On Waiting for Answers (Blog #393)

Currently I’m cranky and have a headache. (Let’s see if I can work myself into a better mood.) I woke up this morning with a skin relapse–a sudden flare-up where no one wants a flare-up–maybe due to a different bath soap or a new body odor powder, both of which I used yesterday. Regardless, the flare-up wasn’t fun. Since apparently I’m so sensitive, this afternoon I went to Walmart and bought sensitive-skin soap. Then I came home and took a shower to wash any irritants off and “start all over.” Now things are–I don’t know–better.

It’s hard to tell.

Despite this setback, today promised to be a great day. For several months I’ve been going back and forth with a local hospital because my insurance didn’t cover a trip I took to the emergency room back in October for another skin issue. (What can I say, it’s been a rough year.) Anyway, the hospital had graciously granted me charity services (at 100%) last year when I had sinus surgery, and that charity applied to some, but not all–it turns out–of the emergency room services (because the charity was based upon when a service was billed and not simply received). So a few months ago a kind person in customer service suggested I reapply for the charity to cover everything, which I did. But whereas the first time the application process was simple, this time it’s been back and forth. I send stuff in, they ask for more, and so on. Well, today I got their final answer–approved!–once again at 100%–retroactively for eight months and proactively for six.

Talk about good news!

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm this was. My therapist is always saying that the universe is abundant, and despite my often Eeyore attitude about money and things going my way, I may have to start agreeing with her. Personally, I think this could have been worked out a little faster, but maybe we’re back to my therapist’s whole thing about patience. Just wait, things will work out.

My primary reaction to this good news was both relief and excitement. My secondary reaction, however, was panic. I started thinking about the other financial quandaries I have. Y’all, I almost got online and started looking at my accounts. Then I stopped myself. Marcus, all that will be there later (God knows). How about we just enjoy a win for once? So that’s what I did–I went for a walk, got a small sunburn, read a book, took a nap. Hey–sometimes life doesn’t suck.

Unfortunately, my good mood didn’t last long. This evening before teaching dance I got online to pay a bill, but thought, I’d better make sure the money I deposited yesterday through the night-drop actually deposited. Well, shit, it hadn’t. Like, not a trace of it. Immediately I freaked out about losing not-a-small-amount of cash (at least in my world), not being able to pay the bill, and accruing late fees. So despite the fact that it was after hours, I called the bank and actually got someone in customer service, who filed what’s called “a dispute” and said I should hear something in three business days. “Is it possible the envelope got stuck in the night-drop?” I said.

“Yes, a lot of things could have happened,” they replied. “It could have been deposited in someone else’s account.”

I can’t tell you how not amused I was by this answer. Actually, I’m still not amused. Rather, I’m worried that the abundant universe of this afternoon has suddenly become not-so-abundant. Like, I’ll take that good news right back, please and thank you. Also, I’m put out that I’ll be getting up early tomorrow to go the the bank where I deposited the money to see if I can get a quicker answer there. In short, I’m mad that I have to deal with it and am impatient for a resolution.

Damn if good news doesn’t travel the slowest.

It seems these are two lessons the universe and I have been working out A LOT this last year–patience and abundance. I know I talk about them plenty here, in terms of both money and health. I guess it’s all the same. But here’s what I’m learning. The fact is that many answers don’t come quickly–and damn if good news doesn’t travel the slowest–but that doesn’t mean answers don’t come. And maybe good news is more satisfying when you have to wait for it. Maybe having to wait gives you a chance to work with all your fears, to see what you’re still holding onto, to see what’s holding you back. Then you can work on letting go of those things and on moving forward, ready to fearlessly receive the good news that’s surely on its way to meet you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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A Form of Healing (Blog #391)

Today I wore a vintage sailor’s cap and a vest, and tonight during our monthly comedy show, the other performers referred to me as both “Oliver” and “a Newsie.” I saw my therapist this afternoon, and she said I looked very “Fiddler on the Roof.” (My response to this was to start singing, “If I were a rich man.”) But clearly everyone agrees–I look like a character from a musical, someone one who can sing and dance but doesn’t have a lot of money.

Sounds about right.

My therapist’s big push this afternoon had to do with patience and abundance. We talked mainly about my quirky immune system and how I’m currently dieting and mentally considering everything from paleo to past-life regression as viable options to figure out my body’s problems and therefore cure myself. My therapist’s suggestion was to hang tight, be patient. She said it sounded as if I’d landed in the right place with both my primary care physician and immunologist, that surely they could find an answer. “In the meantime,” she said, “if your body is tired, take a nap. I know you’re hung up on being productive, but you’ve produced for years. It’s okay to rest. No one is judging you. You’re THE ONLY ONE judging you.”

Boy, does she know me, or what?

If the inside can turn around, the outside can too.

In terms of abundance, she said she thought I’d made a lot of progress seeing both the world and money as abundant. Now, she said, it’s time to focus on seeing health as abundant, to believing that my body and my doctors can and will eventually find an answer to whatever is going on. I don’t mind saying this is a challenge for me. I’ve dealt with sinus infections for so long and have been sick so much recently, it’s tough to believe–like really, deep-down believe–that things can turn around. That being said, the way I see the world has completely turned around in the last several years, as has my internal health, my mental and emotional health. So surely if the inside can turn around, the outside can too.

Fingers crossed.

Tonight at the comedy show, I went around to all the tables close to the stage, introduced myself, and passed out little slips of paper that we use for one of our skits. This is something I almost always do, but I normally do it with a glass of scotch in my hand. Tonight, however, since I’m on this Autoimmune Paleo Diet, I did it completely sober. Y’all–talking to strangers is MUCH easier when you’re tipsy. I mean, they don’t call alcohol a social lubricant for nothing. That being said, I survived. And get this–I met one lady who ended up giving ME a pep talk. She’d asked if we ever bombed, and I said, “MOST of the show usually goes well, but there are always moments when we struggle.” Then she said, “Yeah, but you’re up there trying, putting yourself out there, and that’s what matters.”

Isn’t that great? I said, “I’m going to blog about this tonight.” (I think she thought I was kidding.) And get this too–she was wearing a necklace that said, “Hope.” Well, I’ve been really working on hope lately, so it was the perfect reminder. Maybe someone else would say my seeing this lady’s necklace was just a coincidence, but I took it as a personal message from the universe that I was on the right track, that hope was actually an okay thing to do. This is something I’ve been thinking about today, whether the universe puts certain people and messages in my path (or anyone’s path), or whether those people and messages were there all along and I just finally noticed them. I’m honestly not sure that it matters, since it seems that when a person’s subconscious is ready to work on something, it can clearly use anything–a therapist, a total stranger, a necklace–to get its point across.

Healing is possible.

Tonight the lady I met, along with her husband, said, “Don’t be nervous. If your family’s not here, we’ll be your family tonight. We’ll cheer you on.” How cool is that? For me it felt like that moment in Oliver! when he gets adopted by The Artful Dodger. Consider yourself at home! But seriously–I think abundance starts this way, recognizing a stranger’s smile or someone’s random and generous offer of support for what it is–a form of healing. And I am slowly starting to believe this, really deep-down believe this, that the world is our home, that people are good, and that healing is possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

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This Is Where I Came From (Blog #381)

Currently I’m in Hot Springs, Arkansas, back in my home state after almost a full week in Tennessee. Y’all, I’m sorry, but sometimes I give my home state a lot of shit. Maybe not out loud, but I think, Life could be better somewhere else. But coming across the state line today along with two other writers and a member of the public relations group that brought us all together as travel writers, I felt a sense of pride. I thought, This is my home. I’m not saying I’m going to live here forever, but I am saying I realized that I know and love this place. This is where I came from. This is the land of my family. It’s beautiful.

Backing up, I slept in this morning, which was nice, and the four of us left Jackson, Tennessee, around noon-thirty. Basically we spent the day traveling. We hit some traffic, stopped in Little Rock for Gus’s Fried Chicken, and rolled into Hot Springs around six. They have us split up, but I’m staying at a new hotel on Central Avenue (the main drag in Hot Springs) called The Waters. I believe it used to be a hotel in the 1940s and reopened about 14 months ago. Y’all, it’s gorgeous, the perfect blend of old meets new. I walked in the room and thought, This is frickin’ fantastic. What a good life.

I seriously was like a little kid–checking out all the drawers, the sliding barn door to the bathroom, the view of Central Avenue. And then–and then–I saw a gift basket. I’m sure now that it was left by the local travel bureau or tourism department specifically for me (and the other writers in their respective rooms), but at first I thought it was full of hotel items for sale. Am I supposed to open this? I thought. (I finally decided I was supposed to open it.) Y’all, there was all kinds of swag–candy, chocolate, bath salts, skin conditioner, soap, and even handcrafted olive oil. Talk about being spoiled. Later I told my dad about all the free gifts and wonderful food this week, and he said, “Don’t expect that kind of treatment when you come home.”

Thanks, Dad.

After checking into the hotel, I met the rest of the crew for dinner, which–I don’t mind saying–was delicious. It was as good as any meal I’ve had all week, even though it wasn’t on our official schedule (which doesn’t start until tomorrow evening when all the other travel writers arrive.) That being said, I had a little issue at dinner, a small, um, encounter. (I still can’t decide whether or not I handled it well.) Here’s what happened–I ordered a beer (on draft), and the waitress brought me a different kind without saying anything. When I noticed the switch, a conversation ensued, and she said that they were out of what I ordered, but that was she brought me was similar. This was said without apology or further explanation. Admittedly, I got passive aggressive and sarcastic. I said, “Thanks for asking me.”

Snarky, I know.

A person’s internal experience is valid.

In response, the waitress said that she could comp the beer or get me something else. I said, “Let me have a moment to try it and process things, then I’ll decide.” Well, when she walked away, I said, “That was awkward.” And I know it was. Even now, I think about the way my colleagues responded, and it was slightly stressful. But it did get better. First, I actually liked the beer. (Drink half of any beer on an empty stomach, and you’ll probably like it too.) Second, the waitress came back and apologized. By that point, I was clear about how to handle it. Calmly I said, “I wish you would have asked me before making any substitutions. That should have been my choice, not yours.” And whereas it was still awkward, at least I spoke my truth. This is the “big win” for me–a year or two ago I would have “been nice,” worried about people pleasing more than expressing my dissatisfaction, said everything was “just fine.” But after all these years of therapy, I believe a person’s internal experience is valid. Not that you have to flip over tables and refuse to pay for services rendered when things don’t go your way, but as a customer and as a human being, it’s okay to say, “This bothers me.”

Even if it’s awkward for someone else.

After dinner, it was back to everything being wonderful. My friends dropped me off at the hotel, and I went next door to The Ohio Club, the oldest (longest running) bar in the state or Arkansas, apparently. (It’s named the Ohio Club because Northerners–carpet baggers–came to the south after the Civil War and named businesses after their home state.) Y’all, it had a stunning backbar (2,000 pounds), live blues music, and–most importantly–a great waitress, Tina. I sat for a couple hours, drank more beer, had some fried mushrooms. (No self-control.) While this went on, Tina told me about the bar (there are bullet holes in the original tin ceiling, and the roulette table on the wall was found in a hidden passage from prohibition days), as well Hot Springs (the city was home to the gangster that The Great Gatsby was based on, a guy named Owney Madden, who had a long affair with Mae West, who used to work in The Ohio Club).

Crazy, right?

Now it’s twelve-thirty in the morning, and I’m back in my gorgeous room, within reaching distance of the gift-bag chocolate. It’s already halfway gone. Since we don’t have plans until tomorrow evening, I don’t have to set an alarm for the morning. I can’t tell you how much this excites me. Also, it excites me to see my progress. At one point I would have been nervous on a trip like this, unsure of how to handle myself, thinking I needed to act a certain way in order to fit in or make someone else happy. And whereas I plan to continue to be professional and do my job, now I’m clear–I’m going to be me, I’m going to live and speak my truth, as much as I’m able. This is what coming home really is for me, being comfortable in my skin wherever I am, whatever the situation. Again, I’m coming to love this place, this beautiful self, this land that has been patiently waiting for me to come back to it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We’re all made of the same stuff.

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There’s a New Sheriff in Town (Blog #372)

Currently it’s four-thirty in the afternoon, and my friend Bonnie and I are in her car, Carlotta, en route to Dallas to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the blog. The plan is to go out to dinner, then go out dancing. The day itself is cloudy and rainy, but I have sunshine in my heart. I’m excited to party and pat myself on the back for all my hard work, something I don’t do very often (believe it or not). Also, I’m excited that Bonnie is here. More than any other person, I think, she’s the friend who’s appeared on the blog the most. So this seems fitting.

Before we left today, I went shopping for a new outfit–well, a pair of shoes and a shirt–for tonight. Y’all, I’ll post pictures later, but I actually bought stuff with bright colors, something fun. I figured as long as I’m going dancing in a city where I don’t know anyone, I might as well feel confident and stand out. When I told Bonnie about my purchases, she said, “I could go all ‘Marcus Coker’ on that.”

“Like, what do you mean?” I said.

“Well, you used to have a lot of fun clothes, but you got rid of them. You’ve spent the last year wearing gray and black–utilitarian clothes–while you were busy doing your inner work. Maybe you’re ready to start wearing playful things again, now that the outside can truly match the inside.”

Good stuff, huh?

I think Bonnie is right. I’ve joked before that my clothes have been dark because I’ve been in mourning. On some level, I guess this is true. In a lot of respects, I consider “the old me” dead. Not only does my life look different on the outside, but it certainly looks different on the inside.

Last night I dreamed about a (former) friend who has a lot of unhealthy behaviors. They’re passive aggressive, a people pleaser, and often addicted to one substance or another. As much as I’m able, I don’t judge them for it. As my therapist has told me more than once, I’ve “rocked those strategies” plenty of times in the past (plenty). This is how my therapist often refers to actions, behaviors, and habits–strategies. What I like about this perspective is that it allows me to step back and more objectively look at how I’m handling the situations in my life, asking myself, “Is this behavior, this strategy, effective? Is there a better way to go about this?”

Anyway, in the dream my friend and I were on a trip, and they were on the phone, running the show. However, they’d forgotten something I thought was important (and fun), my bicycle. And then–kind of out of nowhere–I slugged them in the face. All of a sudden they were on the ground, their nose bleeding, no longer on the phone, no longer running the show.

Violent, I know. Not the best dream to wake up to. Still, I think the dream was really positive. To me it communicates that my subconscious has finally had enough with unhealthy behavior, both from myself and others. There’s a new sheriff in town. A different, healthier part of me is running the show now, and it clearly means business.

Talk about a reason to celebrate. (Also, watch your noses.)

I want a new life.

Perhaps in addition to representing mourning, my dark clothes have also represented and communicated the idea that I’m serious–I’m haven’t been playing around over here with regards to my personal growth, my mental health and the health of my relationships, and this blog. This feels true to me. I’m grateful for my past, but I want a new life, a different, healthier, free-er, more playful life. I want it with every fiber of my being, so much so that I’m willing to spend the rest of my life working toward it. If I can help it, I won’t settle for less. From what I’ve experienced of freedom so far, it’s worth every serious effort. So you go inward and you grit your teeth. You change your behaviors and what you’ll accept from others, even getting violent (figuratively speaking) if you have to. Then when most of The Hard Work is over (since it never actually ends), you buy a new outfit, jump in the car with a friend, and find a way to party and celebrate the start of your new life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Pump the Brakes, Junior (Blog #370)

Oh hey, it’s three-thirty in the morning, and I’m so ready to go to bed it’s not even funny. To be clear, in the above photo I’m yawning–not writhing in pain or having an orgasm, although I personally think it looks like some combination of the three. Anyway, I just got home from my friend Justin’s house. We decided to catch up after I taught a dance lesson this evening and somehow got stuck in a six-hour-long conversation. (We both like to talk and both like to listen.) At two-thirty, right about the time Justin began talking about world politics and the fabric of society (I’m not kidding), my brain started shutting down. Then I thought of the blog. “I’ve really got to go,” I said.

Now I’m at home, trying to string two thoughts together. For as difficult and challenging as yesterday was, today was a gem. A decent night’s rest did me a world of good, and yesterday’s daunting troubles seemed to have shrunk down to manageable sizes with a little slumber. This afternoon I saw my therapist, and when I told her about yesterday’s visit to the immunologist and subsequent phone conversation with the insurance company of the guy who read-ended me last year, she said, “It was a lot of information.” I laughed and said, “Yes, it was A LOT of information.”

This is one of my therapist’s deals I’m not sure I’ve talked about before. She often refers to things that happen as information or data. Like, if I met someone I really liked, and they stopped returning my messages or let it slip that they hate children, my therapist might say, “That sounds like an important piece of information.” What I like about this way of looking at things is that it’s neutral. It doesn’t judge a behavior or situation as right or wrong, but simply as a fact (he lied to me, the doctor said we needed to run more tests, the insurance company offered me a low sum of money to settle). Also, it implies that as we gather more information, we can (and should) adjust our behavior and attitudes accordingly (I’m moving on because I don’t date liars, okay–getting a diagnosis is going to take longer than I thought, I may need to speak up for myself or consult an attorney).

Anyway, I guess yesterday was information overload, more important facts than I could handle at one time, too many adjustments to make. What I’m learning in situations like these, to borrow another phrase from my therapist, is to “pump the brakes, Junior.” In other words, when I’m overwhelmed, I absolutely have to slow down. In terms of my health, no matter how much I want an answer, I have to be willing to adjust to the speed of the situation. My therapist said it was a matter of patience, which she said was a tough muscle to work out, but absolutely worth the effort. “I hate being a Debbie Downer,” she said, “but you’ll probably be working on patience for the rest of your life. It’s just the way life is.” She paused. “But it does get better.”

I guess pumping the brakes and patience go hand-in-hand. I’m usually rushing around, thinking I need to find answers “now,” but what I like about these ideas is that they suggest I don’t have to hurry. Rather, I can take my time, take in new information, and adjust accordingly. Now it’s four-ten in the morning, and part of me is “rushing” toward my typical thousand-word word count. But my eyes are heavy, and my ears are starting to itch, historically a pre-cursor to my breaking out in hives. (I just took some Benadryl, so I should be fine.) Still, I know I need to respect this “information” and adjust my behavior. I need to pump my brakes and cut tonight’s post short, trusting that I’ll still get to wherever it is I’m going even if I have to move a little slower to get there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

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The Thing I Was Forgetting (Blog #365!)

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

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

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

Each person is important.

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

Talk about a hand-delivered message from the universe.

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

Big dreams take commitment.

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

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

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

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

Freedom is everyone’s birthright.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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The Cave You Fear to Enter (Blog #364)

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

My answer: Hell if I know.

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

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

My story is our story.

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

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

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

Uh, sort of, not really.

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

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

What a novel concept.

Perhaps bravery is simply having run out of better options.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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Talk about a Serious Gain (Blog #362)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big gains come at a high price.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward.

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We All Have Elephants (Blog #361)

This morning I woke up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. In no real hurry to get back to Arkansas, I spent a couple hours reading a book I bought this last Saturday, which, by the way, was the four-year anniversary of the first day I saw my therapist. Talk about a wild ride.

The book I read, The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo, is about an orphan boy who is searching for his long-lost sister, whom a fortune teller predicts he will find by following an elephant. Said elephant literally magically appears in the boy’s town when a stage magician tries to produce a bouquet of flowers and produces the elephant instead. (Everyone, including the magician, was amazed–except for the lady whom the elephant landed one when he apparated. To put it mildly, she had a very bad day.) I believe the book was intended for children or young adults, but I personally found it delightful.

Toward the end of the story (spoiler alert), there is talk about making the elephant disappear, sending it back to wherever it came from (probably Albuquerque), which the magician says he cannot do. However, the narrator of the story says, “If the world held magic powerful enough to make the elephant appear, then there must exist, too, magic in equal measure, magic powerful enough to undo what had been done. There must be magic that could send the elephant home.”

This is something I’ve been chewing on today, something that speaks to my soul. So many things in my life historically and recently have felt like these giant, unsolvable problems, like elephants that show up in my living room and refuse to leave. (Hey, get your dirty feet off my coffee table!) As an example, four years ago I couldn’t see my way out of a bad (really bad) relationship. God, things were such a mess, I didn’t even realize what a mess they were. It was like I was drowning and didn’t know it. But stumbling across my kick-ass therapist, I lucked out. The universe threw me a lifeline.

Also, I don’t mind saying, it’s been a long journey to shore.

Sometimes when I tell people I’ve been in therapy for four years, I imagine them thinking, You must be really fucked up. Maybe they aren’t actually thinking that, but if they are, I honestly don’t believe I deal with issues that are all that different from anyone else’s. We all have relationship problems, family problems, work problems. We all have elephants. In my case, I know that a big reason I had relationship problems is BECAUSE I had other (childhood) issues that hadn’t been properly addressed. (For one, I’d never learned about boundaries and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d hit me in the face.) My point is–it’s taken some time, but my therapist and I have dealt with every all of my “elephants in the room.” With hard work, courage, and what my therapist calls “sitting in truth,” we’ve effectively made all my elephants disappear. At the very least, we’ve shrunk them down to a manageable size.

The universe is full of big answers.

As I look back at the last year and this blog, it’s been a lot of ups and downs. Based on how I’m feeling this very moment (worn out and tired), it’s been A LOT of downs. Feeling well or normal has been a struggle, believing that I’ll be back on my feet physically and financially has been a struggle. But surely these are just elephants too, and surely all is never lost. For me, it’s important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad your circumstances, they can and will turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe is full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

[Thanks again to my friend Frank for the High School Musical calendar. I hung it on my wall as soon as I got home today! Talk about daily inspiration.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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Sometimes Your Teeth Fall Out (Blog #360)

Last night while sleeping at my Aunt Terri’s house in Tulsa, I dreamed that one of my teeth fell out, a molar. I was chewing on something, and the damn thing split in half. Well, I was horrified. (I hate it when my teeth fall out.) There was blood and everything. As I was collecting the pieces, an elderly woman gave me several of her teeth as well. (Thanks, lady.) Still, I gathered up all the pearly whites, got in my car, and headed toward the dentist.

Y’all, today was another great day. First of all, when I woke up this morning, I had all my teeth. (Phew.) As if that weren’t enough, then I got to use them when my aunt took me to brunch at the restaurant where my cousin was our waiter. (It was delicious, and the service was exceptional.) Seriously, folks, molars are super handy to have, especially for things like–oh–chewing.

Don’t take your teeth for granted.

After brunch my aunt and I went shopping at a giant antique mall. “I’m good for about an hour,” I said, just before we went inside. Well, one thing led to another, and somehow we stretched an hour into two-and-a-half. Considering all there was to look at and be amazed by, it’s a wonder we both walked out with only one purchase a piece. (I got a book, and she got a book.)

After the antique mall, my aunt and I came back to her house, slipped into some comfortable chairs, and started chatting. Among other things, we talked about her job, her old neighbor (whom you can catch a glimpse of in the painting behind me in tonight’s selfie photo), my parents, and my therapist. We even talked about my dream last night, the one where my tooth fell out. Here’s what I said–

First, despite how awful it felt to lose my tooth in the dream, I figure the dream was positive, since my therapist has yet to tell me that one of my dreams wasn’t positive. Second, teeth typically represent power or our ability to “break down” and “digest” our experiences and problems, so usually dreams about losing teeth have to do with feeling powerless. (Having been unemployed and living with my parents for over a year now, I’d say that sounds about right.) But here’s where the dream gets interesting. For me, old people in dreams represent my old ways of thinking, my old ways of doing things. Well, the old lady in the dream gave me her broken teeth. In other words, she couldn’t handle her problems on her own. Even if she wasn’t, she acted powerless. I, on the other hand, got in my car (cars represent the direction your life is going) and headed to the dentist.

“So maybe you’re better at handling your problems than you’re giving yourself credit for,” my aunt said.

“I think you nailed it,” I replied.

By the time I left my aunt’s house, it was after nine in the evening. Y’all, I got over halfway home, and my aunt sent me a message. “Marcus, you left your laptop!”

Well, shit, I thought. I HAVE to go back. I haven’t blogged today.

So that’s what I did. I turned the car around, drove an hour to Tulsa, grabbed some late night food, and went back to my aunt’s house. (That’s where I am now.) Obviously, part of me is frustrated. I don’t love the fact that I wasted gas and toll money or that I forgot my laptop the same way I apparently forgot my toothbrush on the way here yesterday. (Thank God for my finger.) But if I’ve learned anything during this last year, it’s that life is FULL of detours and rarely goes as planned. As my mom said when I called to say I’d be home tomorrow, “Things hardly ever happen 100 percent like you think they will.” Plus, other than being tired, I’M OKAY. In the grand scheme of things, this is no big deal.

As I’ve continued to process last night’s dream, I think it’s interesting that I dreamed about teeth and going to the dentist while I was here in Tulsa. See, my uncle, who’s no longer alive, used to be a dentist. He was also a Boy Scout and a handyman. My aunt’s house is full of light switches he wired, pictures he hung up, you name it. I didn’t dream about him “specifically” last night, but I do think I dreamed about him generally, and here’s the important thing about that–my uncle (the dentist) was the type of person who always knew what to do. In this sense, I think my aunt was right–I think the dream was about recognizing that even when things go “wrong” in my life, even when I feel powerless, I can still come up with a plan or ask for help.

Surely we can all regroup and try again.

I also think it’s interesting that the car I was driving in the dream was a convertible. (I don’t usually dream about convertibles.) This probably has to do with being “adaptable,” being able to adjust to whatever life brings me. Again, life doesn’t always work out like you think it’s going to. Sometimes your teeth fall out. Sometimes and many times, nothing goes as planned. You find yourself backtracking, feeling like you’re wasting time on roads you’ve already been on, feeling like you’re powerless to do anything about it. But surely we can all adjust, surely we can all regroup, ever thankful that WE’RE OKAY and get the chance to try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are all connected in a great mystery and made of the same strong stuff.

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