Feeling Oh-So-Welcome (Blog #471)

Yesterday I left Houston about one o’clock and drove to Dallas for dinner with a friend. We ate Mexican and were given complimentary magic desserts that were cold to the touch and made fog come out of our mouths and noses. I’m not kidding. Some sort of dry ice thing, maybe. Anyway, after dinner I dropped my friend off at a play, then went to ANOTHER bookstore–number six in the last two days. But this time I just looked–I didn’t buy anything. I did, however, notice how badly my toe was hurting, I guess because I stubbed it earlier in the day. So when I left the bookstore, I taped my hurt toe to the toe next to it with electrical tape, which–believe it or not–helped.

Sometimes I can be really clever.

Having decided that I would stay in Dallas, I went to The Roundup, the land of unicorns–or, rather, gay cowboys. I’ve been there a number of times to two-step, and it’s always been fun. Last night, however, didn’t live up to my expectations. For one thing, I went alone, and although I recognized some faces, I didn’t “know” anyone. So for thirty minutes I just stood around watching, trying to work up the courage to ask someone–anyone–to dance. Finally, I did–I asked a girl who was a great, probably trained, dancer–and she said no, she was taking a break. So that sucked–it’s never fun to muster the courage to ask someone to dance and then be turned down, even if they’re “nice” about it.

Going back to my perch, I waited a while then tried again. This time I asked a lesbian, but someone else got to her at the same time I did. I said, “Will you save me a dance for later?” And get this shit–she didn’t say yes. Instead she said, “Do you know how to dance?” Opening my mouth like a codfish and bobbing my head, I said, “Yeah.”

So that sucked too. In nearly twenty years of asking others to dance, this was the first interview process I’ve ever been a part of. Strike two. I think I waited close to an hour before I tried again with someone else. This time I asked a guy who was the best dancer there. I’d met him once before, although I’m sure he didn’t remember. Anyway, he said yes and was very kind. However, he treated me like a beginner and only led the basic pattern. He said, “I’m testing you.” I guess I didn’t pass. Granted, they do a different form of two-step in Dallas than I’m used to, but I HAVE danced it several times in the past. Plus, I’m no slouch on the dance floor. I can almost always keep up. (I do teach dance for a living.) Of course, he didn’t know that.

Regardless, it bruised my ego.

After these three successive experiences, I had a series of good dances–nothing amazing, but good. All with kind people, one of whom approached me. And that was nice. But the point is this–even with all my years of dancing and objectively being able to say that I was one of the top five dancers in the club last night, it never really gets easier to approach strangers and ask them to dance. No one wants to be rejected. I don’t know if you’ve ever had this experience, trying to break into an already established crowd. I really think that’s what it was about. Most the places I go, people know that I can dance. But to the group last night, I was just an outsider.

I definitely felt not-so-welcome.

Caroline Myss talks about tribal dynamics, the way any group instinctively protects their own and is cautious of The Other. She says it doesn’t matter if it’s a crowd of teenagers, a fraternity, or a bunch of dancers–there’s always an initiation process or hazing for new members. “I’m testing you,” is what the guy told me. Back to the idea of the tribe, had I passed the guy’s test, he probably would have introduced me to his friends, let them know “this dude’s all right.” Maybe he would have asked me to dance again. Since I didn’t pass his test, however, I stayed outside, at least for him and his friends.

Understanding this helps me to not take last night personally. It didn’t help last night, mind you. What did help was a man named Carlos, who danced with me and smiled the entire time. (Never underestimate the power of your smile.) He said, “Don’t be nervous.” Still, I couldn’t shake that icky feeling from earlier, so about midnight I thought, I’m done with this shit and left, heading across the street to meet my friend from dinner. Then when we finished visiting, I ate chicken and waffles, loaded up on coffee, and hit the road for home. I thought, I don’t want to wake up in this city. So I drove all night–from two until seven in the morning. Not that I would recommend this behavior to anyone else–driving while you’re exhausted–but that’s what I did. And it did help chill me out a little–I got to see some stars–I even got to see the sunrise–I got to sleep in my own bed.

Today has been better. I’m still tired from this past week and staying up last night, but things are coming into perspective. This afternoon a good friend reminded me, “We all have off days.” Plus, I’ve spent today taking care of myself, doing things I love–reading, window shopping. Tonight I installed a fun light-switch cover a friend gave me over a year ago. It has gears and a lever that moves up and down to turn the switch on and off. This reminds me of my childhood, since I made something similar out of Tinker Toys when I was little (and I AM IN THE SAME ROOM).

Because I’m living with my parents.

Earlier I stepped outside to look at the stars. Because of my travels and light pollution in “the big city,” this is the first time I’ve been able to “take in” the full sky in over a week. I really have missed it. Lying down in our driveway, I began to relax. There’s just something calming about the stars, especially once you begin to recognize the constellations. Hercules, The Serpent Bearer, Bootes (pronounced Boe-OH-teez)–it’s like they are their own tribe, smiling down upon and welcoming every single one of us. Now I can’t wait to go back out there. There’s a meteor shower going on in Aquarius this month, and I wonder if I can see it yet. (It peaks in two weeks.) It really is wonderful how the heavens can erase your worries; how their quiet, steady movements can gently remind you to slow down; how their large open arms can make you feel oh-so-welcome here.

[I snagged the above screenshot from a desktop application called Stellarium, which allows you to look at the stars as they appear anytime, anywhere in the world. Shown here is what the sky looked like in Van Buren, Arkansas, at 11:00 this evening. (It’s 1:00 now.) Notice the three planets–Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars–and the imaginary line that they appear to travel along, the ecliptic. The text in green on the left-hand side is where the meteor shower should be, just “behind” Mars.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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Coupons on the Table (Blog #184)

Okay, kids, it’s one in the afternoon, I’ve been up for an hour, and the sun has been shining the entire time. I just ate breakfast, which I made myself like an adult, and I’m ready to go back to bed. Honestly, I don’t like alarm clocks. This morning I woke up in the middle of a dream about eating food from a fast food restaurant where one of the sodas had two strips of bacon in it. I can only assume the dream had something to do with my guilt around food, and it’s no fun to wake up feeling that way then immediately march into the kitchen and start shoving calories into your mouth.

Tonight I’m going to Rogers to see one of my friends perform the lead role in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I can’t wait. I’m going with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time, we’re having dinner, and I’m literally already writing the rave reviews for whole evening. Of course, the truth could look totally different, but I do think it will be a great time. That being said, I don’t want to drive all the way home after the show, then start writing. I’ve done that before, and it’s a bit like popping a balloon. I love writing, of course, but some nights this commitment is like drawing the short end of the “you get to go to bed now” stick.

Currently I’m sitting at our kitchen table next to Dad’s deluxe pill caddy, a tube of all-natural anti-fungal wash, and a stack of coupons. I’m hoping this isn’t a preview of things to come, but considering it’s also what my grandparents’ table looked like, I may be–as they say in Savannah–shit out of luck, my dear. Dad’s watching television and occasionally he starts talking to me, since he doesn’t realize I have my headphones in. When I told him I was writing early today because of the show tonight, he said, “Can you write in the afternoon?” Well, that’s a valid point, but I said, “I think so. I’ve done it once or twice before.”

The problem, of course, is that nothing remarkable has happened. The last two mornings I cut into my breakfast grapefruit and discovered they were both rotten–rotten to the core (haha). Well, this morning I had one grapefruit left, and–ever the optimist–I figured it would be rotten too. But it wasn’t. Although it was a little dirty on the outside, it was like a virgin on the inside–fresh as the noonday sun. And maybe it’s just because I’m quickly approaching forty, but this was really exciting. A non-rotten grapefruit!

God, I need to get laid more.

Now I’m worrying about the mail. Last week I ordered a couple items from Amazon, and yesterday I got a notification that the package had been left in my mailbox. Well, it must be invisible because it’s not there. But it SAYS it’s there. But it’s not. Maybe it went to the wrong address, or maybe it’ll show up today, but I’m trying really hard to let it go and put it in the pile of things I can’t do a damn thing about, right next to “most of the situations in my life.” Still, I keep wanting to jump up from this laptop, run to the mailbox, and–I don’t know–hold up a postal service protest sign that says, “Liars,” or something creative like that. My armpits are sweating just thinking about it.

As you can see, the letting go thing is a real success.

Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

Last night I dreamed I was in bed with my therapist. I mean, we weren’t having sex or anything, just physically in bed together–like a slumber party from an 80s movie. Well, this sort of thing has happened before, and my therapist (in real life) says the dream really isn’t about her–it’s about all the qualities that I associate with her that actually belong to me. So I’m taking last night’s dream as a sign that I’m getting really, really comfortable with being authentic and speaking my truth. That being said, my therapist’s hair in the dream was–quite frankly–a fucking mess. Since I’m vain about my hair, that probably means I’m still judging myself or worried about what other people will think.

I’ll ask about the dream this week, but that sounds about right.

Okay, for the last thirty minutes I’ve been getting out of my chair, looking out the window for the mailman, and basically behaving like Gladys Kravitz. Anyway, the mailman just showed up, so I marched my happy little ass over to the community mailbox and asked about my package (from Amazon–don’t be dirty). For a moment I thought I was going to be up shit creek again, but the mailman ended up finding the package in the “parcel locker.” He said, yes, it was delivered yesterday, but SOMEBODY forgot to leave a locker key in my box.

Sweet, another mystery solved. Good job, Nancy Drew. Honestly, there would have been a time when I was too afraid to bother the mailman. I would have thought, I’ll just wait until next week, or, He’s too busy. Everyone says, “It can’t hurt to ask,” but it honestly can, at least on the inside. Having asked a ton of people to dance over the years, it can still be challenging. What if they say no or tell me to go fly a kite? Well, obviously, you move on or go fly a kite. Rejection hurts, but somehow we survive. Looking back, I’m probably more disappointed in the dances I didn’t even ask for than the rejections I’ve received from others because rejecting yourself is what really hurts. Package in the mailbox or not, I’m proud of any moment I practiced a bit of courage and therefore took care of myself in some way.

We imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists as it is.

Now I’m almost done blogging and ready to start preparing for tonight’s festivities. I kind of hate to admit it, but it feels really good to finish writing with the day ahead of me instead of behind me. In conclusion, I’ve been thinking this week that I make a lot of plans in my head. All week I’ve been imaging dinner tonight and going to the show. You know how you think about talking to people and fill in both parts of the conversation. But, of course, it never happens that way. Every day is full of surprises–weird dreams, rotten grapefruits, and packages that are just out of reach. All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is, looking like undelivered mail, feelings of hope alongside rejection, and coupons on the table.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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