Mario Kart and My Angry Liver (Blog #275)

Yesterday I drove to Oklahoma City to pick up my aunt from my cousin’s house. Everyone kept thanking me, but I absolutely loved it. First, I adore being on the road, especially in Tom Collins (my car). Second, when I got there, my cousin fed me dinner–homemade chicken dumplings. Talk about winning. Also, I got to relive part of my childhood by playing the latest version of Mario Kart with my cousin’s oldest son, Carter. (That’s his youngest son, Garrett, above.) Y’all, I distinctly felt ancient. When I was a kid, there were only eight characters to choose from on Mario Kart, but now there are like twenty-five or thirty. (A creature of habit, I chose Princess Toadstool.) Plus, now you can pick your race car, your tires, AND your parachute. (Apparently race cars need parachutes.) Not only that, there’s a new button on the controller that acts as a camera. Carter kept saying, “Take a picture, take a picture,” but I only have so many fingers, and it took every single one of them to simply punch the gas and keep my car on the road.

When did life get so difficult?

As I’ve mentioned before, for the last few weeks I’ve been trying all sorts of over-the-counter medications, vitamins, and herbal supplements to calm down my allergies and histamine-ridden body. Well, completely frustrated, I messaged a chiropractor friend of mine yesterday, who suggested a relatively inexpensive product to cleanse my liver. Since I trust this person and they’ve recommended miracle products before, I picked the product up this morning and just started using it. We’ll see what happens–I’m hopeful.

As I tend to obsess about potential problems, I’m also paranoid and have spent the last hour on the internet gathering all the information I could from every holistic and crackpot website out there about overtaxed livers and how to clean them, the whole time thinking, Are we really going down this road again, Marcus? (Yes. Yes we are.) Now I’ve convinced myself I’m most certainly dying, so I’ve made a mental list of things I need to do: 1) Drink dandelion and milk thistle tea, 2) Eat salads with olive oil, carrots, and beets, 3) Consider coffee and apple cider vinegar enemas, and 4) Stop being so gullible. This is the battle I always wage with health information I find online, sorting out the useful from the useless.  I mean, just because you have tan-colored poop, does it really mean your liver is “tired” or “angry”?

Are body organs even allowed to have emotions?

Another health problem I’ve had for over six months is a pain between my shoulder blades, a kind of tingling sensation that won’t go away. It started one day when I was swimming, and so far no one, including my two chiropractors and three massage therapists, have been able to figure it out. Well, while reading about dirty, upset, overwhelmed livers, I learned that mid-back pain often means you have a liver “issue.” I don’t know who discovers or comes up with this information, but considering I’ve tried everything except a liver cleanse to help my back to no avail, I’m inclined to believe it. It’s at least as good as any other explanation I’ve been given. Again, we’ll see what happens.

Part of the reason I’m writing about all this is that I’m trying to talk myself down off a ledge. I’m sure this isn’t a surprise, but I really do tend to overreact when it comes to personal health problems. I start thinking, Oh my god, my liver is under pressure. (Aren’t we all?) But seriously, I’m–I’m–toxic. Quick, I’ve got to do something–anything–before I turn green. The next thing I know, I’m handing all my money over to some pachouli-wearing hippy in a health food store who swears up and down they cured their fibromyalgia with a table lamp made out of Himalayan sea salt. “Stranger things have happened,” they say. Like that’s a reasonable argument for buying a product.

“Do you take Mastercard?” I usually reply.

Granted, I guess stranger things have happened. Hell, I recently knocked out a sinus infection by sniffing fermented kimchi juice up my nose. So it’s not like the internet isn’t helpful. But I’m really working on taking everything I read with a giant grain of Himalayan sea salt. Like, even if my liver does need some help, things obviously aren’t that bad. It’s not like my skin is turning gray or anything. Plus, maybe it’s possible to simply try one product at a time and see what works, rather than doing what I normally do, which is go from taking zero to two dozen supplements overnight. The shotgun vitamin approach. As my therapist says, “All things in moderation.”

I’m telling myself that I’m doing the best I can–my liver is doing the best it can–we’re all doing the best we can. Last night when I played Mario Kart, each race was crazy. There were turtle shells flying everywhere, banana peels all over the track, bad weather and lightning bolts left and right. Carter gave me about three seconds of instructions, then I just got dropped into the middle of it. To say the least, it was a damn mess. But this is how life is, one big, chaotic mystery. Something that works for you doesn’t work for me, and vice versa. No one has all the answers. So we get up each day and we do the best we can. We try to take it easy on ourselves and we try to have a good time. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we take a few pictures along the way.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

"

The Putting-Together Process (Blog #274)

It’s Friday after Christmas, and I was just sitting at this laptop twelve hours ago. Since eight of those hours were spent sleeping, I officially have very little to say. I realize this isn’t a good way to advertise what’s going on here, sort of like a department store putting a sign in the window that says, “Come on in–nothing’s on sale.” Still, it’s honest. I mean, what happens before noon? In my world, rarely anything. But today I’m blogging even earlier than normal because I’m going out-of-town later to pick up my aunt, who’s been visiting her three grandchildren for the holidays. “I’m ready to come home,” she said.

With any luck, this will be done in less than an hour.

Last night I dreamed I was driving through one of my favorite areas of town, which was filled with new construction. There were two and three-story buildings, all in the process of being built, for blocks and blocks. My therapist says that buildings represent your physical body and your life, so I assume this dream represents all the mental, emotional, and physical changes I’ve made over the last few years, most of which have kicked into high gear since I started the blog. Since the dream didn’t involve just one house but rather an entire neighborhood, I take that to mean that I’m quite literally rebuilding my entire world.

Later in the dream a friend gave me a business card that was like a puzzle, several pieces that fit together like a game. Since I think puzzles are fun and challenging, I think this means that I need to reshape the way I look at business, which I usually associate with being overwhelming and “serious.” It’s like my subconscious is saying, “Lighten up, Marcus. It’s just another game.”

Anytime I start a project, I look forward to it being completed. If I redecorate a room, I love seeing it finished, everything in place. I can stare at it for hours. So I keep thinking about those buildings in the dream. I want them to be done. But currently my sister is working on the puzzle we recently started, and I’m reminding myself that the fun part is actually the building process, the putting-together process. That feeling of finished satisfaction that I love only comes after all the hard work has been put in. So I’m also reminding myself that this time in my life is vitally important because it’s when I’m laying my foundation and constructing a solid structure. Looking around my parents’ house, I don’t see a single two-by-four. They’ve all been covered up with sheetrock, paint and family photos. But I know they’re there, holding everything up.

You can’t build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in.

This reminds me that you can’t build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in. Rather, if you want something that’s going to last, you have to start on the inside and work your way out, no matter how long it takes and how difficult it is. In my experience, this is a long and boring process. And because you’re working on the parts that few people see or appreciate, it’s often a lonely process. So you’ve really got to believe in yourself and what you’re doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that’s so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm. This is challenging, of course–it’s meant to be challenging. But, like a puzzle, it’s also meant to be fun, something you have all the time in the world to work on and comes together one piece at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

"

This Hazy, Gray Fog (#272)

Last night I took two Benadryl to calm down my allergies and slept like a dream. Now it’s one-thirty in the afternoon, and I think the pills are still in my system. It’s like I’m in a fog, the world is kind of hazy. I actually like it. First, my sinuses are dryer, and my skin is less itchy. Second, although I’m sure there are a number of physical and emotional problems I could currently worry about, I can’t focus enough to remember what they are. I keep thinking, Eff allergies. Life is good. Que sera, sera. Y’all, those little pink pills are great–they’re like alcohol without the calories.

Of course, the fact that I can’t focus isn’t doing much for today’s blog, but you can’t win them all.

Yesterday I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house. One of their sons is getting married. (Thus the dance lesson.) Anyway, when the dancing ended, we all sat around, visited, and were generally entertained by their two younger boys. I guess for Christmas the kids got a bunch of stilts, the bucket kind where you basically stand on upside-down plastic cups that stay pressed against your feet by virtue of long strings you hold in your hands. Well, there may have been whiskey involved, and before long I and some of the other adults were running around the living room with the kids, except we were hunched over because the strings were sized for toddlers and young children and not for those of us old enough to have our chiropractor on speed dial.

“This isn’t good for my lower back,” I said.

Later the boys put all the cups together and hid candy under them. Then the adults had to guess where the candy was. Y’all, I’m terrible at this sort of thing. After ten rounds, I think I walked away with two peppermints, one of which was a sympathy win. No wonder I always end up in the slow line at the grocery store and pick the wrong people to date. Whatever you do, don’t let me go to Las Vegas. Stick to blogging, Marcus. Stick to blogging.

This morning my older nephew led me in a game of treasure hunt in which he left notes or clues that led me from one location in the house to another. First I was at the refrigerator, then under one of the beds, then on the couch, and so on. This is really creative, I thought. Well, the final destination was my mom’s bathroom, where my nephew was waiting. And get this–the “treasure” I received was getting squirted in the face with a water bottle. I was dripping. My nephew couldn’t stop laughing. “He’s been reading a lot about practical jokes,” my sister said.

“Lucky me,” I replied.

Last night I started to get wrapped up in my current histamine reaction, falling down the rabbit hole of worrying and thinking, What am I going to do? But then I took a deep breath and spent a few minutes remembering all the longstanding problems my body has solved over the years, most of which it did without my help. Well, in short order, I had an entire list–warts that lasted a year, body odor that lasted at least six months, skin rashes, infections, flu viruses that dragged on and on–all things that are currently over. This is something I plan to do for at least the next week or two, make an effort to recognize the times my body has come through and won the day. Since God knows I’ve spent plenty of time pointing out my body’s failures lately, I think it’s only fair to balance the scales.

My therapist says that life isn’t black and white, but rather “a lot of gray.” My this-or-that, all-or-nothing brain doesn’t love this idea, but it seems to be correct. The truth is that just as I don’t win games all the time, I don’t lose games ALL the time either. Sure, sometimes I end up with water on my face, but, more often than not, I’m perfectly dry, nothing to complain about. Likewise, I’ve had my share of health problems, but probably no more than average. What’s more, my body has proved itself capable of restoring order on more than one occasion. I guess this is another way of talking about balance, being able to see that you win some and you lose some and that life isn’t one thing or the other. Instead, like my world on antihistamines, life itself seems to be a fog, this hazy, gray thing that creeps along, touches everything, and leaves nothing out.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

Looking at the Next Hundred Days (Blog #265)

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. As I’ve said before, I’m not a doctor. Still, that doesn’t keep me from guessing. Last night my body temperature was up and down, so I thought I might have the flu. But this morning I stuck a thermometer in my mouth, and I definitely don’t have a fever. Plus, I feel bad, but I don’t feel THAT bad. Currently I’m trying to figure out if I feel jittery because of whatever this is or because of the medication I’m taking. The more I think about it, the more I get overwhelmed.

Let’s talk about something else, shall we?

A couple days ago the phrase “stop scrolling” came up while blogging, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. Every time I pick up my phone and look at social media, it’s all I can hear. Stop scrolling. So whereas I’ve still been checking my phone for notifications, I haven’t been mindlessly scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. At the most, I’ve checked out the top four or five posts in my news feed, but that’s it. Part of me thinks, What if I’m missing out on something? But another part of me thinks, Wasn’t my life just fine before Facebook?

So far, I like “less news feed” better. I can’t think of a single recent post that’s given me a bad day, yet I often walk away from social media feeling slightly heavy, worse than I did before. I assume this is cumulative effect, a little bad news here, a little bad news there, a little comparing myself to others everywhere. Lately signing into Facebook or Instagram has felt like walking into a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese–music, videos, games, noises everywhere, everyone running around clamoring for attention. Look at me! Look at my cat! I have a sinus infection! I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this or that I haven’t fully participated in every bit of it for a long, long time–I’m just saying–it’s a lot to take in day after day after day.

I’ve heard that the average person today processes more information in a week than our ancestors did in a lifetime. Or something like that–I really don’t know what the statistic was. But the point is, we’re on information overload, and our brains and bodies simply weren’t meant to handle it all. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so sick lately–not because I’ve been on Facebook too much, but because my body isn’t able to handle all the current stressors in my life. Clearly, it isn’t. As someone who likes to push, push, push, I don’t like this feedback, but I am trying to listen to it by putting down my phone, taking it easier during the day, sleeping more at night.

Today’s blog is number 265. That’s 265 days in a row of writing, notable because my goal is a year, and that leaves me with 100 days to go. Part of me feels like giving it up even today, like, What am I really doing here? On days that I don’t feel well, it’s especially difficult to imagine that this project is going anywhere or benefiting anyone other than my credit card company. Another part of me is really proud of myself for sticking this out regardless of how it’s received. That part of me thinks that 100 days is a piece of cake, the homestretch, the place where the magic will happen.

In truth, I know the magic has already happened. This project has changed me for the better. Me and My Therapist is the place I’ve found myself over and over again, the place I’ve learned to listen to the still, small voice inside me. (Incidentally, listening to that voice is difficult to do while scrolling.) Honestly, this blog is like home for me, the place I get to be myself. This is the place where I laugh at my own jokes, cry on the keyboard, and get honest. Sometimes that honesty looks like setting boundaries, expressing gratitude, or talking about what my therapist said recently. Other times that honestly looks like saying, “I feel like crap and am tired of trying so hard.” Either way, what you see here is real, at least as real as I know how to be.

This is all I can promise for the next hundred days. I can’t promise I’ll feel better or worse than I do in this moment, I can’t promise whether or not I’ll stick to my commitment to spend less time on social media, and I can’t promise I’ll be consistently funny or profound in my writing. But I can promise honesty about what’s going on inside. For anyone who’s interested, that’s one thing I can do.

And that’s the best blog ending I have at the moment–honestly.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

"

The Steady Source of Heat Within (Blog #263)

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)

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

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

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)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

"

 

 

I’ll Take the Slow Grind (Blog #256)

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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You have everything you need.

"

A Little Disruption, Please (Blog #254)

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)

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

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

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)

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All things are moving as they should.

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

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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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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