The Steady Source of Heat Within (Blog #263)

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This morning while getting ready for therapy, I gave up my fight against winter and put on thick, wool socks and climbing boots. I refuse to have cold feet, I thought. Well, never let it be said that the universe doesn’t have a sense of humor, since it turned out to be a rather sunny day. Now therapy is over, I’m at the library, and I just took off my long-sleeved shirt in favor of the t-shirt underneath. My feet are absolutely sweating, my armpits are moist (yes, I said moist), and I’m about to start fanning myself like a Mississippi debutante in August.

But. At least I’m not freezing.

Last night I slept for shit. Exhausted, I tried going to bed early, around ten, but woke up a couple hours later and couldn’t fall back asleep until four. I don’t know how people deal with insomnia on a regular basis. God bless you. What I did was watch one documentary and three TED talks and scroll through Facebook until my thumb nearly fell off. As you know, social media is mostly cat memes, clickbait, and political bitching. (And your cute children, of course.) Sometimes I think it’s more stressful than helpful, more bad news than good. So long as I’m blogging, I don’t know that I could completely give up social media, but I’m considering adopting “stop scrolling” as my New Year’s resolution.

God knows it would save me a lot of time.

Currently I’m listening to one of my favorite songs, Africa by Toto (the band, not the dog in Wizard of Oz). There’s a lyric that says, “It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you,” and that’s what the idea of scaling back from Facebook feels like. If I’m going to call it what it is, it’s an addiction, something I can’t put down, something that–at least in its current quantity–takes more than it gives. More than once my therapist and I have discussed some online drama–something someone else said or did. You know how you see a picture of two people together and your mind runs wild. This is the stress I’m talking about it. Well, my therapist says, “Forty years ago, you didn’t have to deal with the drama of other people’s lives in this way. Maybe you heard some of the gossip at the local coffee shop, but it wasn’t on-demand, constantly at your fingertips.”

Even as it sit here, I keep wanting to pick up my phone, change tabs on my laptop and start mindlessly scanning my news feed. I guess it’s a way to check out, to leave the world I’m currently in and enter endless others. I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with this, but there’s also nothing inherently wrong with where I am right here, right now. The sun is shining, other people are working at their laptops, and I’m listening to 80s music. What more could a girl ask for? Still, I’m a little nervous–maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the fact that therapy often leaves me feeling raw. Either way, the nervousness makes me want to distract myself from it rather than actually listen to it or simply let it run its course.

I’m sure we all try to distract ourselves in one way or the other. We scroll through Facebook, we walk to the refrigerator or turn on the radio, we smoke a cigarette. Hell, if dealing with your feelings were easy, everybody would do it. In the documentary I watched last night, which was about a group of prisoners who participated in an intense meditation program, one of the guys said that you can spend your whole life distracting yourself, but sooner or later you’re left looking at what’s inside.

What are you really running away from?

Having spent a lot of time around meditation and self-help material, I used to think the goal was to get rid of all the uncomfortable, icky feelings. I’d think, If I can just be spiritual enough, I won’t have to feel nervous ever again (phew). Well, first–Good fucking luck, Marcus. Second, I’ve changed my mind about this. More and more, I believe one of the points of spiritual living is self-acceptance, and that means being able to welcome whatever arises in my external and internal life with open arms, or at least curiosity. Why do I feel this way? What can this teach me? What am I really running away from? (If the answer is me, we have a problem.) Naturally, these questions aren’t always easy to answer. Like putting on a pair of wool socks, getting to know yourself is often something you have to warm up to. But this is worth doing, I think, since the alternative looks like endless scrolling, coming to know the ever-changing temperatures of the world outside but never finding the steady source of heat within.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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Changing Your Socks, Changing Your World (Blog #258)

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It’s almost officially winter, and my parents’ house is sixty-seven degrees. I’m freezing. In an effort to keep heat in, this morning I put on thick, wool socks and a knitted cap. Granted, I’m wearing a t-shirt, but I really, really hate “bulk.” People talk about their love of sweaters and scarves–and, oh my god, mittens!–but it’s simply not me. I much prefer shorts and a tank top, soaking up the sun on a warm beach. But back to the temperature inside this house–it’s my dad’s fault. He’s always hot, breaks a sweat at the drop of a hat, so he’s constantly inching the thermostat down, gradually turning our home into a seventeen-thousand-foot meat locker.

My mom and I fight for degrees. “Ron, would it be okay to turn the thermostat up to sixty-eight, just until we all go to bed?” my mom will say. Honestly, I don’t even bother. Granted, one degree is one degree, but ten would be better. Even now my toes are crowding against each other, huddled up trying desperately to produce heat. I’ve heard this happens when a person is dying–all the blood rushes away from your extremities and heads straight for your vital organs in an effort to preserve as much life as possible. For me this feels like those movies where sailors throw cargo off a ship to keep it from sinking. Every winter my body says, “Screw the toes, screw the feet–toss ’em overboard–who needs ’em?”

Oh sure, they only take us everywhere we go!

Okay, fine, I give up. I just put on a sweatshirt. I’m holding a cup of hot coffee like it’s a personal hand warmer. Because my butt never gets warm in the winter either, I’m thinking about sitting on a heating pad for the rest of the day. As for my feet, maybe I could put them in the microwave. Shit. Here I am considering nuking my own body, and ten feet away my dad is watching The People’s Court in a t-shirt, shorts, and bare feet, smiling, probably thinking how nice it’d be to have a fan on. I guess we all have our own standards of perfection.

Perfection is ever-elusive.

The last time I saw my therapist, she asked, “Marcus, do you still believe in the idea of perfection?” I said, “Well, it sounds great, but I can’t find any evidence for it.” What I meant is that I’ve yet to discover something that couldn’t be better. No matter what the temperature is, I’d like to adjust the thermostat. No matter how good of a dancer or writer I am, I’d like to improve. Perfection, it seems, is ever-elusive. It’s a fantasy we think about that never materializes. It’s whatever we don’t have until we have it, then it’s something else.

Once I went to a workshop in Austin with Byron Katie. One of her teachings is that when we argue with reality, we lose. For example, if my feet are cold and I think they should be warm in this moment, I’m going to suffer (and write a blog about it). But what’s the truth? (They’re cold.) Anyway, at this workshop, Katie said that if we died and went to heaven with our current way of thinking, we wouldn’t be there any more. In other words, our minds would tell us, “It’s too windy–the gold streets are hard to walk on–I don’t like harp music–I wish John were here.” Or whatever–we all have our list of complaints we take everywhere we go.

I don’t use this line with anyone else, but whenever I leave the house and say goodbye to my parents, I say, “I’m off to change the world.” Mostly I consider this statement cute and ironic, since I spend the average day somewhere between a coffee shop and Walmart, picking my nose at traffic lights. Anyway, a couple days ago I was at my friend Bonnie’s house, and she had a funny napkin that said, “What did you do to change the world today?” Well, the guy on the napkin’s answer was, “I changed my socks! That counts!”

If you want to find a problem, you will.

Believing that you can find wisdom almost anywhere, I’ve been meditating on that napkin since I saw it. For one thing, I think changing the world is easier than we think. Like, I could start wearing wool socks, and that really could make a difference. I could be warmer, happier, easier to get along with. In this sense, it’s the little things. But for another thing, I don’t think we can really change the world. Sure, we can make a difference, and we should. But the world is a mess–it always has been and always will be. It’s too cold for one person, too hot for another. Maybe you think there’s too much violence or too much pollution, but the point is the same–if you want to find a problem, you will. So rather than trying to change the world, perhaps our time is better spent trying to change ourselves, working on the way we see the world, and realizing that life is perfect just the way it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Kindness is never a small thing."

 

 

I’ll Take the Slow Grind (Blog #256)

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Last night I listened to an interview with Bob Walter, the man who runs the Joseph Campbell Foundation. (You know I’m a big Joseph Campbell fan.) Well, apparently at one point Bob and Joe started a publishing company to get Joe’s message out, and Bob had to be a little pushy. “No one is interested in this stuff,” Joe said.

“You mean you get discouraged?” Bob said.

“Of course I get discouraged,” Joe said. “I’m human.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and the collection of stickers on her laptop continues to grow. Since I last saw her, she’s added a “no texting” sticker, as well as one of a skeleton sitting at a computer that says, “The Internet–Please enjoy everybody’s opinion.” Also, she had two new rings on her fingers, both of which were serious bling and could easily anchor a medium-sized boat in the middle of a hurricane. Naturally, I was jealous. To be clear, I’m not talking about diamonds–this was straight up costume jewelry. “Absolutely fabulous,” I said.

“You know, I’m trying some new things,” she said.

Most of our time today was spent talking about personal change, about how it’s not as easy as everyone, all the people who write books, make it out to be. This is one of my pet peeves lately, that self-help material, vitamin shops, and online yoga classes aren’t more up front about the fact that while helpful, they’re not a panacea. Rather–and I get that everyone’s trying to make a dollar–they make it sound like if you buy their product, you’ll be eternally happy, find the perfect sex-hungry partner, and have wrinkle-free skin. I can’t tell you how long I bought into this crap. I still struggle with it. Who doesn’t want a magic bullet?

“You’re not the only one who’s been given that impression,” my therapist said. “But transformation is real fucking hard. It’s the slow grind. There’s no other way.”

The–slow–grind. No kidding. That’s been my experience. I’ve spent more time in the self-help, psychology, philosophy, and spirituality aisles in the bookstore than anyone else I know–I have a rockstar therapist I’ve seen consistently for over three years–these are just facts. And if there’s something I could pass on from all my time and effort, it’d be this–a better life is completely possible, but it’s a long, tough ride to get there. (Saddle up, partner.) I realize this isn’t what people want to hear–I don’t want to hear it–but it’s the truth. “It just takes patience,” my therapist says. “And patience is a bitch.”

After therapy I had lunch with my friend Ray. I haven’t seen him in maybe a month, and it was truly a shot in the arm. We laughed, then laughed some more. For a while Ray and I talked about getting discouraged, the slow grind, and being patient as change occurs. Ray said he thought a big element of success was simply continuing to show up–to therapy, a support group, even a dance class. Again, I guess this is the idea that change and transformation come in little pieces. Rarely is something a “one and done.”

Being authentic isn’t for sissies.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this–little pieces, being patient, all of it. I wish transformation were easier, and, like Joe, I often get discouraged with this path. Being authentic isn’t for sissies. I get on the internet, read everybody’s opinion, and it’s easy to feel as if I’m doing something wrong. People comment online and send me private messages, tell me I’d be better off if I did something different with my hair, wore other clothes, didn’t cuss so much, or smiled more. I mention this because it’s something else most teachers don’t talk about. They tell you to be authentic–wear gaudy jewelry if you want to!–but they don’t tell you that the more true to yourself you are, the more pushback you get, often from people you care about.

I don’t mind saying this sucks.

I realize this take on the long, tough ride of transformation and the challenges of being authentic isn’t exactly encouraging. It wouldn’t sound great on an infomercial. But wait, there’s more–it gets worse before it gets better! But I wouldn’t be sharing these opinions if they weren’t my honest experience and if I didn’t absolutely believe that all the hard work and all the continuing to show up were worth it. Because I do. Sure, there are days when I get discouraged and feel like I’m going nowhere. I’m human too. But I’ll take my worst day now over my best day five years ago because now I’m being real. I’m closer to myself every day. And if the slow grind is what it takes to get me closer to myself, I’ll take the slow grind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Anything and everything is possible.

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A Little Disruption, Please (Blog #254)

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Y’all aren’t going to believe this. It’s 9:30 in the morning, and not only am I awake, I’m blogging. Jesus, keep me close to the cross. I’ve actually been awake and mostly functional for an hour and a half. Yesterday evening I got super tired, maybe because of all the antihistamines I’m taking, maybe because God didn’t intend for us to be awake during winter. Either way, I was in bed by midnight. Still, despite the fact that my body said go to bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. What the frick, body–haven’t you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?

Anyway, I think I finally drifted off around three.

I’m up early today because I’m going out-of-town to see some friends. I’ll report more later, but I really need to be on the road in a couple hours. Considering I still have to eat breakfast, shower, and pack, this blog really needs to be quick. I love it and everything, but I honestly don’t want to pick it up again until tomorrow. But aside from the pressure of writing–believe it or not–I’m enjoying being up so early. Y’all, the sun is shining. It’s quiet. I can hear myself think–or at least I could if I were awake enough to do so. Earlier I practiced chi kung. My teacher is always saying, “Relax more. Now–relax more.” Well, for someone like me, this is a lot of pressure, but this morning it actually worked. Apparently relaxing is easier to do when your brain is still sleeping.

A couple years ago I had a yoga teacher tell me, “Your new favorite pose is rabbit.” Well, since I hadn’t done rabbit pose before, I pretty much forgot about it. Maybe I tried it once or twice. But for whatever reason, I thought about it this morning. I’ve had this pain in my shoulders that won’t go away, and I thought, Let’s give that a whirl. Oh my gosh–first–it’s the most awkward thing ever. You have to sit on your knees, grab your heels, put the top of you head on the floor, try to keep your forehead by your knees, then lift your hips. (Right.) All that being said–wow–it exactly stretches the muscles that have been a problem for the last six months. Finally.

My therapist told me recently that she thought it was funny that my blog was called Me and My Therapist, since she doesn’t introduce herself as a therapist. “I think of myself as a disrupter,” she said. “I disrupt the untrue. I challenge maladaptive behaviors and people’s erroneous perceptions of the world.” Having gone through this process, I now think of therapy like rabbit pose–it sucks. I mean, at the very least, it’s often uncomfortable as hell. Change is hard for a reason. Of course, whether it’s a pain in your shoulders, a bad relationship, or whatever, that’s uncomfortable too. (Maybe sucks is a better word for your particular situation.) So if a different type of discomfort is the way out of the original problem, then it’s certainly worth the effort. In this sense, perhaps we could all use a little more disruption in our lives.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

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What Hope Says to Me (Blog #252)

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It’s three in the afternoon, and I’ve been overwhelmed since yesterday. Once I read that was the go-to emotion for Virgos–the feeling of overwhelm. Regardless, I know it’s mine. On the outside I can have things together, but on the inside, it’s like I’m trying to roll a boulder up a mountain, looking at the circumstances of my life like, Well, this is intimidating. For whatever reason, my allergies won’t calm down. It’s as if I have a leaky faucet–in my head. (Does anyone know a good plumber?) Last night I watched a YouTube video by a guy who once had a sinus infection for eight months, so I’m telling myself that 1) I’m not THAT bad off, and 2) I’m not alone. But that doesn’t really help. After all, a boulder on your shoulder is a boulder on your shoulder.

Yesterday I had to choose an insurance plan for next year. That was stressful. What if I picked the wrong one? Also, anything that has to do with money stresses me out, since I’m really not making any right now. This, of course, is mostly my choice. I guess on some level I’ve decided that what I’m learning and doing now are more important than spending the day, I don’t know, making Subway sandwiches and earning a few dollars. Still, I put a lot of pressure on myself. My therapist asked me recently, “How are yo doing with the whole ‘I’m a white man who needs to be productive and earning money constantly’ thing?”

“Yeah, about where I was before,” I said. “So there’s plenty of room for improvement, but look at it this way–that’s job security for you.”

I don’t suppose any one of these problems–allergies, money, what things may come–is that big of a deal in and of itself. Perhaps it’s like picking up a rock and putting it your pocket–one’s not a problem, but if decide to pick up more rocks and start a damn collection, they’re gonna weigh you down. However, now I’m writing, and although some days I think of this blog as a rock in my pocket, I do find that it helps take the weight off, get other things out of my pocket and on to the page. Also, I’m listening to Eva Cassidy, a woman whose voice never fails to make me believe that the world is a possible place to live in. Time is a healer–all hearts that break are put back together again.

Yesterday I got my hair cut–a lot. Honestly, I don’t love short hair in the winter, since I need all the help I can get staying warm. But I dyed my hair a few months ago, and it’s been rather dry and unmanageable lately. My friend and hairdresser, Bekah, said she always knows I’m about to call and schedule a haircut whenever I post a lot of pictures of me wearing a hat. And whereas I hate being so predictable, it is really nice to have people in your life who know you so well. Thinking about all my hair clumped together on Bekah’s floor, I’m reminded that things can change in an instant. One minute you’ve got this problem that’s been driving you crazy forever, and the next it’s being swept away with the flick of a wrist, tossed out with yesterday’s newspapers.

Perhaps this is what hope is, the belief that three months of long hair or even an eight-month sinus infection can quickly come to an end, the belief that your particular allergy can calm down and you’ll breathe easy again one day. To me hope says, “Empty your pockets. Let go of your boulder. Mountains are hard enough to climb without things that overwhelm and weigh you down. Let me overwhelm you instead, let me heal all that is broken inside you, let me so fill you with the belief that life is good that you can’t help but rise to the top.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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Letting Go of the Last Three Pounds (Blog #251)

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Well here we are again, writing during the day. Last night I took my therapist-assigned nap, then I couldn’t fall asleep until four in the morning. More than the napping, I think the reason I couldn’t sleep is because my body hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re doing things differently now, that there’s a new sheriff in town. This morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, partly because I’m tired, partly because I noticed last night that the body odor that I worked so hard to get rid of has returned. I’m assuming this is because of the medications I was on recently for my sinus infection, but I’m not a biologist. Either way, part of me thinks that I got this figured out once before and can do it again, and another part of me thinks, Oh, for fuck’s sake, I quit.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ring-ring-ringing and the microwave beep-beep-beeping. As if that weren’t annoying enough, my parents’ phone actually announces, rather loudly, the number that’s calling. You have a call from 479-867-5309. Maybe it would be better if the announcer had an Australian accent. Better yet, I’d be more than happy to wake up to the sound of Morgan Freeman’s voice. He could read the phone book to me any day. As it is, today I woke up to the voice of a robot. (Not sexy.) Anyway, now the sun is shining, I’m drinking coffee, and Dad and I are talking about the hot gay guys on Days of Our Lives. (They’re weaving a tangled web.) Additionally, as I’m writing, the soundtrack to the musical Kinky Boots is playing in my ears. So I’m slowly–slowly–working my way out of my bad mood.

Life, it would appear, doesn’t completely suck.

Last week my therapist suggested I watch the television series The Deuce, starring the oh-so-handsome and sexually flexible James Franco, so last night I watched the first two episodes. To be clear, I don’t think my therapist recommended the show for mental health reasons, but rather for entertainment, relaxation, and visual stimulation (James Franco). For all these reasons, I thank her. Y’all, I was completely engrossed. The show is set in New York City in the seventies, and James plays a bartender who works with the mob and serves up a number of colorful hookers. Also, he plays his twin brother, a former baseball star who’s up to his neck in gambling debts. I can’t tell you how delightful this is. Honestly, it reminds me a lot of Hayley Mills in the The Parent Trap or Patty Duke in The Patty Duke Show. You know, except with pimps and prostitutes.

Recently I’ve been toying with the idea of lowing my standards of perfection. For example, for the last twenty years I’ve had it in my head that my ideal weight is 175. Never mind the fact that the only time I weigh that much is after a week-long stomach flu. Honestly, 180 is a better goal. Well, in the last month I’ve gone from 190 to a consistent 183. Since this isn’t my first diet and exercise rodeo, I know I could spend the next three months working on those three pounds, like really putting myself through hell. But as things stand, I’m thirty-seven years old, my stomach is flat, and I wear the same sized jeans I did when I was in high school, so why am I making such a big damn deal about this and everything like it?

You can quit trying so hard and still get there.

Clearly I spend a lot of time working on “just a little bit more,” reaching for that thing that’s slightly out of reach. I’m not saying that I couldn’t lose another three pounds (I could), or that I can’t continue to write a thousand words a day (I can). But what would my life be like if I didn’t try so hard, if I recognized that I’ve already come a long way and that things are pretty great at 183 pounds and six-hundred words a day, give or take? Just the thought of that, of taking my foot off the throttle, is a relief. Phew, I can quit trying so hard and still get there, still be happy. I’m not saying I’m going to completely let myself go and start eating cheesecake for breakfast, but I am going to stop pushing so much and try to let life work itself out. It seems it always does, after all. Given enough time, answers come, healings happen, and even bad moods go away.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Obviously, God's capable of a lot. Just look around."

 

Socks and Days That Don’t Match (Blog #250)

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Yesterday I wore the socks Bonnie knitted me for my birthday. They don’t match–intentionally, she said, since life isn’t “perfect.” When I got home from therapy yesterday, I followed my therapist’s suggestion–I took a nap. Then I spent the evening watching two movies. The first, The Pursuit of Happyness, starred Will Smith and told the true story of a man who went from living on the streets to becoming a millionaire stock broker. Everything about this story made my heart sing. The second movie, The Words, was about a writer who wrote a story about a writer who found another writer’s manuscript (about his true love and their child who died), published it as his own, and became famous. If you’re confused, you should be. The movie had its moments–wonderful acting–but it was like playing with a set of Russian nesting doll–stories inside of stories.

The fact that my friend Justin recommended The Words should come as no surprise. (Justin is notorious for recommending “meh” movies.) “Justin, that vampire movie you told me to watch was terrible. I just can’t trust your cinema wisdom after that experience,” I said last week. “No, this movie will be different,” he said.

“Trust me,” he said.

Last night I was in bed at the time I usually start writing. I think I slept for eleven or twelve hours. And whereas I don’t feel like a daisy today–I have a headache–I do feel better. As much as getting some sleep, I think it has to do with finishing the blog earlier than normal. I guess it was creating a certain amount of stress, especially on days that were full of activities. It’d be three in the morning, I’d be worn out, and I’d think, Oh yeah, I still have that to do. Now it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I plan to be done with today’s blog by three-thirty. Earlier today I unsubscribed from a number of email lists, and I’m looking at that action the same way I’m looking at knocking the blog out while the sun’s still shining–a little action I can take to alleviate stress and relieve tension.

I mean, it all adds up.

Another thing I’m doing is changing the music I’m listening to while blogging. Normally I listen to instrumental music. Always the same, it’s something a friend gave me once–spiritual music. There are supposed to be seven tracks–one for each chakra–but one of the files is missing. Shit, that’s probably why I’ve felt so out of balance lately–I don’t have the heart chakra file. Anyway, today I’m listening to James Brown, and I’m finding that he’s just as spiritual. Yesterday I told my therapist that I feel stuck, what with living at home and having been sick for so long. She said, “Marcus, everything changes. You won’t be there forever. You won’t be here in this office forever.”

One day a change will come.

Today’s blog is number 250. That’s 250 days in a row of straight blogging. The goal is a year, and whether or not I make it, I do realize that one day I’ll leave my laptop shut, not write a word for the world to see. Maybe I’ll be sick in the hospital, or maybe I’ll be drinking a cup of coffee and watching Days of Our Lives with my dad, but it’ll be that simple. One day a change will come, if for no other reason than that’s the way life works. Like a pair of mismatched socks, one day doesn’t mirror the one next to. Life isn’t “perfect,” at least if you think perfect is having two socks or days that match.

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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The Moon and My Therapist (Blog #249)

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Last night was the supermoon. Personally, I slept for shit and think that’s why. Of course, I can’t prove that’s the reason, but if the moon can move the tides, surely it can move me, since I’m mostly water. Anyway, despite the fact that currently the moon is full and bright, in two short weeks its light will disappear completely. I just finished lunch, and I’m thinking about doing the same thing, at least for a bit. A couple hours ago I saw my therapist, and we talked about how exhausted I’ve been lately. She said she could feel it coming off my body, this deep tiredness. She also said she thought I was starting to resent the blog, and I know that part of me is. Every day I come here and process, sit down and pour myself out, honestly more than I’m being poured into. I’m getting something out of this, of course, but often it’s just a warm, fuzzy feeling, and that doesn’t always get me through the next day.

When I told my therapist I was writing a thousand words a day (and have been for the last 248 days in a row), she almost fell out of her chair. I act like it’s nothing, but it’s obviously not, and it takes a lot out of me. My therapist said she wouldn’t tell me what to do, but she suggested I take a nap for “at least five” out of the next eight days. She said, “Stop, just stop. Be lazy. It’s okay.” She also suggested that for one day–just one day–I log into the blog and post, like, two sentences. I’m authentically worn out. Later, bitches, or something along those lines. Honestly, these are rather difficult suggestions for me to take to heart because 1) I’m really committed to writing every day for a year, and 2) I have a tough time giving myself a break.

Something’s gotta give, or I’m gonna.

That being said, I’m going to give it a try, at least the napping. I’d originally planned to read a hundred and fifty pages in a book today that’s due back at the library, but I’ve decided I’ll just check it back out instead. So that will give me time to nap, then maybe I could just watch a movie–something stupid–drink a beer, eat some ice cream. Maybe all of the above. Shit, something’s gotta give, or I’m gonna. As for writing a two-sentence blog, that’s obviously not going to happen today. I’m not sure if I can actually let myself go there. But I am about to wrap this up in less than 500 words ( and less than thirty minutes), and that’s pretty good for me. More than a decent compromise, I think. Now it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I can’t tell you how good this feels, to be done for now. And it’s okay, Marcus. Even the moon doesn’t shine every day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"That love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self."

All That Is Best and Broken (Blog #246)

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After eight months of solid blogging, I haven’t quite figured out how to “blog early.” (Perhaps this is not a surprise.) This morning I woke up at 11:30 and completed all my other daily routines (morning pages, chi kung, half a pot of coffee), and Bonnie and I have been shopping in Fayetteville ever since. My energy level is slightly better than yesterday, but now it’s 7:45, we’re at a dance in Northwest Arkansas that hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already worn out. Since the dance lasts for a while and then there’s the drive home, I’m trying to blog now while my brain is somewhat–somewhat–functional. I just can’t stay up late again to blog, at least until I feel better. I just can’t.

Great, that’s 125 words.

Oh wow, there’s a live band tonight–the Prairie Grove Jazz Band–and they just started warming up. It sounds like a bunch of toddlers who found the pots and pans. (I’m sure it will be much better when they’re actually playing a song.) Anyway, I wonder if I’ll be able to concentrate, keep a coherent train of thought going in between all the noise and the dances. Oh well–hang on–this could be a bumpy ride. AND the band just started. Much better, but loud. (YOU’LL HAVE TO TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.)

Oh my god, I just danced and am dying. Where did all the air go? Talk amongst yourselves.

The shopping objective today was to replace holiday decorations that Bonnie recently lost in a house flood. Anyway, we went to several stores and ended up with dozens of oversized tree ornaments, a holiday kitchen towel, and a Santa Claus that looks like St. Francis of Assisi that we’re calling St. Nicolaus of Assisi. Oh–and how could I forget?–we found two little statues–an owl and a squirrel–in fancy circus clothes and top hats! Who thinks of this stuff! Anyway, Bonnie’s gonna stick those suckers next to a little artificial pine tree, and it’s going to be so adorable you won’t be able to stand yourself.

Woodland critters in top hats for Christmas!

I told Bonnie that the best thing about today has been that not only have I gotten out of the house, but I’ve also gotten out of my head. I mean, if it hasn’t been obvious, I’ve spent a lot of time lately worrying about the state of my physical body. Why am I so tired? Am I ever going to feel well again? Maybe I should go ahead and pick out my headstone. This sort of thinking, of course, is exhausting (not to mention dramatic). Still, it’s hard to avoid when I have almost every minute of every day to myself with little else to do or think about. So whereas I think I need to take it easy, I’m reminding myself that I need to get out and be around other people–other people who will let me whine for about five minutes then shut me up with a margarita.

For lunch Bonnie shut me up with a margarita. Y’all, both of us have been on really healthy diets lately, Bonnie for nine weeks, me for four. But today we broke all the rules and had Mexican food. Wow, it was like reuniting with an old friend. I seriously felt like I owed the cheese an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t called lately–I’ve been cheating on you with spinach–I won’t let it happen again. Everything was so delicious; I probably gained five pounds from the chips alone. Of course, it feels like all my hard work just went straight down the drain, just like the flour tortillas went straight to my hips, but I realize that one meal is only one meal. Even even if it weren’t–it was totally worth it.

When we sat down at the restaurant, Bonnie surprised me with a birthday present. Granted, my birthday was over two months ago, but Bonnie made my present by hand, so it took her some time. Y’all, Bonnie knitted me some multi-colored wool socks–just in time for winter! I realize this is totally an old person thing to do, getting excited about socks. But these are homemade socks, and since my feet are always cold this time of year, warm socks really are the perfect thing. Plus, Bonnie designed the socks with a path down each side, sort of like a road, but it’s intentionally crooked and bumpy because Bonnie said that’s how life is.

Having lived for twenty-seven years now, I’d have to agree.

The card Bonnie gave me tonight had a quote by Oscar Wilde on it that said, “Be yourself–everyone else is taken.” Bonnie didn’t know it, but that quote is also used in the musical Kinky Boots–one of my favorites. So again, it was the perfect thing. Anyway, the quote makes me think about the importance of authenticity. I know we all wear masks and play different roles. Some of this, of course, is necessary in a polite society. You can’t tell everyone everything. But having spent plenty of time over the years trying to be someone I wasn’t (for example–straight, interested, or completely fine with bad behavior), I realize now I was mostly trying to be someone who didn’t even exist. Newsflash–there is no straight Marcus. There is no Marcus who’s okay when he’s cheated on. There is, however, a gay Marcus who sometimes falls apart and sometimes gets mad as hell.

Circuitous routes are where the healing happens.

Naturally, the road to authenticity is a crooked, bumpy path, just like recovering from an illness is a crooked, bumpy path. Being yourself, taking care of yourself, takes work. As my therapist says, it’s exhausting to always be the person setting boundaries and speaking your truth. So sometimes you wander as you figure things out. I think that’s okay. Nobody shows up to this life with a map in their hand, and even if we had one, I’m not sure we’d want to travel in a straight line. No, circuitous routes are better and more interesting. Circuitous routes are where the healing happens, since they let you double back and pick up the pieces of yourself you dropped along the way. This is what authenticity looks like, I think, the willingness to gather together all that is best and broken inside you and share it with someone else without apology, to face the world and say, “This is my winding road–this is MY winding road–and this is who I am.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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An Unbroken Chain (Blog #244)

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Currently it’s almost three in the morning, and I’d rather be reading. This afternoon I went for a walk, then started Turtles All the Way Down by John Green. It’s young adult fiction and just under three hundred pages, and I’m already two-thirds of the way through. Since I don’t get absolutely sucked into a book very often, I’d like nothing better than to curl up in this chair, immerse myself in story, and forget about the rest of the world until the last page has been turned. But, of course, I have this daily blog, so here I am–once again, world, it’s me–looking for meaning in the mundane, searching high and low for hope (come out, come out, wherever you are).

Honestly, I don’t know whose idea this was–trying to knock out a thousand-word blog every day for a year. A year–that’s been my goal for a while. I talked to my therapist about this recently and said that I didn’t know what I expected to happen after 365 days. Like, I don’t expect the sky to open up, for angels to descend with a bouquet of flowers, congratulations, and a check for a million dollars. Although that’d be nice–a parade would be nice. My therapist said, “Who knows? Once you hit a year, you may decide to keep going.”

Ugh, that sounds exhausting. But who knows?

Of course, writing every day for a year was my idea. But I don’t mind saying it’s not exactly easy pulling a thousand words and a life lesson out of my ass on days that, quite frankly, could easily be summed up like, “I went for a walk, I read a book.” Maybe another writer would make a day filled with those activities sound like a gripping adventure, but that’s not my style. Come on, waking up at three in the afternoon then taking a nap four hours later isn’t quite a-thrill-a-minute literature. And then I snored. And while I’m on the topic–why–why am I so tired anyway? I’m guess it could be the anti-histamine I took when I first woke up (which has been helpful), or maybe the fact that I was just sick for six weeks.

There’s an idea.

There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

I know that I have a tendency (just a teeny-weeny tendency) to underestimate what a big deal things are. Like, I think I can be sick for six weeks then reasonably expect my body to be able to run a marathon three days after it’s initiated recovery–instead of thinking, Wait a damn minute, my body has been through a lot lately. (And by lately I mean my entire life.) I don’t know if anyone else is like this, but I’m guessing I’m not alone here. We go, go, go and push, push, push then get frustrated when our bodies run out of gas. So I’m trying to remember–my body has been through a lot–I’ve been through a lot–there’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

Another area where I tend to underestimate things is this blog. Like, most the time I don’t think it’s remarkable that I’ve sat down to write and lay myself bare on a daily basis for the last eight months. But today I heard a quote about forming habits by the philosopher and psychologist William James that said, “Never suffer an exception to occur till the new habit is securely rooted in your life,” and I realized that’s exactly what I’m doing here–not suffering one exception. Sick or well, tired or full of energy, I’m writing. I honestly don’t know why it’s so important to me, why I’m more committed to this than I have been to anything else in my entire life. I mean, I don’t even floss every day. But I do know that if I skip even one day of writing before I get to a year that I’ll lose a lot of respect for myself.

The flip side of this equation, of course, is that by writing every day I’m building self-respect. I wouldn’t for a minute pretend that every word or blog I write is parade-worthy, but each is a piece of this giant puzzle, so each is ultimately important and valuable. From my perspective, there’s not a single night’s work that I’m not proud of because each is a link in this (so far) unbroken chain. So to anyone, including myself, who’s consistent about anything, please know–it’s a big deal, it’s remarkable, and it’s okay to be your own parade.

Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

I didn’t mean for this to turn into a pat-myself-on-the-back session, but I think it’s okay, especially considering all the years I’ve spent beating myself over the head. (Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.) I guess a lot of us beat ourselves up when we don’t have to. We make a big deal about what we can’t do and where we don’t measure up and refuse to acknowledge where we’re knocking it out of the damn park. Honestly–and I don’t mean for this to sound like whining–being human is hard. That’s just a fact. Our bodies and souls are under stress from day one, and it’s not like there’s a rule book that tells you what to do when the shit really hits the fan. As my friend Suzanne says, “Life is like getting pulled through a knothole backwards.” For these reasons, I really think anyone who bothers showing up on this planet is courageous, that it really is a big deal to go for a walk and keep putting one foot in front of the other, to do the best you can as one day links to the next like an unbroken chain.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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