A Cedar Inside a Seed (Blog #726)

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

She remembered.

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

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

That I have everything I need and always have.

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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

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

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

And drink a juice box.

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

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

No, not at the same time.

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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On One’s Value and Worth (Blog #721)

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All emotions are useful.

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An Abundantly Good Day (Blog #719)

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

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

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

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

Our imperfections make us relatable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes life can really kick you in the balls and make you drop to your knees.

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On Nothing Happening Today (Blog #717)

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This evening my dad and I went to the gym then stopped to pick up supper–sub sandwiches. When we got home, I asked my mom, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” I replied. “NOTHING happened while we were gone?”

This is a game we play sometimes, me and my family. Obviously, SOMETHING happened. Something came on the television, the dog barked, the toilet flushed. Maybe nothing remarkable happened, but something happened. I’m sure of it. Something, after all, is always happening. Still, when I sat down to blog I thought, I don’t know what to say. NOTHING happened today.

This afternoon my dad, in his own words, got “a burr up his butt” and did some yard work. That is, he saw our neighbor trimming their bushes and thought he should too. So he trimmed our crepe myrtle, which needed it; it was beginning to look like something out of The Addams Family, overgrown and full of horror. Then Dad said, “Maybe in the next day or two we can bundle up the branches and haul them off.”

“Let’s just do it right now,” I said. (I don’t know what came over me.)

So that’s what we did. Well, you know how one thing leads to another. The next thing I knew we were on the side of the house (the crepe myrtle is in the front) pulling up privet and dead hydrangea bushes, which I thought looked like Medusa’s head. Then our other neighbor, who works for the city, came over and said if we’d pile everything up by the side of the road, he’d haul it off.

“You won’t pick it up right here?” Dad said.

Y’all, we filled three fifty-five gallon trash bags full of yard debris. Plus, there were the crepe myrtle remains, which I’d tied together with rope. No kidding, I did so much manual labor, I actually broke a sweat. (I’m sure Dad did too.) And whereas that may sound like a complaint, it’s not. For one thing, because of my knee injury, I haven’t been able to break a sweat in months. But today I did! (I’m not saying I smelled great.) For another, the sun was hot enough FOR me to break a sweat. Spring is literally days away. Praise Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Bye, winter! Don’t let the equinox hit cha where the good lord split cha.

Two weeks from yesterday will mark two full years of daily blogging. That will be 730 posts (tonight’s is #717). Recently I’ve been going back and re-reading all my entries. I’m currently at #38. And whereas I’m often critical of my work, I haven’t been. Sure, there are things I’d do differently now, but I’ve actually been enjoying what I created–the funny moments, the tender moments, the honest moments. Indeed, I thought one of my least favorite posts was #19, but when I re-read it, I found plenty to enjoy and be proud of. Was it my best work? No, but what I did in our front yard today wasn’t my best work either, but it was still worthwhile, still an improvement over doing NOTHING.

This is something I’ve learned over the last two years. Often I’ll think, I have NOTHING to say, but if I take time to sit down and write, SOMETHING good will happen, SOMETHING good will come out, even if it’s one simple phrase, one clever joke. Plus, there’s the discipline itself, the act of practicing. And even if you’re not in love with your work, you never know what will speak to someone else. Hell, Emily Dickinson wanted her work destroyed. I can only assume she thought it wasn’t anything remarkable. But look at what the world got. Geez. Artists are such self-critical hard-asses.

Lately I’ve been reading about attention and the idea that we often hyper-focus on whatever we’re doing–raking leaves out of a flower garden, let’s say–but that we have the ability to tune into everything that’s going on around us. For example, this afternoon while working in the yard, I not only noticed what I was doing, but also noticed the sound of cars driving by, the feel of sweat on my skin, the sensation of my feet on the ground, and the smell of the moist dirt. My point, again, is that SOMETHING is always happening. And not that you have to recount every damn detail of your life whenever someone asks you what you did yesterday, but I think it’s important to remember–

So much is constantly happening that it would be impossible to recount.

My therapist says the important work we do is the work that nobody notices. For example, I’ve spent a lot of time these last five years working on my interior, cleaning up the past, connecting with my heart, and creating healthy boundaries. And whereas none of this has paid my bills or kept me warm at night, it has made me a better human. However, because I’m so focused on being productive–teaching dance, cleaning the yard, working out–that on days when I don’t do those things and instead stay home and watch Netflix, I too often say, “Nothing happened; I didn’t DO anything today.” But what about the fact that I was more patient with myself on Monday, more patient with a stranger on Tuesday?

Isn’t that something? Isn’t that remarkable?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Bodies are so mysterious, much more complicated than car doors. They take more patience to understand and work with. They require more than a couple hours to repair.

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I Like This Person (Blog #713)

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Well crap. Yesterday I said my sinuses were on the upswing, but I apparently spoke too soon. I hate it when that happens. This morning I woke up hot, and although I don’t have a fever, I’ve felt crummy all day, low energy. Now it’s six in the evening, and I’m trying my level best to get all my “chores” finished so that I can take a nap and not have to worry about doing anything when I wake up. I’m hoping a nap will help, but sometimes sleep is the worst, especially with sinus problems. It’s just a matter of gravity. Everything runs to your head.

Ick.

I’ve spent the afternoon trying all my home remedies. I thought the kimchi I’ve been using was helping, but it’s possible that it’s out of date and no longer contains the bacteria I need. But working from the wisdom of “there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” I’ve been taking a few other supplements, as well as drinking a lot of fluids. And whereas part of me is terrified and thinks I’m going to end up being sick for months like I was last year, another part of me is rational and thinks, Just give it a few days before you start freaking out. A lot can happen in a few days.

Yeah, that first part of me responds, you could get the flu, like that friend of yours got. Remember her? You were standing right beside each other!

Let’s talk about something else before I scare myself to death.

Earlier this week I began the long process of going back and re-reading all my blog posts. And whereas I initially read them in random order, last night I went back and started from post number one. Oh my gosh, y’all, I completely spilled my guts. After decades of being silent or indirect about my sexuality and almost everything else in my personal life, I just put it out there. You can read it for yourself, but I basically said, “I’m here, I’m queer, and I like waffles.” Reading the post last night, I thought, Well, that was brave. Recently when I was being hard on myself for not having a real job “like everybody else,” my therapist said, “If you were looking objectively at yourself from the outside, what would you say?” I paused then replied, “I’d say I really admire that person for following his dream. He’s got a lot of balls.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

Being courageous means taking action despite being afraid.

I don’t mean to toot my own horn–look how brave I am! But reading my first post and answering my therapist’s question really did come as a shock to me. I spend so much time worrying and being afraid, about my health and life in general, that I rarely if ever stop to consider that I am simultaneously being courageous. Because I do think fear and courage can exist at the same time. Indeed, one must first be fearful before they can be courageous. This is why no one ever says they courageously put their shoes on. Who’s afraid of putting on their shoes? No, being courageous means taking action despite being afraid.

After I read my first post, I read several others. Posts two through nine to be specific. For the most part, this was like looking through an old scrapbook. I thought, Oh yeah, I remember that. I laughed, I cried, I noticed a few typos. I did not, however, get self-critical, as I often do when, for example, looking back at old dance videos. Rather, I thought, I’m proud of this.

Later, while hanging up laundry, another thought popped into my head. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it was like I was thinking about myself as if I were someone else, from an objective viewpoint like my therapist suggested. Anyway, I thought, I like this person.

I like this person because he’s brave.
I like this person because he’s smart.
I like this person because he’s funny. (I’m pretty funny.)
I like this person because he’s a handsome devil.

But seriously. I like this person. This really was a big deal. Not a revelation, per say, but a significant acknowledgment. I like me. Not that I DISLIKED myself before last night, but I’ve spent a lot of time disliking certain things about myself (from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet), and that’s essentially the same thing. So it was an important reminder that I actually like and enjoy a million things about me, regardless of how healthy or sick I am, regardless of how big my waistline is. Now I’m reminding myself that whenever I’m being self-critical I’m talking about somebody I like, somebody I care about–and that’s not okay.

So knock it off, me

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

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The Slow Grow (Blog #712)

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Things that happened today–

1. I felt better

After two days of feeling crummy, this morning I woke up feeling normal. I credit the miracle probiotic (L. Sakei), which is found in kimchi (or sold online as a powder) and that I started using yesterday. I know it’s weird, swabbing the inside of my nostrils with fermented cabbage juice, but in twenty years of dealing with sinus infections, it’s the only thing I’ve found that reliably works. So who cares if it’s weird? I’m grateful for it. Not only has this little critter (probiotics are living creatures, after all) solved my sinus problems, it’s also given me a great deal of hope. That is, I’ve been reminded that even longstanding problems can–one day–be solved.

2. I saw my therapist

This morning I saw my therapist and–because I was curious–asked her about something I heard on a podcast recently. The podcast was about a poker player who was really good at what he did. That is, he could read people. Consequently, he’d come to the conclusion that most people were shitty. So I asked my therapist, “You’ve got a good gut. You can read people. What do you think about humanity?”

My therapist said, “I think most people take the easiest way forward and choose to not really take a look at themselves or their maladaptive patterns. Unfortunately, social media and western culture give people every bit of encouragement to indulge their worst behaviors. But I have hope in general that people are capable of change and growth.” Then she paused and added, “And all that shit is hard to do.”

3. I spent time with my family

After therapy, I picked my aunt up, who’d been out-of-town visiting two of our extended family members that I personally hadn’t seen until today in probably fifteen years. Anyway, the four of us met to eat and catch up. Oh my gosh, y’all, one of my relatives (whom I call an aunt but is technically a cousin twice removed) said I sound like my grandpa when I laugh. Talk about making my day. My grandpa’s no longer alive, but it was the perfect reminder that some things, certain connections and relationships, go beyond life and death.

4. I got stuff done before the sun went down

After I dropped my aunt off at her house, I came home and started being productive doing laundry. Then I sat down to do this blog. Now I’m almost finished, and there’s still a little light outside. This almost never happens. Usually I don’t get started working until late at night, and then it’s go-go-go. And whereas I’m okay with this pattern, my body often falls into bed completely exhausted. So perhaps tonight I can adopt a more leisurely pace and get stuff done without crashing later. More and more, I’m learning there’s no reason to wear yourself out. You can take your time and still make progress. My therapist calls this “the slow grow.”

5. I learned a new saying

While my aunt and I were driving home this afternoon, she said something I’ve never heard before, that life’s pretty good if you don’t weaken. To me this means that life is amazing. It’s filled with long-waited-for relief, kindness, laughter, and connections that last beyond the grave. At the same time, life’s not for sissies. More times than any of us would like, we have to hang in and, as Wilson Phillips says, hold on for one more day. Hell, for one more year (or decade). Often our progress seems to be two steps forward and one step back. The slow grow. That’s fine. There’s no hurry here. What’s important is that life persists, that we persist.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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The Puzzle of Our Lives (Blog #711)

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I was grouchy all day yesterday, critical of myself and others. This is often the first sign that I’m not feeling well, that something is off in my body. Sure enough, I woke up sick this morning. And whereas it wasn’t full-blown awful, it was the start of another sinus infection. Shit, I thought, I just dealt with this two weeks ago. Like feeling sorry for yourself makes any difference. Life does what it does.

This afternoon I saw my chiropractor and massage therapist, who both worked on my shoulders, where I apparently have a pinched nerve. Thankfully, I think whatever they did helped. The random pains I’ve been feeling haven’t been coming as fast and furious since I left their office. “Come back later this week,” my chiropractor said. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

Let’s get this done and over with. And all god’s people said Amen. Along these lines, after I left the chiropractor’s office, I ordered more of the probiotic powder I use to help my sinus infections (online) and bought some more kimchi (at a grocery store), which I also use to help my sinus infections. (What I had at home had expired.) As these two products have worked reliably in the past, I plan on hitting them hard for the next few days, in addition to eating well and trying (trying) to get plenty of rest. Fingers crossed. Let’s get this done and over with.

I spent this evening at the local library. I’ve been meaning for almost a year now to go back and re-read all my blog posts, and since I’m coming up on two solid years of blogging, I figured now was a good time to start. Oh my gosh, y’all, I talk a lot. Tonight I re-read forty-two blog posts (in no particular order), and it took me just under three hours. So this project’s going to take a while. But already it’s been the best thing, a reminder of my good and bad days, the people I love and love not-so-much, and where and how I’ve grown. Every day I sit down at this computer and am literally two feet from the screen. Then, it’s one post at a time, one day at time. My point is that it’s easy to lose perspective, to get so close to your own life that you don’t see what’s happening. So I’m looking forward to standing back and getting a bird’s-eye view of these last two years.

It’s important, I think, to get some distance from yourself every now and then. In the midst of a problem–a simple sinus infection, let’s say–it’s easy to hyper-focus on whatever is bothering you and lose sight of the bigger picture, to forget that our hurts and hangups are often only one piece of the puzzle of our lives. This is the benefit of journaling. When you put your life on a page, it automatically creates some space between you and your internal narrative. Likewise, a good (objective) friend or therapist can offer a different perspective from you own, one that’s probably more accurate, one you might like better. So often I think of myself as sickly and weak, but my therapist says, “From my viewpoint, you’re young, healthy, and strong.”

“Um, did you say I was young?” I reply.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

"

On Measured Effort (Blog #710)

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Last night, thanks to the time change, I got five hours of sleep instead of six. Color me not impressed. My body’s been off all day. Currently it’s ten in the evening, and I’ve been ready to go back to bed for twelve hours. Fingers crossed I’ll be asleep by midnight.

One can hope.

This morning I woke up early to teach a swing dance workshop in Fayetteville. It went well. God bless everyone who got out of bed to attend and listen to me say, “one more time” over and over again. One more time, I’ve probably said that more times that I can count. That and, “five, six, seven, eight.” Today a student, making reference to a basic step we covered in class, said, “I already know that.” I remember thinking something similar when I was a new dancer; I wanted to learn the cool shit. But the older I get, the more I find myself going back to the basics–taking clean steps, being on the beat, doing the same thing over and over again.

I say this a lot as a teacher, but the only way to really learn is to go slow. There’s so much going on when you dance, you mind and body need time to become aware of what’s happening and integrate the information. Granted, as a student, I hate that. I want to zip through new dance patterns like everybody else does. I’ve been learning to knit recently, and I can’t tell you how eager I am to knit a blanket. But my first project was a pot holder, and my next one’s going to be a cap. That’s the deal; with anything, you have to start small and work you way up. You can’t just dive into the deep end without learning how to swim first. Yesterday I said my therapist thought the universe was trying to get me to slow down (because I injured my knee a few months ago). If she’s right, it’s a hard lesson to learn. After the workshop today, there was a dance, and I wanted so badly to really cut loose. But I forced myself to stick to the basics, to go slow.

One friend I danced with noted that my steps were “measured.” She was right–I was super careful this afternoon during the workshop and especially this evening on the dance floor. And whereas that was frustrating as hell, it’s what my body requires. And it’s not awful. Actually, I wish I had gone slower when I first started dancing. I wish my steps had been measured back then. That is, I wish I’d taken more time to move slowly and deliberately, to really focus on my technique, to not develop bad habits.

Alas, I didn’t become interested in the technical, finer details of dancing until much later, when I started teaching. And even though being a teacher has taught me the value of not being in a hurry, I still often am. I start a project, like this blog or rehab-ing my knee, for example, and I want to get to the end. I see those motivational posters that say, “Life’s not a destination, it’s a journey,” and feel like vomiting. I want to do that fancy dance move, I want to be published, I want my knee back. Get me across the finish line already.

Hell, just get me to bed.

Your relationships won’t get better until you do.

It occurs to me that everything I’m really proud of–my dancing ability and knowledge, my relationships, my work in therapy, this blog–has come from measured effort. Not that I’ve been measured (or patient or calm) every minute of every damn day with any of these things, but I have been measured enough to be 1) intentional and 2) consistent. That’s what I’d say to anyone wanting to learn a new thing or grow themselves in some way–be intentional and consistent. That is, act on purpose. Obviously, you’re not going to accidentally become a good dancer, nor are you going to slip on a banana peel one day and have a completed novel fall out of your brain on your way down. Likewise, your relationships won’t get better until you do. It takes a decision. After that, it takes dedication. Simply put, you have to keep showing up.

Even if you’re not in the mood. Even if you only got five hours of sleep last night.

I say this for myself more than for anyone else. I constantly struggle with knowing when to push myself (for example, when to lose sleep in order to write this blog) and when to back off. Today in class I talked about how Lindy Hop has “built-in” times to rest. That is, certain steps take up more beats in the music, which gives the dancer time to breathe and not feel hurried. So I’m trying to recognize that these times exist in my life too, that it’s important to be measured or intentional about slowing down as well.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

On Being Productive Enough (Blog #709)

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Well shit. Tonight is daylight savings. And whereas I’m thrilled about there being more sunshine in my life, I’m not thrilled about losing an hour of sleep, especially since I’m getting up early tomorrow to teach a swing dance workshop. That being said, it’s fabulous to be employed, so I’ll set my alarm and soldier through like the adult that I am. I can always sleep in on Monday. Still, it’s eleven now, basically midnight, so I need to finish this lickety-split and start winding down.

So far it’s been a wonderful weekend. Last night (Friday), I had dinner with a friend then went to see a local (kids) production of The Wizard of Oz. At dinner I had my first cup of coffee in over two months, since Christmas Day, the day before my knee surgery. I quit because I was really overdoing it, drinking caffeine all day then wondering why I wasn’t getting a good night’s sleep. Anyway, my cup of joe was fabulous, and I managed to limit myself. No refills.

Let’s say this together–“I am capable of moderation.”

This afternoon I hung out with my friend Justin. The weather today was gorgeous, so we went for a long walk downtown by the river. As per usual, we discussed all things deep and shallow. After our walk, we grabbed a quick dinner, then Justin took off to other plans. Then I went to help another friend with a television remote control problem and ended up learning about a technology called CES, which allows a device that’s connected to your television through an HDMI cable (like Apple TV or a DVD player) to turn your television on or off. That was the problem, the remote was turning the television off, but then the television was coming back on (because Apple TV was telling it to).

Some electronic devices are so bossy.

Since my friend doesn’t use Apple TV anymore, we simply unplugged it, and that solved the problem. But there’s a lesson here somewhere. Something about how we give some people the power to turn us on or turn us off, how we let certain others push our buttons and get us all riled up when we could just unplug them.

Bye, Felicia.

This weekend I’ve broken a lot of my personal rules. In addition to having coffee last night, I also had dessert–white chocolate raspberry cheesecake, which is the next best thing to live-in lover as far as I’m concerned but is also loaded with calories. Then tonight after my friend and I fixed their remote control problem, we went to Braum’s and I had a chocolate malt. Again, it was basically orgasmic, and fattening. Now I’m considering breaking another rule. Since I’m pressed for time, I’ve almost convinced myself to skip my knee rehab exercises for the first time since surgery. Surely that’ll be okay.

Surely.

The last time I spoke to my therapist, she talked about my knee injury. “That was seriously rando,” she said. (That’s short for random, Mom.) Then she added, “If I had to guess, I’d say that happened because the universe wants you to slow the fuck down.” This was said just after we’d discussed how much I should be pushing myself–to get better, to write more often, to be productive. “You’re productive enough,” she said. So I’m trying to let that sink in, the idea that it’s okay to slow down, slow way down, that it’s good and necessary to break your own rules occasionally because–hello!–there are no rules here. Life, it seems, is meant for being lived in the moment, not from a calendar or rule book.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."