Everything Stops (Blog #319)

Leave a comment

Shit, the flu.

Last night I took Mom and me to a walk-in clinic. We both have the flu. The doctor said I was probably “on the front end of it” and Mom was probably in the middle of it. Later Dad said he hoped that meant he was at the end of it, since he got it first. Anyway, we’re a fine crew around here. Mom and Dad are currently watching Days of Our Lives–hacking their way through every minute of it–and I’m laid up in bed.

Today is definitely worse than yesterday. I spent the night cold and hot, cold and hot, and now am starting to get congested. It hurts to stand up. It hurts to think. The doctor last night wrote me a prescription for Tamiflu, so I may pick that up shortly. Well, my aunt said she would. Either way, I have mixed feelings about it. I don’t always do well with pills and side effects. Then again, I clearly don’t do well with the flu either.

One upside to being sick is that I don’t have much of an appetite. In other words, I already feel skinnier! (Gay guys think about their waistlines constantly, Mom.) My therapist had the flu recently, and as she said, “I’m only two more viruses away from fitting into my favorite jeans.”

I’ve been thinking about how everything stops when you get sick like this. Yesterday I blogged but didn’t journal, something I’ve done every day for the last six months. Likewise, my chi kung session, which is normally thirty minutes, got cut to five minutes. Today I’d planned to do some marketing work, then get up early tomorrow to interview someone on the phone for a writing project. But all of that is coming to a halt for now. My body simply can’t. (Stop, stop, stop.) Instead, I’ll probably finish this blog and watch a movie, maybe try eating a piece of fruit, even though chewing feels like it should be an Olympic sport at the moment.

I’m not exactly sure how to wrap this up. My brain has stopped too.

Shit, the flu.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Healing is never a straight line.

"

My Damn Opinion (Blog #316)

Leave a comment

This afternoon I dragged myself out of the house and went to a local bookstore/coffee shop, to work. For about three hours I poured caffeine down my throat (my heart is still pounding) and worked on marketing strategy for the swing dance event I’m now associated with. This project could take up every spare minute of my time if I let it, so I’m trying to set limits–boundaries!–for myself. To this end, after making a dozen social media posts, writing a promotional piece about one of the staff, and outlining the details for an upcoming email campaign, I thought, That’s enough for today and shut my laptop.

Leaving my man bag in the room where I was working, I explored the rest of the shop. Y’all, I could spend days in almost any bookstore–perusing, smelling–even if I don’t buy anything. Anyway, after forty-five minutes of looking around, I returned empty-handed to grab my bag and head out–like a caveman–in search of dinner. (Me hungry. Where buffalo?) Well, I started talking to a stranger. More accurately, a stranger started talking to me. At first it was a pleasant back-and-forth, like, “Here’s what I enjoy reading. What do YOU enjoy reading?” But then things quickly became one-sided. They were talking my ear off.

Perhaps this has happened to you.

Hold it right there.

Praise God and all the saints, their phone rang. Now’s my chance, I thought. I said, “Have a wonderful evening,” and started walking. But wouldn’t you know it, they got off their phone quicker than a frog gets off its lily pad. The next thing I knew they’d called me back over–reeled me in like some sort of fish–by asking my name. (Damn vanity gets me every time.) Of course, they began chatting again. As it turned out, we actually had several things in common, and I thought, I like this person. Maybe God brought us together. Fifteen minutes later, the shop owner was locking doors and turning off lights, and the person was still talking. They later admitted that their blood sugar was dropping, that they were getting “loopy.” My internal response: “Drink your juice, Shelby!” (That’s a quote from Steel Magnolias, Mom.) I kept thinking, How would my therapist get out of this?

I intend to ask her.

Situations like these really do stump me. For all the progress I’ve made on good boundaries, I still have a tough time drawing a line in the sand with “conversation hijackers.” It’s really difficult for me to interrupt someone and say, “Hold it right there. You’re wearing me out.” I have so much practice being “nice.” If you have any suggestions for being both kind and firm with “ramblers,” please leave them in the comments below. (The suggestions, not the ramblers.) In tonight’s situation, I did find an opportunity to say, “I have to go,” to which the person replied, “I’m so sorry.” This was actually their second apology for taking up my time, which tells me that they realized as much as I did that the conversation had become one-sided and unbalanced. Apparently neither of us knew how to stop it.

God bless.

This evening I finished reading two books. The first, Hug Your Customer by Jack Mitchell, I can’t recommend enough, especially if you’re at all interested in customer service and business marketing. The second, The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr, I can’t recommend (period). I didn’t think it was bad–I found a lot of jewels inside–but it didn’t grip me the way I hoped it would. (Damn expectations.) Karr teaches writing, and mostly I felt as if I were in one of her university classes. She used dozens of dozens of examples from famous memoirs, all of which I’ve never read or heard of before and therefore didn’t connect with. Also, she spoke a lot of poetry, which would’ve been fine had the book been called The Art of Poetry instead of The Art of Memoir. These criticisms aside, I loved the parts of the book in which Karr spoke of her own life, her own experiences and memories. I’ve never read any of her other works, but I adore her authentic voice and think we’d hit it off were we to ever have brunch together.

Gay guys like brunch, Mom. (I don’t know if Mary Karr likes brunch or not. You’d have to ask her.)

Okay, one more beef about The Art of Memoir. At the back of the book, Karr lists some of her favorite memoirs, which, I guess, is both normal and to be expected. But Karr’s list of memoirs boggles the mind at–approximately–200 books. (200!) Maybe you don’t see this as a problem, but Karr labels the list, “Required Reading.” REQUIRED! As in, “You have to–or else.” Y’all, required is not the right adjective to use with a rule-follower. I looked at that list and thought, I’ve only read five of these books. Talk about stressful. Seriously, how I’ve managed to make it this far in life without having read the other 195, I don’t know.

Required reading. Please. Why not just say, “If you’re getting your PhD in memoir writing or have ten lifetimes to spare and nothing better to do, consider reading these 200 books”?

I hope this post doesn’t come off as overly bitchy. A little bitchy–fine. I’m sure that on more than one occasion I’ve been the person to talk someone else’s ear off. Hell, I write a blog every day (every damn day) about myself. By anyone’s standards, this is a pretty one-sided conversation. Additionally, I’m sure another writer could come in and take me to task on a number of things I do here. For starters, I use the words okay, anyway, whatever, and realize way too often. (I realize this. Whatever.) I have my reasons for doing what I do and imagine Karr has her reasons for doing what she does.

This is major progress.

All this to say that I’m not saying, “I’m right.” What I am saying, however, is, “I’m right–for me.” What I mean is that five years ago I would have let a complete stranger talk to me for hours on end and not have thought a thing about it. I wouldn’t have seen a problem. Likewise, I would have read a book cover-to-cover and assumed every word was gospel because it was printed on nice paper. But now I can recognize when things are out of balance (for me) and when information resonates (with me) and when it doesn’t. This is major progress. As I told my therapist recently, “I’m beginning to have a damn opinion about things.”

Her response: “As well you should. As. Well. You. Should.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

"

Resolute (Blog #313)

Leave a comment

Somewhere between a year and a year-and-a-half ago, I was getting ready to close my dance studio and move out of The Big House, the place I called home for over two years. (We called it The Big House because it was a big house. Some things aren’t complicated.) Between the closing of the studio and the time I moved out of my home, there was a three-week period, during which time I worked frantically to finish unfinished remodeling projects around the house. The last project I finished was the upstairs bathroom, the room with the clawfoot tub I used to love to soak in. It really was a last-minute deal–I was still putting paint on the walls my last week there. Still, I went ahead and decorated the entire bathroom–hung up pictures, put a rug on the floor, the whole bit. I figured as long as I lived there, I was gonna live there.

Next to the clawfoot tub was a gas space heater, something that came in rather handy during the winter months. On top of the heater I put a lamp, and next to the lamp, a wooden tray. I think the tray was designed as a kitchen item, but I used it to hold a bar of soap, as well as a candle I’d picked out especially for the bathroom, even though I’m not a candle person. But that final week, I fell in love with THAT candle. Every night I’d crawl into the clawfoot tub after lighting the candle, and while I listened to Fleetwood Mac, the light from the candle would dance with the shadows on the walls.

It’s another story, but The Big House had come to me when my life was a mess. I’d just started therapy and had gotten out of a terrible (no good, very bad) relationship in which there was a lot of yelling. In that relationship, I felt like a ship being tossed about by a storm that wouldn’t relent. Then for the first time in over six months, the storm subsided–everything got still. I found myself in this big house, and it was quiet. Three thousand square feet where I could hear myself think. A place of peace where I could lay my head at night and figure myself out. Looking back, I can see that at the same time I was remodeling the house, I was remodeling myself. Granted, now I look the same on the outside, maybe a few more wrinkles, but I’m different where it counts. My standards are higher, I won’t let myself be walked on, I speak up for myself. In short, I love myself more. So for the place that held me safe while all these renovations went on, I’m eternally grateful.

Getting ready to move out that final week, I went through every single thing I owned. One item at a time, I decided what to keep, what to sell, and what to give away. By the time it was all over, I went from all my possessions being able to fit into The Big House to being able to fit into my Honda Civic, Polly. I sold most the things in the upstairs bathroom, or gave them away, but I decided to take the wooden soap tray and the candle. Ever since then, I’ve used the tray to hold objects that I consider sacred–a small vial of holy water, a beautiful spiritual necklace I never wear on the outside of my shirt, a paperweight that belonged to my uncle when he was alive. I call it my traveling altar. At some point I started putting my jewelry on the altar. It began with a small ring I got at Disney World when I was seven that says, “Marcus,” my logic being that surely I’m a sacred object too.

I’ve always kept the candle in the middle of the tray. In addition to being a stereotypical spiritual thing to have around, the candle inspires me because of the message printed on the outside of it. It says, simply, “Resolute.” For over a year now, every time I see the candle, I think the same thing I thought when I bought it–I don’t know what lies ahead, but I’m determined to see myself through it. My therapist and I discussed this recently. We were talking about strengths that are born out of hardships, and I said that I’m resolute and determined because things were so shitty for so long. Now I don’t give up. I absolutely know this ship can weather any storm. My therapist said that the best people she knows–the ones who are the kindest and the strongest–are the ones who have lived through hell and have found a way to not be bitter about it. “It’s what happens when you refuse to be a victim,” she said.

Lately I’ve been burning the Resolute candle every day while I meditate and do chi kung. It’s become this ritual. I turn off all the other lights in the room, usually put on some sort of instrumental music, and always light the candle. (Growing up, I never imagined I would be someone who does this sort of thing.) Anyway, I guess there’s something powerful about rituals. Sometimes all I have to do is light the candle and take a few steps toward the center of the room, and I being to cry. It’s like seeing that flame is all my body needs to let go. Joseph Campbell says your sacred space is where you can find yourself over and over again, and I guess that’s what my traveling altar has become–a place where I can heal.

Yesterday I lit my Resolute candle for the last time. It burned out, ran out of wax before my meditation was even over. When I threw it away earlier this evening, I felt like I did when I walked out of The Big House for the last time. A little lost. Tonight I replaced my Resolute candle with the only other candle I could find around the house–a pale green one labeled “Mint Chocolate Chip.” Honestly, burning it tonight during meditation wasn’t the same. I kept thinking it smelled like–well–fat. Like, I probably gained two pounds just by taking the lid off. Still, its flame burned just as bright. Also, having lived through hell, I know my being Resolute has nothing to do with a physical candle that used to sit on my traveling altar. Rather, that flame burns deep within me, and the real altar is my body, my heart, my soul. As it turns out, I am the sacred space which I take everywhere I go, the sacred space where I can find myself over and over again, the sacred space where I can heal.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

"

Finding the Middle Path (Blog #306)

1 Comment

Last night, despite trying, I couldn’t fall asleep until six in the morning. About four I realized it was a 98-percent-full moon, so I’m blaming that. This sort of thing has happened before. I’m guess I’m “sensitive.” That’s fine. But if I have to be up in the middle of the night, exhausted, at least I could turn into a werewolf or something cool, like Michael Jackson in Thriller. No such luck. No dancing with the dead for me. Nope–I only got four hours of sleep–and have absolutely nothing to show for it.

Let’s talk about my outfit.

Today I’m wearing a hat I got from my ninety-five-year-old friend Marina. She says she found it in a bar in Hawaii several years ago–on the head of a Greek sailor. (Swoon.) She apparently asked this guy for it, and he actually gave it to her! You’d just have to know Marina. Anyway, she passed it on to me last year. I’m not sure what the official style of the hat is, but it’s made my Cavanagh, originally cost eighteen dollars (according to the tag inside the brim), and fits my head perfectly. I saw my therapist today, and she said I looked like Elvis–“before he got fat and started singing in Las Vegas.” Talk about a compliment. “That was worth getting out bed for,” I said. “What do I owe you?”

Today we talked about the book I’m reading on Reichian Therapy. My therapist had heard of it, or at least its creator, but didn’t know much about it, so I explained the basic premise and what my experience with it has been thus far. This is something I appreciate about my therapist–like, she never acts territorial or suggests that her way is the only way. She almost never “directs” my therapy. Rather, she encourages me to explore different methods and find what’s right for me.

I told her the book I’m reading says over and over again to go slow. Again, she encouraged me to trust myself. She said, “Remember that those books are always written as if the reader knows absolutely nothing. They’re written for people who are just starting school. You’re at graduate level, so you can pace yourself how you think best. And if you ever get in over your head–just call me and make an appointment.”

Now that I’m processing it, this conversation went along with another one we’ve been having off and on lately, about trusting others and being able to ask them for help. Admittedly, I’m extremely self-sufficient. I hate asking for help. This, my therapist and I agree, is the result of being “let down” by the world on a number of occasions in my childhood. I’ll spare you the details, but I basically grew up thinking, Fuck all y’all. I’ll take care of this myself. (I don’t recommend this attitude, but if you got it, you got it.) My therapist said, “It’s okay to be able to take care of everything from A to Z, but–again–it’s about striking a balance and finding the middle path. You don’t have to do EVERYTHING all the time.”

I realized on the drive to therapy that I’m pretty overloaded lately. I’m working my ass off in therapy and on this blog, I’m reading all the time, and I’ve recently taken on this project for the swing dancing event. I told my therapist today that I’ve been listening to people solid for the last week and sharing their stories online, sometimes to critical reception. I said, “I don’t know how you do this every day and don’t drink yourself to sleep at night.” She said, “It’s hard.” So we discussed boundaries I can set with the projects, as well as other ways I can take care of myself. With this is mind, after therapy I went out for beer and pizza. Granted, this wasn’t one of my therapist’s specific suggestions, but I decided to improvise.

And it worked. I’ve had a delightful afternoon filled with carbs, self-nurturing, and more carbs.

Now it’s seven in the evening, and I’m at the library. I’m meeting a friend soon to see a movie, so I need to wrap this up. Like quick. I see both these acts–the movie and the shorter blog–as acts of further self-care and finding the middle path. No more work for the day, Marcus. It will be there tomorrow. Just enjoy your life. Just enjoy your damn life. So no more go-go-go. At least for now, it’s stop-stop-stop.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

"

Come to the Middle of the Seesaw (Blog #299)

Leave a comment

Today Mom had a bilateral mastectomy. The surgery lasted a few hours, and she had a hot doctor. (A hot, hot doctor.) Like, a very hot, hot doctor who went to and graduated from medical school, probably knows the difference between “your” and “you’re,” and didn’t have a ring on his finger. (I’m just sayin’.) In other important news, the surgery itself went well. The cancer had NOT spread to Mom’s lymph nodes. The anesthesia seemed to wear off fine, and when I last saw Mom this evening, she was being given “the good” pain medication. One of my aunts is staying with her tonight, and she should be home tomorrow. So, thank you, Jesus.

One of the good things about having a family member who has cancer, or who used to have cancer, is that people bring you food, and not a little of it. (If there’s a silver lining, I’m going to find it.) This afternoon my friend Bonnie brought my entire extended family chicken nuggets (and fruit and cookies AND coffee), with a variety of dipping sauces. I mean, if there’s any way to make sitting on your butt in a hospital waiting room for five or six hours any better, this is it. Oh, and she brought even more food to the house for dinner, the most important item being homemade cinnamon rolls. And whereas Mom is the one who actually has (or had) cancer and can’t have any solid food until tomorrow, I personally have been quite comforted by all the calories.

In addition to eating delicious food and visiting with family and friends, I spent most the day in the waiting room sending emails and Facebook messages. I’ve recently been brought on board as the marketing director for a large dance event, and my first goal is to get feedback about the event from those who have attended it in the past. So far it’s going well, but at some point today, my eyes started to glaze over. Like, I can only reach out to so many strangers and say, “Hello, I’m Marcus. Here’s what’s going on. Would you be willing to talk to me?” before it doesn’t feel genuine anymore (even though it is). I told Bonnie I felt like a door-to-door salesman, saying the same thing over and over again–

Unlike everyone else on Facebook, I’d actually like to hear your opinion!

This is something I never had the courage to do when I owned a business or ran my own dance event. Being so involved, I would have taken any negative or constructive feedback as purely destructive feedback. I would have taken everything too personally. But I don’t have that hangup with someone else’s event. I can listen to people’s stories–the good, the bad, and the ugly–as a neutral party. So far I’ve talked to about a dozen people, and it’s been fascinating. I’ll spare you the details, but as much as some people have been over-the-moon satisfied, others have, well, not been. Having professional distance from their personal experiences, I’m able to sort their feedback into two basic piles–This Problem Needs Fixing, and This Person Needs Fixing.

I think this is what a good therapist, even a good doctor, is able to do–step back and see what’s really going on. Once my therapist told me, “I’m basically just an observer of your life.” I can’t tell you what a difference this has made, having someone who’s not attached to my outcomes. As much as I love my friends and family, they weren’t “getting the job” done when it came to my mental and emotional health. First of all, it’s not their job to help me grow in that way. Second, most of them haven’t been trained with the proper skills to do so. Lastly, they’re simply too close to me, the way I’d be too close to them if we were talking about their personal growth. You know how it is when you’re too close–you interrupt each other, boss each other around, don’t believe each other’s compliments. You think, “I’m not beautiful. You’re just saying that because you’re my mother.”

This neutral party has been on my mind lately. (I recently blogged more about it here.) Obviously, that’s what mom’s hot doctor was today–a neutral party. Not that he doesn’t care about his patients, but he’s not so wrapped up in their personal stories that it affects his job. And whereas a patient or a family member might sweep a health problem under the rug or ignore a problem, a doctor would (ideally) be the last person to do that. Like my therapist or me in my role as marketing director, not being wrapped up in personal stories allows him to see clearly where the problems are and what can be done about them.

Even storms pass away.

I’m currently thinking of a seesaw. If you’re on either end of a situation, one minute you’ll be up and the next minute you’ll be down. But the neutral position is where you’re unmoved by whatever life throws at you. It’s steady even when the world isn’t. Additionally, if you stand in the middle of a seesaw, you realize that what’s up for one person is down for the next and that nobody stays up or down for very long. You see that life is always changing and everything circles ’round. I think this is the lesson of Jesus walking on the water. (Don’t try this at home, kids–it’s symbolic.) The storms of life raged all around him, but he wasn’t affected by them. Not that he didn’t see them, but he knew that “this too shall pass.” Even storms pass away. And because he’d found that neutral, steady, centered point within himself, then–and only then–was he able to reach out his hand and help another. “Keep your eyes on me,” he told Peter. In other words, “Come to the middle of the seesaw. Don’t be distracted by things that are always changing. Give your full attention to that which cannot and will not be moved.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s a lot of magic around you.

"

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Blog #287)

Leave a comment

Yesterday I felt like a million bucks, as good as I’ve felt in the last three months, and I wore a pair of vintage bell-bottom jeans that came from 1970s JC Penny’s to celebrate. They’re blue in color with white pockets on the outside, tight in all the right places. When I found them at a thrift store, they had the original tags on them. Anyway, they enhanced my good mood because I can only fit into them when I’m at my current weight or less. Five extra pounds on these hips, and there’d just be no way. I saw my therapist yesterday, and after she raved about the pants and I told her about my recent (three-pound) weight loss, she said, “I’m glad you’re a skinny bitch.”

Since I haven’t been to therapy in a few weeks, I caught my therapist up on my (very) recent health upswing and the good news I got last week about my emergency room visit being paid for by the hospital. I said, “I keep trying to believe that the universe isn’t on my side, but it keeps proving me wrong.” She said, “All your needs are being taken care of.”

Later we discussed people who idealize their therapist. She said, “I’m not as important or as ‘necessary’ as some of my clients think I am. I may have some information they don’t, and they may have some information I don’t. But when you put someone on a pedestal, there’s only one direction for them to go.” (Down.) This is something I appreciate about my therapist. From day one, she’s always been “real” in the way she talks, dresses, and presents herself. Never once have I gotten the impression that she didn’t have struggles and problems of her own. Of course, this has made it easier to relate to her, easier for me to show up “warts and all.” Additionally, she’s never set herself up as “always right” or infallible. Rather, she’s encouraged me to follow my inner truth. “If your gut tells you one thing and I tell you another, go with your gut. That’s what’s best for you, no matter what anyone else says.”

This is something that’s been historically easy for me to forget. I read so many books and listen to so many other people, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking that other people know better for me than I do. Of course, we can all learn from each other, but I had dinner last night with my friend Marla, and I told her that now I absolutely know that my biggest strides have come this blog, from sitting down every day and getting to know myself, from first discovering and then speaking my truth. If someone else hears me, fine. What’s important is that I hear me, that I get quiet and listen to what’s honestly going on inside.

I can’t tell you how much I recommend this–getting honest with yourself. I’m not saying you need to start a daily blog and tell the world about your inner goings-on. Of course, if you want to, knock yourself out. But I am saying there’s a certain healing that happens when you simply get real about everything happening in your life and when you own your story–the good, the bad, and the ugly. (In my experience, it’s a lot of ugly.) I guess this is what most of us are afraid of, embracing all our “unacceptable” parts. In a world where every picture we post is expected to be just so, it’s difficult to look at our own faults, wrinkles, and unpleasant emotions, let alone share them with others. But there’s a freedom that comes when you accept yourself for who you are and where you’re at, a freedom only you can give you, something you simply can’t get from another.

Healing never looks like what you think it will.

At some point last night I hit a wall. My million-dollar feeling suddenly felt like a dollar and seventy-five cents. I got super tired, kind of light-headed, nauseated, and jittery. This morning I felt–uh–better, and decided to drop two of the supplements I started a couple days ago. (Google said they might be to blame.) Now I feel–meh–could be better, could be worse. Tomorrow I see my new medical doctor and am hoping for some answers, a least a little more help, another piece of the puzzle. But even this illness, something I consider “ugly,” has been a way to get to know myself, to look at my inner goings-on, to further realize that all my needs are being taken care of. Healing, it seems, never looks like what you think it will.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

"

How Hope Begins to Grow (Blog #280)

Leave a comment

[This morning my sister sent me some family photos she took while she was in town, so I’m sprinkling them throughout today’s blog, even though they aren’t “on topic.” The last one is my favorite, since it didn’t really turn out but is completely authentic, at least for my nephews.]

Yesterday my dad started coming down with a cold–a common cold. Since I’m both already sick and a hypochondriac, I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours absolutely paranoid that I’ll catch whatever he’s got, wiping down every surface he touches with soap and water, hearing him cough and imaging his germs traveling through the air ducts and into my susceptible sinus cavities while I sleep. We’re all going to die keeps running through my head. Now all I can think about is whether I need to get out of the house and buy some more vitamins, search the internet for additional home remedies, or just pray to god I live long enough to see my new doctor next week.

This is me WITH a therapist.

It seriously blows to wake up and start the day overwhelmed. Even before my feet hit the floor this morning, I was obsessing about my physical health, wondering if I’ll ever feel like myself again or if this is just my “new normal.” Then I started worrying about money, being single, and male-pattern baldness, every problem for which I don’t have an immediate answer. Stumbling into the kitchen, I noticed I was low on groceries, which only further added to my anxiety, since groceries cost money. Finally I had this thought–Would you just calm the fuck down, Marcus? Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee AND THEN see what the world looks like?

As it turns out, the world is better caffeinated, and after breakfast I decided to take a closer look at some of my “problems,” meaning I organized a stack of paperwork that’s been piling up since the middle of last year. Specifically, I sorted through medical bills, since I went to the emergency room a few months ago for a skin infection and my insurance didn’t pay for a dime of it. Well, I spoke to the hospital a while back, and they said they’d put in a request to charity services and that I should hear something within thirty days. So far, all I’ve gotten is more bills, so this afternoon I figured I needed to call them again. But before I did, I reread the letter the same hospital sent me earlier this year, the one that granted me financial assistance with the sinus surgery I had almost a year ago.

Y’all.

I don’t know how I missed it before, but the letter said that ALL hospital services received through the middle of November last year would be covered at–um–one hundred percent, meaning the emergency room visit should be covered too. Optimistic, I called customer service, spoke to the nicest lady, and told her what was going on. Praise god and all the saints, she confirmed that the services would be covered, that there was only confusion because the two places I received treatment (for the sinus surgery and the skin infection) were in different regions of the country and therefore in different computer programs. But no problem, she said, we’re getting it sorted out, and please ignore any further bills.

“Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”

And get this shit. Then she started updating my profile, asking about my current (and basically nonexistent) income. “I’m confused,” I said. “If the previous assistance covers the emergency room services, why do you need additional information?”

“Oh,” she said, “that’s because the financial assistance program expired for you in November, so I’d like to re-up your enrollment in order to cover future medical costs.”

Wow.

How do you even respond to kindness like this? My first thought was to say, Holy crap, I don’t like girls, but would you go on a date with me? But then I realized you don’t have to sleep with every person who does something nice for you, so I simply said, “Thank you so very much. I really appreciate all your help.”

After the good news earlier today, I started to worry again, to re-focus on my health and other financial problems. (It’s a bad habit.) But then I remembered that in my journal this morning I told the universe I needed a break, that I could use a win. Well, obviously, I got one. (That was fast.) So now I’m trying to simply enjoy it, to bask in the relief, to show some damn gratitude for one big problem solved.

Like, thank you, Jesus.

But seriously, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm this news is. Having worried about this medical bill for weeks now, it’s really a load off. My therapist says this is how you start believing in good things again, how hope begins to grow. You live most your years disappointed, really convinced that life isn’t on your side, that things will never get better. But however slowly, case-by-case, life starts to prove you wrong. Despite all your worrying and thinking This situation is impossible, miracles start to show up. You begin to believe you’re not in this all by yourself. Moved to the point of tears, you think, Healing really is possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

The Bigger Picture (Blog #276)

1 Comment

Last night my sister, brother-in-law, and I continued to work on our latest puzzle, a 2000-piece situation of Cinque Terre, a famous tourist spot in Italy. We’d all been working on it throughout the day, but really dug in after dinner. After a few hours of consistent progress, my sister and brother-in-law turned in about eleven. I, on the other hand, worked until three in the morning. I guess I got sucked in. I kept telling myself, Just one more piece. Y’all, by the time I dragged myself to bed, I’d pretty much put in a full day’s worth of work.

If only I could get paid for this.

Today I feel overwhelmed. I’ve been worrying about all my little health issues, which–honestly–are minor. Since one thing leads to another, I’ve also been worrying about when I’ll finally get a “real job” and move out of my parents house. Today marks exactly nine months since I started the blog, which means I only have three months until I hit the one-year mark, and I guess I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself for something “great” to happen by that time. I realize this isn’t a reasonable thing to do. Honestly, I just feel out of control. I could use a break.

Since today is the last day of 2017, maybe I’m simply doing a lot of reflecting. This last year has looked nothing like what I thought it would. On the outside, I didn’t work in the traditional sense. Consequently I spent the year with fewer physical possessions than planned. I only bought one pair of shoes, and I still don’t own a belt. As my therapist says, I’m basically living like a college student. Also, I spent the year lonelier, at least in the fact that I ended a longtime relationship with one of my closest friends. This is something I haven’t blogged about and don’t intend to at this point, but obviously had an effect. Much like the car wreck I had several month ago, it left its scars. Ultimately, however, it was a good thing.

This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot today, the idea that experiences can be both painful and beneficial at the same time. I mean, this year has been a real kick in the pants in many respects, but I have gotten a lot out of it. This blog, for instance. For every challenge I’ve faced on the outside, this has been the place where I could work it out on the inside. And as for being lonely at times, this has been the place where I better learned to keep myself company, to be my own closet friend. Other good things have happened, of course. But today it seems that even positive changes are challenging, since they often turn your world upside down and require energy to adjust to. Maybe that’s what this last year has been–a big adjustment.

Now all I want to do is work on the puzzle. Honestly, it’s the best distraction, something that keeps me from focusing on my problems and, in the words of Emily Dickinson, going “down and down.” My sister and brother-in-law are on their way back from running around, and after we eat dinner, we plan to work on the puzzle to ring in the new year. I can’t think of a better place to be, with my family, back at the kitchen table. There I am able to focus. There I am able to be patient. There I can look at the bigger picture and trust that things are coming together, however slowly, one piece at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sure, people change, but love doesn't."

Mario Kart and My Angry Liver (Blog #275)

Leave a comment

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)

"

One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

"

The Putting-Together Process (Blog #274)

Leave a comment

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)

"

For all of the things life takes away, it gives so much more in return. Whether we realize it or not, there’s always grace available.

"