A Different, Kinder Tale (Blog #397)

Today was an easy day. Day ten on Autoimmune Paleo, I’ve fallen into a routine. A boring, bland, void-of-chocolate-cake-and-all-things-worth-living-for routine, but a routine nonetheless, one that looks like cooking, eating, cleaning up, then doing it all over again. All this, of course, when I wasn’t sneezing today. I don’t know who came up with the idea of sneezing. Granted, it’s a fabulous way to expel unwanted particles from a person’s nose, but it’s just so violent and gross. Last night while typing, I sneezed into my shirt to keep from blowing mucus all over the blog (you’re welcome) and ended up shooting snot into my formerly white tee.

Disgusting.

Burdened by allergies, I took a nap this afternoon. Then I woke up, cleaned up, and hurried out the door to teach a dance lesson at a student’s house. This is how I typically live my life, filling up every minute with something, rushing from one thing to the next. But I guess the universe has been trying to slow me down this last year, changing my routine, sprinkling illnesses and allergies here, there, and everywhere, forcing me to put the brakes on. Take a nap. Slow the eff down, Marcus.

And yet I’m slow to get the message. I spend all day thinking about what I “should” be doing, work that “could” be done. Tonight I showed up to my dance lesson thirty minutes early because I didn’t double-check my calendar and thought, Crap, I could have gotten some work done, even slept longer. But it turned out to be the best thing–my student has a dog that LOVES me, and she (the dog) gave me the biggest hug when I got there. Two legs wrapped around my waist, she wouldn’t let go. Then I sat down on the couch, and I had her on one side and another dog (pictured above) on the other, both cuddling up and wanting attention.

I was smitten. I actually relaxed (briefly).

This afternoon I finished reading a book by Chis Van Allsburg called The Chronicles of Harris Burdick. One of the most magical books I’ve read in a long time, it requires a bit of a backstory. Harris Burdick, I guess, was a real person, who showed up one day in the office of a book publisher with fourteen beautiful illustrations, each with a title and a caption, and most of them mysterious. One showed a frightened man in his living room. The man’s holding a chair above his head, looking at a large lump under the carpet. The caption says, “Two weeks passed and it happened again.” (Good, right?) Anyway, Mr. Burdick said if the publisher was interested, he’d return the next day with more illustrations and the stories that went with them. The publisher said that indeed, he was interested, so Mr. Burdick left the illustrations in the man’s office.

But he never–ever–returned.

Fast forward a little, and the publisher and Mr. Van Allsburg (who wrote Jumanji and The Polar Express, by the way) published the illustrations in a work called The Mysteries of Harris Burdick in hopes that the author would come forward. But he didn’t. However, the drawings were so provocative that children and adults have been creating their own stories around the images and captions since they were first made public in 1984. Then in 2011 came the book I finished reading today, in which fourteen best-selling authors (like Kate DiCamillo, Lois Lowry, and Stephen King) each take an illustration and caption and spin a magical tale from them. It’s glorious.

As much as I enjoyed the stories in the book today, I couldn’t help but think that in most (if not all) cases, had I been the author, my stories would have been completely different. I’ve been thinking about this a lot today, the notion that two people can look at the same thing, and their brains can go in totally different directions. And who’s to say that one person’s story is better or “more right” than another’s, especially when it’s impossible to know what The True Author intended? I look at my life and think I need to speed up, that I need to be doing more. My therapist looks at my life and says, “Slow down. Take it easy. One day you’ll be so busy you won’t be able to.” Honestly, I like her story better than mine, so I really am trying–to slow down, take it easy, relax, nap.

Nothing is set in stone here.

We look in the mirror and are convinced that the picture we see is the picture the world sees. And yet this hasn’t been my experience. Time and time again my therapist has mirrored back to me a self that’s kinder, stronger, and more talented than I’ve ever given myself credit for. I assume this is true for most of us. We downplay our strengths, cut ourselves short, and refuse to give ourselves slack even when we’re doing the very best we can (damn it). What’s more, we imagine our endings to be one way for so long that no one can convince us it could be otherwise. But I’m learning that we can rewrite our stories. We can tell ourselves a different, kinder tale, one where we are the hero and everything turns out maybe not perfect, but all right and better than before. And who’s to say it can’t come true? I’m honestly coming to believe this, that we can change our endings if we want to, that nothing is set in stone here.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

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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We don’t get to boss life around.

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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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The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And whereas it's just a single step, it's a really important one.

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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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Normal people don’t walk on water.

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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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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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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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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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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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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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Walking Through the Woods (Blog #347)

This afternoon I saw my new dermatologist (my old one stopped accepting my insurance), and I showed up with a list of problems. Eight, to be exact. I’ll spare you the details, but the doctor listened then answered my questions one-by-one. Always overly worked-up about any health concern, I half-expected him to say, “It’s hopeless–you’re a leper,” but he didn’t. As a matter of fact, he acted as if he’d seen it all before, which I suppose he has. Anyway, he said I should keep an eye on a small cyst, recommended I use different powder to keep my skin dry, and cauterized some broken blood vessels on my face (ouch). Then he said, “As for your moles, don’t grow any more. There–another problem solved.”

When I left the dermatologist’s office, I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get a duplicate registration for my antique car. (I lost my old registration.) According to the “take a number” number I took when I walked in, there were forty people ahead of me. Since there were a hundred the last time I stopped by, I decided to stay.

Y’all, I seriously think the DMV was modeled after one of Dante’s Circles of Hell. It’s not cute to look at, the lighting is terrible, and the chairs are uncomfortable. (Clearly a gay man was not involved in the design process.) Additionally, everyone who goes there has to wait, and yet there aren’t any magazines to look at, nor is there any coffee to drink. Even the place where I get my oil changed has coffee! The people who work at the DMV call out numbers one-by-one, but if you don’t jump straight up like a jackrabbit when it’s your turn, they skip right over you. (Three-thousand and forty-six!) It’s worse than bingo at the Methodist church. And when they do call your number, it’s not like you get to ride Space Mountain or anything fun as a reward for all your time in line. Nope–you get to hand them money.

What a racket.

My standards have, quite frankly, plummeted as of late.

After it was all said and done, I think I spent about forty-five minutes at the DMV today, and the replacement registration only cost me a dollar. So life could be worse. (Could it, Marcus?) Afterwards, I went to Walmart to pick up the powder the dermatologist recommended. Y’all, I was so excited because the doctor gave me a coupon–two whole dollars off! I would normally shudder to use a coupon, but my standards have, quite frankly, plummeted as of late. So I found the powder, pulled out my coupon, and got in line. (Again, with the waiting.) Well, I immediately got pissed off because the cashier started talking to the customer in front of me about her brother-in-law, who recently had a stroke. She went on and on about it, then told the customer, “Have a blessed day.”

Okay. I’m not TRYING to be a complete dick here. I’m sorry this lady and her family have problems. I get it–I’ve got problems to. (I write a blog about them.) But as a former business owner, I just don’t think it’s appropriate to verbally vomit on your customers. All right–so this was the mood I was in–a little irritated–and then it was my turn to check out. Handing the lady the powder, I proudly presented my coupon. Well, shit. She said it was expired. Realizing I hadn’t even bothered to look at the print on the back, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Okay.” But then she held the coupon in my face and recited the expiration date to me. “Twelve, thirty-one, two-thousand-seventeen.”

I said, “I believe you.”

Waving the coupon around as if she were swatting at flies, she replied, “Sometimes they print them really small, but this clearly says it expired a few months ago.”

I said, “I believe you.”

Oh my gosh, I was so mad. Like, let it go, lady. (Let it go, Marcus.)

After this disconcerting encounter, I saw my therapist. For a while we discussed my health and how I’ve felt so beat-down, kicked-around, and worn-out lately. My therapist said, “I’m not a medical doctor, but I think you’re going to outlive all of us. This is a difficult patch for you, but I really believe you’re going to come through it.” Then she said, “We’ve entered a new part of the woods in your warrior training. (She’s never referred to our sessions as “warrior training” until today–GRRR!) This is the part where you have to keep believing in yourself no matter how difficult things get.”

Y’all, I hate this part.

Later my therapist and I (the grammar nerd in me almost called the blog, My Therapist and I) discussed my upcoming blog birthday. Today’s blog is number 347, so that means that in less than three weeks, I will have met my original goal–one year–365 days in a row of writing. I can’t tell you how much this stresses me out. Granted, on one hand, I’m getting excited. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished here and intend to celebrate. On the other hand, I’m terrified because I don’t know what to do next. Do I keep blogging or do I quit and work on other projects? If I keep blogging, do I change topics–do I change blogs? These are questions I ask myself.

This evening I’ve been feeling “all the pressure.” When I got home earlier, I noticed a red patch of skin that must have “flared up” after I left the dermatologist office, so I’ve been freaking out about it. What if something is horribly wrong? Also, I’ve been thinking that I’ve “got” to figure out the blog. My therapist and I discussed the possibility of my adding a donation page for those who would like to support me and this project (something I’ve been hesitant to do), and I’ve been worried about making “the right” decision.

Honestly, I’m overwhelmed. Life has been a lot to handle for quite a while now, and my plate is full. (Did you hear that, Lord? My plate is full. F-U-L-L, full.) I know this is why I’m irritated by every little thing and am overly concerned that something else, even something small, will go “wrong.” This last weekend I was at a coffee shop, and a little kid came out of the bathroom and was trying to open the door to go outside. Just a toddler, he was leaning on it with his entire body. Looking at me, he said, “I’m not strong enough to open it.” This is what life feels like for me lately, like I’m doing every damn thing I can here, and doors still aren’t opening.

We all walk through the woods together.

Yes, I did help the little kid open the door. And since then, I really have been working on coming around to the idea of letting others help and not trying to do everything myself. Today my dermatologist said, “Call us if things get out of hand.” (Uh, sir, things got out of hand a long time ago.) I know my therapist is there if I need her. I still haven’t settled everything from the car accident I was in last year, and tonight I had two attorney friends say, “Let us know when you want us to step in. We do this all the time.” This is really good for me to remember, that I’m not alone in all this, that just because I’m struggling doesn’t mean I’m struggling alone. We all walk through the woods together.

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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Magnificent (Blog #342)

It’s one in the morning, and I technically started blogging almost two hours ago. That is, I inserted the above picture then quickly got distracted by YouTube videos about Walt Disney. Last night I watched a Netflix movie about him, and at the end of the film he’s quoted as saying, “You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.” So that’s where the distraction started–I wanted to see if he actually said it (he did).

Since one thing led to another, I now know more about Walt (he preferred first names) and Disney World than I ever wanted to. Like cast members (their term for employees) have to use two fingers or their whole hand to point, since using only one finger to point is considered rude in some countries. And some of their restaurants have machines that pump the smell of tasty food out into the streets in order to lure customers in and buy, say, cinnamon rolls.

Well, shit. Now I’m hungry.

Anyway, this is how I’ve been distracting myself the last twenty-four hours, with movies and YouTube videos. Before I went to bed last night I took my temperature, and it was 101. It was back to normal this morning, but I’m pretty sure I’m dealing with the flu here. Again. Potentially a less dramatic strain than last time (just a few weeks ago), since my body hasn’t been too achy. Still, I’m full of mucus, my energy is shot, and my neck is stiff as a board. I spoke to my therapist today in order to confirm my next appointment and told her I was seriously sick and tired of this nonsense. She said, “As well you should be.”

Earlier today I re-watched the movie What About Bob? If you haven’t watched it, you should. It’s about a germaphobe named Bob who gets a new therapist then immediately cons his way into being part of the therapist’s family vacation. The therapist keeps saying, “This is not appropriate,” and “The therapist-patient relationship is built on trust, and you destroy that when you lie to me.” But Bob can’t help himself. Despite his therapist’s objections and–much like a nasty flu virus–he keeps coming back.

This afternoon I got the results of my latest bloodwork. I’m clearly not a doctor, but I think they were good. Not a single thing that was tested was out of range. On one hand, I guess it’s nice to know that I’m “normal.” Nothing appears to be glaringly wrong. But on the other hand, I was kind of hoping for something–anything–to be out of range, since I’d like an explanation for why I’ve felt so bad for so long. Again, I don’t know what the numbers mean. Recently my B12 levels tested as in range, and later my doctor said that they were actually low for someone my age. So it could be something like that.

Since my doctor has a patient portal system used to ask her questions, I sent her a message to find out more about the bloodwork. But, y’all, I’m starting to feel like Bob in What About Bob? When I logged into the patient portal system, it showed like eight messages I’ve sent since becoming a patient (eight weeks ago). Granted, I’m not knocking on my physician’s door but I feel like I’m becoming THAT guy. Part of me thinks I’m being a bother, but another part of me thinks, I’m dying over here–it’s okay to ask for help (and I’ll be glad to stop when I freaking feel better.) So I keep sending messages, and they (the doctor and her nurse) keep replying.

In other news, Dad came home from the hospital today. I said yesterday that they’d put three stints in him, but apparently it was five. Three new ones and two to replace or “beef up” the two old ones. He said the last time he had stints put in, he came home feeling like a new man. Today he said, “I do not feel like a new man.” I think this means that they are still figuring things out, adjusting his medications, scheduling follow-up appointments. Another movie I watched today (that was about a Pakistani stand-up comedian who falls in love with a white girl) was called The Big Sick. (It was slow to start but surprisingly delightful.) Anyway, I’m thinking of using this phrase to refer to our household and this time in our lives–The Big Sick.

You’ve got to believe that things can turn around.

My therapist says that I’m too bitter to die young. “Only tender, precious people die young,” she says. “So don’t worry. Your time’s not up yet.” I’m not sure if any of this is true, but it does make me smile. It does give me hope. I guess Walt Disney worked for nine or ten years as a struggling animator before he came up with Mickey Mouse. Like, it was bad. He was broke. He couldn’t pay his employees. He got evicted from his apartment and his office. His dad told him to get “a real job.” I guess the lesson is that when life does kick you in the teeth, you’ve got to hold on. You’ve got to believe in yourself and even in life, the thing that’s doing the kicking. You’ve got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations–perhaps only difficult situations–can turn you into something magnificent.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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The Place Where Quantum Leaps Occur (Blog #339)

This afternoon I read about fifty pages in a book called Reality Is Not What It Seems by Carlo Rovelli. The book is about quantum physics, and I stopped reading it (for now) when my brain melted and ran out of my ears. Seriously, the book is well-written, but the subject matter (get it–physics–matter?) is dense.

Apparently, part of quantum theory states that electrons orbiting an atom can change orbits, much like if you were orbiting the sun on Earth then suddenly found yourself orbiting the sun on Saturn. But here’s the deal–electrons don’t take a bus, or even a straight or curved line to get from one orbit to another. They’re just in one place and then the next. This phenomenon is what’s properly called a “quantum leap.” (And here I thought “quantum leap” was a television show starring Scott Bakula.)

Holy atomic hopscotch, Batman.

One of the big names in quantum theory is a guy named Werner Heisenberg. He’s dead now but was the one who came up with the idea that in between being at one point and another, an electron is “nowhere.” He formulated this theory one night while in a dark parking lot. There were a few street lamps around, and he saw a man walking across the pavement. He could see the man under one lamp and then the next, but not in between them. Of course, he imagined the man’s trajectory in the dark spaces, but it was as if the man simply disappeared then reappeared elsewhere. So Heisenberg thought, What if subatomic particles behaved like that?

Well, it turns out they do. Crazy, right?

Recently I asked my therapist for her opinion about a psychology book I’d just finished reading. Rather than give me a direct answer, she said, “Let me ask you a question. Do you think I’m more competent than you are–at life?”

“Well,” I kind of sputtered, “No. I don’t actually.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you can see reality.”

My therapist went on to say that in terms of her profession, she obviously has a specific set of skills that I don’t, just like I have a specific set of skills that she doesn’t when it comes to dancing. So in these aspects, perhaps one of us is more competent than the other. Sometimes one person “knows” more than the next. But my therapist’s point was that when it comes to handling life in general, she and I equal. I said, “My only hesitation in answering earlier was that at one time I would have said you were more competent at life than I was.”

Y’all, I can’t say when this change in my thinking took place, I just know that it did. At one time I thought anyone who was smarter, richer, more talented, or better looking than me was better than me overall. But now–I’m glad to say–that thinking seems utterly ridiculous. This shift in perspective is so great, in fact, that I feel like an electron that’s made a quantum leap. It’s as if I’ve suddenly jumped from one orbit, one way of being in the world, to another. Quite literally, I’m on a different path. When I think about Heisenberg’s parking lot/street lamp story, it really does feel as if I used to be “there,” then I was “nowhere,” and now I’m “here.”

(I don’t know what my deal with quotation marks is tonight.)

Granted, I realize this isn’t how the changes in our lives and thought processes actually occur. Presto, change-o. Despite the fact that I can remember one point of light in my life and compare it to another, current point of light in my life and feel as if I’ve made a quantum leap, I can also remember walking through the dark in order to get from where I was to where I am now. But I can’t say when the shift actually happened. I’m glad I did, but I can’t say when exactly I stepped into this current point of light.

This is the beauty of walking through the dark.

If you want my honest opinion, some days I think I’m still walking through the dark. I mean, life has been a real bitch lately. As an episode of Breaking Bad points out, sometimes you’re looking for a light at the end of the tunnel, and all you get is more tunnel. Maybe it’s possible to be in the light and in the dark at the same time. Going back to quantum theory, there’s something called indeterminancy. Inderterminancy states that when, say, an electron does move from one point to another, it doesn’t follow a predictable path. In fact, it behaves as if it were following all possible paths. (Wrap your head around that.) But the point is that when an electron is in between points, when it’s “nowhere,” you don’t “know where” it’s going to end up next. So perhaps this is the beauty of walking through the dark, of those times in our lives when it feels as if we too are nowhere. Nowhere, it turns out, isn’t a bad place to be. Rather, it’s the place where quantum leaps occur, the place where changes can happen in an instant, the place where all possible outcomes are exactly that–possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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