a couple minor irritations, but basically my skin is fine now. Better than yours, probably.

So there.

After my appointment, I went to a coffee shop and finished reading a book by Sheldon Kopp my therapist recommended. And whereas the book was overall lovely and helpful, it also contained some dated statements (it’s an old book). For example, “Homosexuality is heterosexuality gone astray.” What utter nonsense. As if gay men, for example, really are attracted to the women but simply–unfortunately–wandered off one day, got confused, and couldn’t find their way back to a nice set of tits. Gone astray. Like, Dear me! How did I ever wind up in bed with this naked studmuffin? Please. This just goes to show you–don’t swallow everything you read hook, line, and sinker. Even people with letters after their name don’t know everything.

I guess today was a day for reading, since after finishing the book I just mentioned, I re-read some old blogs, numbers 61-70. In my attempt to re-read all over-700 of them, I’m taking them ten at a time. And whereas I could have read more this afternoon, I figure I won’t get worn out this way. Plus, what’s my hurry? Life isn’t a race. I’ll get there eventually.

Last night I started reading a book called Claim Your Power by Mastin Kipp. It’s basically about discovering your purpose and uncovering any subconscious blocks you may have to achieving it. But like my project of going back and re-reading my blogs, finishing this book is going to take a while, since it asks that readers complete a 40-day workbook/journal and recommends not skipping ahead. Normally, I would anyway. But in an effort to trust the process, this afternoon I completed “day two” and shut the book when I finished. Life isn’t a race. Plus, maybe the ideas in the book will have a chance to sink in this way, a chance to simmer.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This evening I’ve been fighting a headache. It started to creep up on me at the coffee shop, and since it didn’t let up, I took some pills when I got home. Thank god for pills. Still, they haven’t quite done the trick. Nor has the relaxation mediation I did about an hour ago. So now I’m blogging in bed, horizontal, trying to not make any sudden moves. I’m trying to relax. That’s something I’ve been hyper-aware of lately, just how much I tense up when I feel pain. This, I’m sure, doesn’t help a tension headache. So I’ve been trying lean into my unpleasant experiences rather than push against them. Is this fun? No. Is it helpful? Believe it or not, yes.

I’ve read in a couple different books that say our bodies actually relax more when we pay attention to our pain or tension rather than trying to grin and bear it or ignore it altogether. When we accept what is rather than attempt to push it away. There’s a similar idea that’s presented in the book I started last night–that our unpleasant emotions will dissolve when we fully feel or experience them–not when we shove them down or ignore them. I’m working on this. Earlier today I thought about money and immediately felt stress. And whereas I’d normally “think about something else, think about something else,” today I let myself feel the stress, the panic of scarcity. And I didn’t die. Later, when I handled a money matter online, I didn’t have to pep-talk my way through it. The stress was gone.

Now I’m ready to call it a night. So many times over the last two years I’ve soldiered through this blog despite being tired or sick or having a headache. I’ve soldiered through a lot in life–clenched my jaw, shoved down my feelings, and pushed on. But there’s a price to pay for this, I think, for not listening to the wisdom of your body and emotions. And whereas I often get frustrated because I don’t know what my body is trying to tell me, I think that any discomfort or pain is, at the very least, trying to say, “Stop. Slow down. Sweetheart, life is not a race.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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On Being Born Again (Blog #728)

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This time two years ago, I was two days away from officially starting this blog. I’d gotten the idea for it a week or so before, but on March 30, 2017, I actually bit the bullet and bought the domain. My first post was the next day, March 31, 2017, although the site didn’t go live until the first week in April. Anyway, this means I’m three posts (including this one) away from two full years of daily blogging. I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately; I just can’t get over it. On one hand, two years seems like forever. On the other, it seems like the blink of an eye, as if I’d only written–I don’t know–a dozen posts rather than sixty dozen.

My therapist told me recently that she thought this blog was as much if not more responsible for my growth as therapy has been. I said, “The blog has been like sitting down to talk to a friend and then realizing that friend is me. It’s been my way back to myself.” Still, I’m glad I’ve had and continue to have both therapy and this blog. I’m sure just one would have been beneficial. Before this blog, therapy was beneficial. But with this blog–wow–it’s been even more so. Regardless of how long this project goes on, I’m sold on the idea of working through your thoughts and emotions. Whether with one person or the entire internet, I’m sold on the idea of honestly sharing your story.

This is me, warts and all.

The book I mentioned yesterday that my therapist recommended (by Sheldon B. Kopp) says the truth does NOT set you free. That is, facts by themselves–my boyfriend’s a cheater, my husband’s a louse, my wife is a drunk–don’t change anything. This is why, the author contends, the greatest teachers use stories and parables to teach rather than simply saying, “Your best friend’s an asshole, and you should dump them.” Because people need to be able to work things out for themselves. Said another way, if you’re unhappy for some reason, it’s not simply that a particular situation in your life needs to change; it’s that YOU do. This, of course, takes time. When I broke up with my ex, there were plenty of people who could have rightly said, “We TOLD you he was a grade-A prick.” But I didn’t need to be told the truth; I needed to live it. THAT’S what sets you free, when truth goes from something that lives between your ears to something that lives within your heart. That’s what’s transforming.

Since I started therapy five years ago, my therapist says I’m a changed man. She says the way I walk, the way I carry myself, is different. Of course, I’ve never videotaped myself walking, so I can’t say. But I do know I feel different–better, lighter, happier, more confident, less afraid, more at-home in my own skin. The list could go on. And whereas I can’t say exactly when all of this happened, I just know it has. Not that I’m always up and never down. That’s not how things work on this planet. I experience the full range of my emotions. Indeed, I feel anger and rage more than I ever have. But I also feel joy more than I ever have. That’s one of the things I’ve learned in the last five years–when you shove down a “bad” emotion, you likewise depress a “good” one. The shadow is tied to the light.

As I come to the close of two years of blogging, I’m thinking about what will be next. And whereas I plan to continue my daily online writing habit, I know it won’t last forever. By my own admission, I’m quite the hard ass about this ever day, every damn day thing, and it’s exhausting. Rewarding, but exhausting, and this body and soul can only take so much. Anyway, I’m slowly working my way around to the idea that it’s not the number (728 blogs!) that matters. It’s not the number of words, the number of readers, or the number of shares. I’ve made these things important in my head before (and probably will again), but fuck all that. No, it’s what’s happened on the inside that’s important. It’s the transformation, that thing that happens slowly, can’t be quantified, and is rarely praised by others; that morphing from one thing to another more beautiful, more authentic, and more true thing; that being born again that matters.

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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This Sucks, I know (Blog #727)

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Recently my therapist recommended the book If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him!–The Pilgrimage of Psychotherapy Patients by Sheldon B. Kopp. I started it last night and read more this afternoon and evening. And whereas I’m only about a third of the way through (55 pages), I adore it. Through the use of personal stories, metaphors, and myth, Kopp perfectly describes the journey of therapy, a journey he says often begins because a person is struggling or in pain and wants something more, something better. He relates this to the hero’s journey of all time. It’s fabulous. But beware, he says, “Everything good is costly, and the development of your personality is one of the most costly of all things. It will cost you your innocence, your illusions, your certainty.”

I know what you must be thinking–Where do I sign up?

That final sentence–it will cost you your innocence, your illusions, your certainty–was the last thing I read before falling asleep early this morning, and it’s been on my mind since I woke up. I think because it’s true. You go to therapy wanting someone else to take care of you, but you find out you have to take care of yourself. You go to therapy wanting to feel better, but also wanting your life and relationships to stay the same. (This isn’t possible.) You go to therapy wanting answers, but end up with more questions. Because nothing in life is for-sure.

This sucks, I know.

In terms of illusions, Kopp says that at some point patients (pilgrims, seekers) must give up the idea that they’re special. This is a tough one for me. Maybe for anyone in America, since we’re so focused on the individual and-the-aptly named social ME-dia is all about ME, ME, ME. But as a specific personal example, once when I was telling my therapist about a breakup, she said part of the problem I had in that relationship was that I thought I was special. That is, I saw that my ex lied to a number of people in his life, but I didn’t think he would lie TO ME. (He did.) Because I’m different somehow. Because no one else understood or cared for him like I did. Whatever. It was all bullshit. Liars lie to everyone. Even me. Even you.

This sucks, I know.

Another illusion Kopp says we must give up is the idea that we’re going to live forever. Said another way, we must accept the fact that we’re going to die. Because nothing here is permanent–not your age, not your beauty. He uses the therapy hour as a template for impermanence. Mine lasts fifty minutes, but the point is the same. For an agreed-upon amount of time, my therapist and I sit down and discuss what-the-hell-ever. Then the alarm goes off, and that’s pretty much it. Maybe we drag it out a little, but more often than not, I leave with items still on my list of things to talk about. Time’s up. We did the best we could. All good things must come to an end.

This used to really bother me, when my therapist and I weren’t able to talk about everything on my list. Now I know anything can wait. There will be other sessions. And even if they’re aren’t–because at some point our relationship will end–I know I have myself. That’s another point that Kopp makes, that ultimately we are our own teachers. Other people can help us, but nobody else can really DO anything FOR another person. That is, I can take your physical trash out to the curb, but I can’t take your mental trash out. I can show you how I cha-cha, but not how you should. Because they’re your feet, your hips, and they don’t move like mine. So each of us is responsible for himself/herself/themselves.

Pronouns are so confusing these days.

But back to not finishing things on the list and all things coming to an end. I could start crying right now if I thought I’d never see my therapist again. Not because I NEED her, but because she’s taught me that I don’t, that–honestly–I don’t need anybody. I don’t mean that to sound cold. I love you, and I enjoy our time together, just like I do with my therapist. But I know I’ll be OKAY if we never talk again because I have myself to come back to. That’s why I think I’ll cry after my last session with my therapist, whenever that is. Because I’m grateful for the work we’ve done together. I’ll be sad, sure, just like I’ll be sad when I write my last blog post. Yes, one day it will be time’s up for this project. One day it will be time’s up for EVERYTHING in life–our lovers, our health, our waistlines.

This sucks, I know.

This afternoon my dad and I took my aunt to see her dermatologist. As I read my book in the waiting room, Dad asked about the title. And whereas I haven’t gotten to that chapter in the book, I told him I think it means that if you think anyone else, including your therapist, is your savior (if you see the Buddha on the road), kill him. Said less violently, take him/her/them off the pedestal you’ve put them on. Because only you can save you. (The Buddha isn’t OUT THERE, he’s IN HERE.) Only you can take out your mental garbage, only you can clean up the relationships in your life, and only you can do anything about anything else that’s bothering you. This is YOUR life, and this is YOUR journey. So you have to take responsibility for it. You have to grow up.

This sucks, I know.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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A Cedar Inside a Seed (Blog #726)

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Today has been fabulous. This morning I woke up early to go to therapy. Because this last Sunday was five years since my first therapy appointment, I picked up cookies on the way. (My therapist likes cookies.) When I walked into my therapist’s office in a bow tie and suit jacket (and pants, of course, you pervert), she happened to be in the waiting room and commented that I looked fancy. Then she looked at her receptionist and said, “It’s our anniversary.”

She remembered.

Other than my dressing up and the cookies (with which I also had a cup of coffee), today’s session was like any other. Still, the entire time I had it in my head just how much my life has positively changed over the last five years. Even now, if I really stopped to think about the impact this one person has had on me, I’d start crying. It’s no small thing to be accepted, affirmed, believed in, and trusted. Indeed, I can say without hesitation–my therapist has, from the beginning, believed in me. More than I did. More than I do. This has been transformative. Thanks to her belief and support, I now believe in and trust myself more than I ever have.

I’ve mentioned before that scarcity is a big issue for me, and today my therapist referred to this issue as my “grand struggle.” She said we all have one. “Mine is different than yours,” she said, “but I can identify with yours.” This is why my coming to believe in myself is such a big deal. Because if you believe in scarcity–that there’s not enough money, not enough opportunity, and not enough sex (but really)–then, since you see the world through “not enough” glasses, you’ll believe you’re not enough either. You’ll have to. You’ll think, I need to learn more, I need to know more people, and I need to look different before I can be happy or successful because–I’m not enough. This, of course, is a lie. You’re either enough right here, right now, or you never will be. And that’s what I’m coming to believe, that there’s enough money, opportunity, and sex for me. That I’m enough exactly how I am.

That I have everything I need and always have.

Before I left therapy, my therapist told me that I’ve reaffirmed her belief that people can change for the better. This means the world to me. I say often that I’ve changed and that therapy has been great–better than great–for me, but since my progress has been stretched out over five years, it’s sometimes difficult to see even though I know it’s there. So it was nice to be reminded that I’m a different man than I was five years ago. Not that my fundamental me-ness has changed. My therapist told me in one of our very first sessions, “It’s my job to support you in reaching your highest potential.” Not my simply better, average, or good-enough potential. My highest potential. So she set the bar high. We set the bar high, because I agreed too–there’s a lot of possibility here, inside of me, and I’m willing to work to bring it out; I’m not willing to get to the end of my life and think, I was capable of more but settled for less. I let fear get the best of me.

Once when we were discussing a specific dream I have, my therapist said, “Do you think you can do this?” and I said, “Yes!” Then she said, “I believe you. You didn’t hesitate or waver before answering, so I know that’s your truth. And I think–I know–you can too.” Then I said, “It’s not that I don’t think I’m capable, it’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid that my dreams won’t come true. So sometimes it’s easier to not dream than to dream and think it might not happen. The second thought hurts too much.”

Again, this thinking is a belief in scarcity, that God or the universe is capable of growing a tree, a mountain range, or a galaxy, but incapable of growing you and your dreams. Said another way, because all of life is progressive, it’s a belief that you are somehow the exception to the rule, that on a huge, whirling planet (with electricity, the internet, and peanut butter), everything is moving and evolving except stagnant little you. That stars, sunrises, and cedar trees are beautiful but you’re not. That there’s not enough growth and beauty here for all of us.

Over the years, I’ve had a thousand dance students in whom I saw some sort of potential and imagine I’ve told all of them, “You’re doing a good job. I see progress.” Unfortunately, many students have brushed these statements off. But I’ve thought what my therapist has told me before–I’ll believe in you until you can believe in yourself. I know on some level, they already do believe in themselves. Otherwise they wouldn’t be there, doing the work. Maybe they’re not firm in their belief yet, but a part of them is hoping. With both dance and therapy, I know this is enough, the hope that some part of your life can improve. Granted, like a cedar inside a seed, you start small. At times you feel small. Then one day you begin to feel it, your potential to be large, strong, and beautiful. At some point, perhaps thanks to someone who believes in you, you think, I belong here too. There’s more than enough everything to go around.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

If You Slip on a Banana Peel (Blog #725)

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When I was a kid, in 1987, there was a commercial for HI-C, the juice box, that featured Harvey Korman and Tim Conway. I didn’t know it was them at the time, I just thought it was funny. I must have watched it a hundred times. In the commercial, Korman plays Mrs. Appleseed, the mother of Johnny Appleseed, who’s played by Conway (on his knees like his famous character Dorf), and is excited about the new HI-C juice box, which he claims is better than regular apple juice. Mrs. Appleseed, however, doesn’t agree, hitting her son over the head and knocking him backwards when he ask her to buy HI-C. But in characteristic Conway fashion, he pops right back up. Then, when threatened with another swat, he falls back down on his own.

After being sick all day yesterday with sinus issues, my body did that thing last night where it starts feeling better in the middle of the night and, consequently, won’t fall asleep. Today, I’ve been in the middle. I haven’t felt like a million bucks today, but I have felt–um–functional. Congested, but not miserable. Tired, but not wiped out. “Maybe you’re headed in the right direction,” my mom said. Here’s hoping. This has been so back-and-forth lately that I’m starting to feel like Tim Conway in the above commercial. Fearful of being swatted back down, I’m tempted to just stay on the floor.

And drink a juice box.

Despite my frustrations with my sinuses, today has been delightful. This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and hit a personal milestone since having my knee surgery three months ago tomorrow–I ran two miles (on the treadmill). Oh my gosh, y’all, I broke a sweat and everything. Hopefully, it just gets better from here. After the gym, we went back to my aunt’s house and ate a late lunch/early dinner with my other aunt. We shot the shit. I drank a cup of coffee. Then my dad and I went to the gas station and Walmart. These memories, I realize, aren’t grand. However, knowing that time with our loved ones is always limited, I hold them fondly. More and more, in my book, it takes less and less to qualify as a good day.

Last night I watched the movie Analyze This. It’s a comedy about a mob boss (Robert DeNiro) who sees a therapist (Billy Crystal) for anxiety attacks. They’re keeping him from killing people. And getting an erection.

No, not at the same time.

There’s a scene in the movie where DeNiro says to Crystal, “No one can find out I’m seeing you. They’ll think I’m crazy.” Oh my gosh, unfortunately, this is true. My therapist says it’s “worse” with middle-aged and older people, but that society as a whole believes seeing a therapist is a sign of weakness. Like, I couldn’t do this on my own. But in my experience, seeing a therapist means that you’re strong. Because you’re willing to fight for yourself. Plus, we all need help, support, and skills from time to time, and god knows our culture does a piss-poor job of educating its members about emotions, boundaries, relationships, and trauma (which we all experience by virtue of being alive). Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. In my opinion, there’s no shame in taking dance lessons because you don’t know how to dance, and there’s no shame in seeing a therapist because you don’t know how to navigate (insert your problem here).

One of the things I appreciate about the movie is that it makes light of topics that are really quite serious. For example, when DeNiro and his thugs keep barging in on Crystal’s private life (like Bob does with his therapist in What About Bob?), Crystal says, “Your boundaries are terrible.” In real life, people with bad boundaries cause us stress. In the movies, they make us laugh. Or, in the sentiment of a famous Mel Brooks quote, if I slip on a banana peel, that’s a tragedy; if YOU slip on a banana peel, that’s a comedy.

I’ve been thinking about this banana peel idea all day long. Call it human nature, but if someone else gets swatted down repeatedly by life, I can see the humor in it. If it happens to ME, well, that’s a different matter. But today I’ve been especially aware that, from the right twisted viewpoint, the life circumstances that I push so hard against are actually funny. Independent, thirty-eight-year-old lives with his parents. Colon-cleansing health-nut can’t get well to save his life. Personally, taking this comedic view makes my circumstances more bearable. Not that I hold this “isn’t it hilarious that I feel like ass?” viewpoint every minute of every day. My therapist says, “Tragedy plus time equals comedy.” That is, if you can’t see the humor in your challenges, maybe you just need more time. (Or maybe you don’t have a sense of humor.)

I hope it’s not the latter. A good sense of humor is a life-saver.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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You Can Best Your Monsters (Blog #724)

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Five years ago today I had my first therapy session. Happy anniversary to me and my therapist (the people, not the blog)! Holy crap, y’all, I’ve come a long way and changed dramatically, both inside and outside. In the last five years I’ve confronted my demons and verbalized my deepest fears. I’ve learned to say no (to bad relationships), learned to say yes (to myself and healthy behaviors), and learned to speak my truth. And whereas it may sound like a silly thing to celebrate–the day I started seeing my shrink–I will forever be grateful for my therapist, her presence in my life, and what I’ve learned from her. Even if I were to never see her again, I know I’ve been forever transformed because of her. My life is on a better path.

So pass the cake.

Yesterday I blogged about feeling better and healing from my on-and-off sinus infection. I’d tried something different that seemed to the trick. Alas, I woke up in the middle of the night sick again, and I’ve felt weak and congested all day. It’s been back-and-forth like this for a while now, and it’s beginning to wear me out. I feel like I’m constantly having the rug pulled out from under my feet. Like my body and the universe are giving me health for a day then saying, “Nope. Just kidding. We take it back.” It makes me want to quit trying, to just give in and be sick every day, every damn day, to cry uncle.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not built like that.

This afternoon I’ve been brainstorming “next steps” and things to try. In my experience, there are always more things to try. And whereas this is overwhelming–because how do you decide what to try next?–it leaves room for hope. Last year I had a sinus infection for three months and finally found something that knocked it out for a year, so surely I can find a solution this time. Not that this is fun to do when you’re sick, drag your ass all around town and the internet looking for answers. My resolve comes and goes.

Recently I came across the questions, “Could you accept your pain as part of your experience without wanting it to change in any way? Could you include it as part of all that is you?” I really like these questions. So often when I’m in pain or experiencing something unwanted, like a sinus infection, I push against it. My body tenses, my breathing shortens. It’s like how a kid closes their eyes believing whatever it is they don’t want to see will disappear if their face is clenched tight. Of course, this just adds more stress to your system and causes you to hyper-focus on the problem. So I’ve been trying today to not let my current struggle be the only thing I’ve thought about, to let it be part of my day, but not my day entirely.

I’ve been mildly successful.

This afternoon I re-read some old blog posts, and it’s the biggest trip, reading my inner thoughts and wonderings from the perspective of almost two years later. It’s like knowing how my own story’s going to end. For example, today I read about my being concerned over hospital bills and body odor and thought, Don’t worry, kid, it’ll all work out. Or at least if it doesn’t, you’re not going to die. Part of me knows that two years from now, I’ll look back at this current challenge and think the same thing. I made it. And yet another part frets.

A week from today will be my second blogiversary. If I can make it seven more posts (including tonight’s), I will have completed two full years of daily writing. Wow. Like meeting my therapist, this project has transformed my life for the better. A few times over the last two years, people have commented that I do quite a bit of complaining or bitching here. I know I talk about being sick a lot (because I’ve been sick a lot). But the premise of the blog is this–first, I spill my guts about something that’s bothering me, then I do my damnedest to work myself into a better place, to find hope. Sure, I wish I could just straight to the hope part; I wish I could be sunshine and rainbows every day, every damn day. But even after five years of therapy, I haven’t figured out how to never let anything get to me. (Maybe you have.) I have, however, figured out to take even the scariest monsters in my life and shine a light on them. I’ve figured out how to shrink them down to size.

When I think about being sick, it’s really the fear that gets me. Because it’s not a problem to be sick for a day or a month. Even a year, I suppose. But you think, What if this lasts forever? What if there is no answer? Talk about tensing up. That shuts you down. But since starting therapy and especially since starting this blog, I’ve come to believe that everything is workable and everything is faceable. Not that you’ll feel confident every moment of every day or always handle yourself with grace, but deep down a part of you will never waver, a part of you will know. You can do this. You’re just as big as anything that scares you. You can best your monsters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There's a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace. We forget that we too are like the planets, part of a larger universe that is always proceeding one step at time, never in the wrong place, everything always right where it belongs.

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On One’s Value and Worth (Blog #721)

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Tonight’s blog needs to be super fast. I spent this afternoon and evening at a friend’s house surfing the web (cowabunga, dude), then went to the library to get a book my therapist recently recommended, then went to the mall to buy a thank-you card. The day got away from me. Now it’s almost ten, and Dad and I need to go work out (it’s our thing now) earlier than normal because he’s got to get up early in the morning for an appointment.

The book my therapist recommended has to do with “knowing your worth,” which she says is my biggest hangup. That is, according to her, I don’t fully recognize my talents and abilities, and, therefore, my value. So we’ll see what the book says. My therapist says it’s technically written for and directed toward females but that I can just change the pronouns. Sounds easy enough; that’s pretty popular these days. Plus, it won’t be the first time I’ve been called “her.” (Gay men often refer to each other in the feminine, Mom.) All this being said, I do think I’ve made progress in this area. Recently someone, upon hearing what I charge for a private dance lesson, immediately tried to get me to drop my rate. They said, “I know you’re worth it, but,” then proceeded to talk about what they are accustomed to paying for a dance lesson (less than what I charge). I told them I was open to thinking about it, but that my gut agreed with them–I’m worth my rate (no but).

When I told my therapist about this situation, she said the universe was testing me. Like, Am I going to believe in my value, or am I going to keep selling myself short, like I have for years? Apparently this is the deal whenever you desire something better for your life–before you can have it, the universe needs to find out how serious you are about wanting it. Because there will always be people who want you to settle for less. Few people in life are going to say, “Here, take more of my money; you’re worth it.” So that’s our job, to determine our value, to decide what we’re worth in terms of our jobs and relationships, to set our boundaries and stick to them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

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An Abundantly Good Day (Blog #719)

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I know I keep going back and forth on this topic, but after a week of sinus infection ups and downs, I woke up dramatically better this morning. Actually, as it they are wont to do, my sinuses improved in the middle of the night. That is, I received a sudden jolt of energy just as I was going to bed, so I lay wide-awake for three hours, just twiddling my thumbs. Later when I told my dad about this he said, “You could have gotten up and cleaned the house.”

“Well, I might have woken you up,” I said.

“Oh, don’t ever worry about that,” he replied.

I think I finally fell asleep about four, which means I got about four hours of sleep, since my alarm went off at eight. And whereas I’d normally be ever-not-so happy about my lack of rest, it hasn’t bothered me today because my health has been so much better than it was yesterday. Seriously, I still can’t get over how quickly the body can turn something around when it either has a mind to or gets the right support (or both). I’ve been in the best mood all day. Even my other health concerns (which, on the grand scale of things, aren’t that concerning) haven’t brought me down today. I have too much hope that they too will–one day–disappear.

Our imperfections make us relatable.

Today really has been the best day. This morning I saw my therapist, and she’s always encouraging (it’s kind of her gig) and makes me laugh. Why somebody wouldn’t want this type of relationship, I’ll never know. Talk about a shot in the arm. Later this week marks five years since my first appointment with my therapist, and I’m eternally grateful for the path my life has taken since that fateful day. Anyway, to “celebrate,” I read my therapist a post I wrote last year called “Why Me and My Therapist Are Successful,” in which I talked about–in part–the fact that my therapist is a normal damn human being like anyone else. My therapist said this was important, for me (or any client) to recognize that she’s a flawed person. “But that doesn’t mean healing can’t happen,” she said. “In fact, it means I can better understand and help someone else–because I’ve been there.” This is huge, that you don’t have to be perfect in order to be effective. Indeed, our imperfections make us relatable.

One of the things I mentioned in that previous post is that–I think–my therapist and I are a good match. Again, my therapist said this was important. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” she said. “I offend a lot of people.” (This next part is simply for your consideration.) Then she said, “Well, I don’t really offend them; they offend themselves. They choose to be offended.”

Before she’s said, “People choose their reactions.”

One of the big topics my therapist and I have circled back to over and over these last five years is abundance. Or, if you want to look at the other side of the coin, scarcity. That’s my problem, apparently, is that I often want to (or have a least had a lot of practice at) looking at the scarcity side of the coin. That is, I’m plagued with feelings of I’m not enough, my knowledge and abilities aren’t enough, there’s not enough money, and the world’s not enough (to support me). Well, today my therapist said this was IRONIC, one of the universe’s little ha-ha’s, since I actually have an ABUNDANCE of talent, even if I don’t always recognize it. It reminded me of that story of the guy who searched the world over for riches and eventually discovered one of the world’s largest diamond mines on his own property. Like, Whoops, I forgot to look right here. So I’m going to keep working at recognizing those places in my life where good is overflowing this very moment.

The last two things I’m sharing from today’s therapy session are just for fun. First, at one point my therapist referred to someone as “gayer than a Judy Garland matinée.” I almost fell out of my chair. Then later when she mentioned a(n apparently fabulous) song called Carry On by Martha Wash and I said I hadn’t heard of it, she said, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get your homosexual card revoked.” Then she paused and added, “But don’t worry; I won’t report you to the gay mafia.” Is that hilarious or what? A Judy Garland matinée. The gay mafia.

The rest of the day has been just as delightful. This afternoon I had physical therapy, and I continue to be (abundantly) taken care of and see (abundant) progress. Then I spent this evening with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and we ate (an abundance of) ice cream. But we also walked a(n abundantly) long distance to get it, so I figure it all evened out. (Balance is important.) Now it’s eleven at night, and I’m ready to call it a(n abundantly good) day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."