On Crooked Pictures (Blog #1032)

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Last night and this afternoon I read two children’s books, The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg (say that three times fast), both of which were delightful. I’m not sure how I missed them as a child. Perhaps this is the purpose of adulthood, catching up on things you missed before and–if you were a way-too serious and anal-retentive child like me–being delighted. Not that my childhood wasn’t oftentimes filled with magic. It was.

It was just alphabetized magic.

I’ve spoken before about being an extremely neat child, about my need both historically and presently to have things just so. I mean, it’s gotten better, but it’s still a thing. According to my family, it all started after our house burned down when I was four. “That’s when you began lining up your stuffed animals according to height,” my aunt says. I can only assume that I felt out of control, that being hyper-organized was my way of keeping the monsters under the bed.

It’s weird how habits that start when you’re a child can last into adulthood. Thirty-five years pass, and one day, maybe every day, you find yourself still being afraid of loss, still grasping for control. I remember shaking, crying when I was a child when I’d get new toys for my birthday and not have a place to put them. Everything has to go somewhere, I’d think while lying in bed. There’s just not enough space in my room. Now as an adult I’m living in that very same room, sleeping on that very same bed. And whereas a few childhood photos and keepsakes remain, everything I used to be so worried about have a proper place for is now gone, given away or sold at one of half a dozen yard sales. And yet I still worry about finding the perfect spot for all my material possessions. I still spend way too much time making sure that my books and knickknacks are sitting in the “right” place and that my clothes are arranged by color.

Pro tip: this process goes faster when all your shirts are blue or black.

I guess it bothers me that at times I still get twitchy when things aren’t just so. This evening I worked on framing two brooches and nearly went into fits because I couldn’t get either one of them perfectly centered. Or because I scratched one of the frames. Honestly, it doesn’t matter why. Having worked on creative projects before (including this blog), I mentally KNOW that nothing is ever perfect. There are always flaws. And whereas it remains my contention that it’s better to create imperfectly than to not create at all, I still experience a high degree of stress emotionally when creating. I think, What if it’s not good enough? It’s like there’s this belief that if I can exactly center my projects and perfectly align the pictures on my wall, everything else will perfectly align and–somehow–prevent bad things from happening. Prevent loss from happening. From happening again.

Of course, this is only a superstition. Caroline Myss says that all compulsive rituals (like the need to have everything perfect) is about the belief that you can hold your world in place. But you can’t. Fires don’t skip your house because your books are alphabetized. Tornados don’t pass you by because they see how organized your sock drawer is. (Mine, by the way, is pretty organized.) In short, monsters come out from under your bed whenever THEY want. They don’t as YOUR permission.

This sucks, I know.

So what, Marcus?

So we enjoy our lives and our possessions exactly the way they are right here, right now, or we don’t. We see the magic all around us, or we don’t.

In terms of things having to be perfect (even now I’m thinking about starting ALL OVER on this evening’s brooches or just throwing them away, like, fuck it, what’s the point?), it occurs to me that nothing in life is perfect (and the point is fun). I’ve spoken a lot lately about how everything falls apart, and this is what I mean. All creations are essentially like sandcastles on the beach. Only here for a moment before they’re washed away. No matter how beautiful they were, no matter how ugly or off-center. Along these lines, it also occurs to me that just as I find flaws in my projects, I find flaws in my friends and family. And yet I love them wholeheartedly. Indeed, their flaws make them lovable. So more and more I’m realizing that something doesn’t HAVE to be perfect in order to bring you joy.

Crooked pictures have a certain charm about them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Beating yourself up is a far cry from self-respect."

Let’s Start Over (Blog #1010)

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Okay. It’s 3:40 in the afternoon, and I’m blogging now because I’m going to a party tonight with my friends Aaron and Kate. Additionally, I’ve had a sinus infection for the last week and don’t imagine that staying up late to write (again) will help it go away. Currently I’m wishing it WOULD go away, and it occurs to me that I’ve spent a good deal of my life wishing things were different than they are–an illness, a feeling, a relationship, my bank account. So now I’m trying to let life exist, to actually relax into instead of push against THIS moment. This exhausted, snot-filled, weak, achy moment. Which feels like an eternity to me (WHEN will it end?!) but is simply another moment to eternity.

A necessary moment, I trust, in the grand scheme of things.

Earlier today I got a message from Kate about the party tonight. “Be at our house at 5:30 because we’re going to dinner first.” Then she added a laughing emoji and said, “I made your evening plans for you.” And whereas I’m usually a control freak about being told what to do, in this case–for a lot of reasons–I didn’t care. Indeed, I was delighted. “It’s okay,” I replied, “I’m looking forward to getting out of the house.” Anyway, this whole exchange has got me thinking about control, the way we sometimes pitch a shit-fit when someone tells us what to do and sometimes we don’t.

And we’re nowhere near logical about it.

A while back I had an experience in which I wanted someone’s approval and didn’t get it–and that bothered me. Alas, had it been any other person or even a different day of the week, I probably wouldn’t have cared. After some time had passed, I didn’t care with this person. This is what I mean about control, how we have to have things a certain way–our way–in order to be happy or satisfied. I MUST have their approval, and so on. If it’s someone else’s idea or opinion that happens to disagree with yours? Well, then it must be wrong. THEY must be wrong. Because God forbid someone other than you–someone other than me–should be right.

Along these lines, Byron Kate says that if you want to give someone a gift, let them be right. “People LOVE to be right,” she says. So like, let them have the last word. This, of course, is both a difficult and miserable thing to do. But more and more I’m seeing the wisdom in not putting up a fuss about insignificant things (in forgiving), in letting people be who they are (whether they approve of me or not), and in not trying to change someone else’s world (the world where, according to them, I very well may be wrong). Recently I watched two people arguing online about a dance matter. Now, they were using well-constructed sentences and gentlemanly language, but–let’s be clear–they were attacking each other. At the very least, they were picking a fight. (Incidentally, the dance didn’t care.) Have I done this sort of thing before? Sure. But the older I get, the more I hope I do less of it.

Why, Marcus?

Because it’s not my job to control how anyone else dances, behaves, or thinks. This includes friends, family, lovers, and perfect strangers. Granted, I could try to change someone else (and believe me I’ve tried), but talk about exhausting. So more and more I’m learning to let others think and do as they will. My therapist would say, “Like you, THEY’RE AUTONOMOUS.” Likewise, I’m learning to let God, to let life, do as it wills. This means doing my best to heal and succeed, whatever that means, but letting go of the results. It means relaxing into THIS moment whatever it looks like. It means, no matter what’s happened the day before, saying, “Okay, sweetheart, here we are–right here, right now. Let’s start over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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On Being In Process (Blog #775)

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This morning I went to therapy. When talking about something in her personal life she’s working on, my therapist said, “I can see it’s going to be a process. I’m just so impatient.” So this is a universal experience, wanting things to happen faster than they do. At least me and my therapist feel this way. Still, I’m learning to trust life’s pace. Recently I’ve been learning things about thoughts, emotions, and the physical body and have thought, It sure would have been nice to have known this twenty years ago! But would it have? I can’t say with any assurance that I would have even been ready for the knowledge (or experience) then.

Lately I’ve written a lot about Internal Family Systems, a psychological/spiritual perspective that proposes that our minds aren’t unified, but rather “multiple.” The idea is that we have many sub-personalities instead of one big one. This explains why one “part” of you, say, wants to eat cake and another “part” of you wants to go to the gym. Anyway, I’ve been all about this theory and listened to an audio program about it today. But apparently–I’d forgotten–I first read about Internal Family Systems several years ago in a book about trauma (which is excellent) called The Body Keeps the Score. Then I just skimmed over it, yet now I’m blabbing about it on the internet. All I can say is that I must not have been ready then. Now I am.

In other words, it wasn’t time.

I don’t know why things happen when they do. I mean, that’s a big question people have been asking for centuries, and I don’t intend to solve it tonight. That being said, earlier this evening I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s about to be married (to each other), and I know that as a teacher I go in a particular order for a particular reason. There’s a saying that when the student is ready, the teacher appears, and it’s basically the same in dance. When the student is ready, the step will be taught. Anyway, I can only assume that God, life, or the universe educates all of us in the same manner. That is, when it’s time, it’s time.

Why? Because it’s time.

This afternoon I met with my physical therapist and was given a number of new exercises to rehab my left knee, which I had surgery on over four months ago. One of the exercises was jumping on one leg (the one I had surgery on). Y’all, this was anything but pretty. You think you know how to hop. Like, in your mind it goes well. But in your physical body, not so much. My therapist said, “Right now you can barely jump over a sheet of paper.” But then he added, “Don’t worry. It will get better.” Later when I was trying to balance on one leg (the one I had surgery on) and bend over at the same time, it was the same deal. I was shaky, unstable. My foot cramped. Still, my therapist seemed unconcerned. “Don’t worry. It will get better.”

My surgeon has said that it will take a full year to get my strength back. Until then, maybe even after, it’s just going to be a challenge–to stand one one leg, to hop, to go down stairs. Once again, we’re back to things being a process. We’re back to being patient. One (dance) step at a time. This afternoon I had a few spare hours, and The Learner in me really wanted to read. But the rest of me was physically exhausted, so I took a nap. You do what you have to do. They’ll be time for learning later. Or I guess you could say that I did learn something–how to rest and better take care of myself.

Besides, you can’t do everything in one day.

Recently I read that everything in the universe is moving. Even solid objects, though they appear stable, are made up of vibrating atoms. Even if this weren’t the case with, say, your coffee table, it’s still hurtling through space at a (literally) astronomical speed. The point is that nothing in life stands still. Everything has been, is, and forever will be “in process.” Sure, one day I’ll be able to say that I can hop on one leg, but then there will be some other goal to focus on, some other thing I’d like to do with my new, fan-dangled knee. One day I’ll be able to say I’m “done” with the book I’m currently reading, but then there will be another book and another. And even with books I’ve “finished,” the ideas in them will still be with me, most likely growing and changing into other ideas. One thing leads to the next. Nothing is ever truly done.

Patience, it seems, is accepting this fact, accepting life as it is right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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On Simple Pleasures (Blog #703)

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Today I was supposed to go to Tulsa to see friends, but this morning decided not because of the weather. Last night it sleeted and snowed in Oklahoma. And whereas the roads would probably have been clear(er) this afternoon, my gut said no. Weird, because I usually don’t get in a twist about weather conditions. But since I had knee surgery, I’m especially cautions of slick surfaces. That’s the last thing I need, to make it all the way to Tulsa just to slip on a restaurant sidewalk. What’s the saying? Better safe than sorry.

In lieu of traveling today, I stayed home–fixed myself a nice oatmeal breakfast, then spent the afternoon reading a book by Robert Sapolsky called Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst, about why people commit acts of aggression and violence. Apparently the answer isn’t simple; the book is over 700 pages. Also, it’s dense. I’m on page 62, and so far all I’ve taken away is a vague understanding of what a neurotransmitter is. Well, that’s not true. I’ve also learned about the prefrontal cortex (PFC), which is the part of my brain apparently responsible for my eating kale salads. That is, the PFC helps us choose what is “best” over what is fun, expedient, or titillating. It’s the reason we set our alarms to go to work or the reason we don’t hit on the hot guy at the gym, even if we fantasize about it (a lot).

By the way, the PFC doesn’t fully develop until a person’s mid to late twenties, which explains a lot and is one of the reasons my therapist recommends my dating someone over thirty.

Earlier this evening my PFC, always doing its job, took me to the gym. Dad went with me. I’ll spare you every little detail, but I cycled then followed along with a yoga video on my laptop, which I brought with me. However, I couldn’t do everything the video asked me to, like rest my weight on my left knee. I’m getting really excited to start using my body like I used to, but I figured better safe than sorry. So I modified. As the yoga instructor said, “We work with the bodies we have.”

We work with the bodies we have. Amen.

I don’t have much else to say. I’m excited to hit “publish” and, I don’t know, watch a movie. Historically I’d be bemoaning what didn’t happen today, thinking I could have gone to dinner with my friends instead of to the gym (woo, exercise). But lately I’ve been trying to find joy being right here, right now, whether that means breaking a sweat or sitting at home in my sweat-pants. I’ve been trying to bask in simple pleasures–a good story, a hot cup of tea–hell, walking, which I’ve found is especially enjoyable if you haven’t been able to do it in a while.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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On Being Done (Blog #693)

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This morning when I rolled out of bed, I noticed that one of my sheets was torn. Right there in the middle of my mattress, there was a hole you could have thrown a basketball through. If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed SOMEONE had a really good time last night. Alas, this was not the case. Rather, apparently my sheet had worn thin and couldn’t hold itself together any longer. It’s okay, I thought, I’ve been there plenty of times myself. Anyway, despite the fact that I had other plans for my afternoon, I ended up washing sheets (I have sensitive skin that requires everything I come in contact with be cleaned in “free and clear” detergent) then re-making my bed. Ugh. Sometimes our choices are made for us.

Since I was already doing laundry, I decided to DO LAUNDRY this afternoon. I’m going out-of-town tomorrow, so it worked out. Now I’ll have underwear options for the weekend. (That’s always nice.) While the laundry was going on, I knitted, something I haven’t done in weeks. Just another session or two, and I’ll be done with my very first project–a pot holder! I can’t tell you how good this felt, being productive. I really got on a roll–checked the fluids in my car, home-made my own windshield washer fluid (thanks for the recipe, Mom), even cleaned my white sneakers. My therapist says it takes “a real hooker” to pull off white sneakers!

Insert look of confidence here.

This evening I went to Starbucks to use their internet to order more sensitive-skin items online–six bars of soap, some shaving cream. Ugh. You don’t think about all the things you rub on your body until you have to restock almost all of them. Hopefully this will do it for a while. After finishing my online shopping, I worked on someone else’s blog. (Sometimes I get paid to write.) Now it’s after ten, and I’m working on mine, rushing through it because Dad and I need to go to the gym soon.

Something about being productive. There’s an idea in mysticism and ancient wisdom that we don’t “do” things. Rather, we are “being done.” I wish I were. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.) But seriously, take breathing, for instance. Is it something you decide to do, or does it just happen? And if it just happens, then couldn’t the argument be made that everything just happens? More and more, I think so.

Byron Katie says, “Decisions make themselves.” To me this means that you can fret and worry and plan and put off, but at some point you simply find yourself doing the laundry, sitting down to write, or going to the gym (or not). The ego likes to take credit for everything, of course, so we tell ourselves, Look at what I did or didn’t do today. I’m so great. I’m a real piece of crap. I’m not saying we’re not responsible for our actions, just that all the mental chatter around our actions is unnecessary. For example, I often worry that my irritated skin should be healing or that I should be working on a novel, but I could just as easily worry that I’m not at this very moment taking a breath. Either way, without my planning it, at some point I do–take a breath, feel better, sit down to write (or not). But is it because I worried first? No, I don’t think so. Sometimes our choices are made for us. Better said, sometimes it’s simply time to do whatever it is you’re doing right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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On Musterbation (Blog #664)

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The above photo was taken by my friend Tom Wilmer during our recent travel writing trip to Fall Creek Falls State Park in the Upper Cumberland region of Tennessee. Apparently the tree in the photo is one of the most photographed trees in America, and if you Google “Buzzard’s Roost tree” you can see even more of it. I’m using the photo tonight–even though all I can think about when I look at it is how not-flat my stomach looks–in order to prove a point, which I’ll get to shortly. Plus, the photo reminds me that I used to have two functioning knees and before long I’ll be back to running around state parks, crawling around mountaintops, and–eeek!–dancing.

This afternoon I went to the chiropractor and got a massage (at the chiropractor’s office). I can’t tell you how grateful I am for these people. So often I insist on suffering, like, I can take care of this problem myself. But whenever I do break down and ask for help, I actually get it. So this is me being thankful for my chiropractor and massage therapist and everyone else who’s helped me this week–my dermatologist, my therapist, my physical therapist, and–oh!–a very nice gentleman at Kinko’s today.

The Kinko’s trip had to do with printing off and signing some paperwork to finally–finally–settle my bodily injury claim with the insurance company of the man who knocked the shit out of me over a year ago and totaled my car. This has been one of the most frustrating ordeals I’ve ever gone through. And whereas I’m not completely happy with the way it’s turning out, I’m not completely dissatisfied either, so I’m moving on. What’s done is done, and now I can think about/worry about/stress about other pressing matters. This has taken eighteen months of my life, and God knows I have plenty of other things on my mental and emotional plate to deal with.

This evening I curled up on my futon with a cup of hot tea and read several chapters in Wayne Dyer’s I Can See Clearly Now, a book that’s reminding me that there are no accidents, everything in one’s life is good and useful (although sometimes it takes years to see this), and the mind is a powerful creator and healer. In one story, Wayne describes seeing a woman (under hypnosis, I think) cause her skin to physically blister when she was touched with a rubber eraser because she believed it was a hot poker. Is that crazy or what? But Wayne’s point was that our beliefs truly can and do affect our realities, so they’re worth examining. In terms of my present health challenges, I’m personally trying to shift my thinking from This will never get better to My body is both willing and able to heal.

In another story, Wayne talks about the work of Albert Ellis, a man who greatly influenced Wayne’s thinking. Ellis, as I understand, was the creator of Rational Emotive Therapy (RET), which came before and has similarities to Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT). Both therapies contend that it’s not outside people or events that cause our unhappiness, but rather our thoughts or beliefs about those people or events that cause our unhappiness. According to Ellis, in a video I watched on YouTube, we “disturb” ourselves whenever we think things MUST be a certain way. He says the three big MUSTS are, “I must do well or I’m no good, you–you louse–must treat me well or you’re worthless and deserve to roast in hell, and the world must give me precisely what I want or it’s a horrible, awful place.”

Sticking with today’s events as examples, this theory would contend that it’s not the fact that my stomach isn’t flat that disturbs me, but rather my belief that my stomach must (or should) be any different than it actually is. Likewise, it’s not the fact that my car accident matter dragged on for over a year that stresses me out, but rather my belief that “this shouldn’t have taken so long.” Ellis refers to this kind of thinking–in which we place demands on ourselves, others, and the universe that are in direct opposition to what-is–as musterbation. Is that great or what?

“Masturbation is good and delicious,” he says, “but musterbation is evil and pernicious.”

There are no rules.

With this in mind, I’m trying to lighten up on myself. For example, normally by this time of night (12:23 AM) I’m done with the blog and already at the gym doing physical therapy, so there’s a part of me that thinks, I must finish up. I must go work out. Fuck! I’m behind. Then my mind launches into all sorts of “the world will fall apart” scenarios because I’m not obeying my made-up rules. (No one else is obeying them either, by the way.) But the truth is, there are no rules. Nothing MUST happen other that what IS happening right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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There’s No Rushing Life (Blog #575)

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This afternoon I finished fixing/painting the side of the house I was working on yesterday, the same house I’ve been working on–inside and out–for the past many weeks. So that’s it. Barring any hiccups or unforeseen projects, I’m done. The realtor said the house should be listed early this coming week. So I loaded up my tools, did one final trash run, and celebrated tonight with fried mushrooms and a piece of chocolate cake. And whereas I enjoyed this debauchery immensely, my stomach quickly pitched a fit.

My gut: ever the party pooper.

This is really the oddest feeling, to have an ongoing and seemingly never-ending project end. But this has been the case with so many other things in my life, and I can only assume will be the case with so many more, including this blog. One day something starts, it goes on for a while, and then one day it ends.

Well, either it ends or you do.

Whenever I complete a project, whenever something is over, I tend to stare in both disbelief and admiration (way to go, Marcus!). This evening after I put all the paint cans away and loaded up all my supplies, I did one final walk around the property just to take it all in. I remembered when my friends still lived there, when their home was full of their possessions and memories. Then I remembered all the boxes–all the boxes!–before they moved, and my cleaning all the walls and floors after they left. Little by little–somehow–we got it done.

The last couple of nights I’ve been struck with gratitude with respect to the entire ordeal. First, I’m glad for the work. It’s nice to be employed. But I’m also glad for all the help. Obviously my friends did A LOT of packing before they left, and today their realtor’s husband came by to patch some cracked concrete and haul off some branches I couldn’t fit into the back of Tom Collins (my car). And even though they didn’t do anything directly, my parents loaned me their vacuum cleaner and mop. For that matter, the hardware store provided me with paint, sandpaper, and–most importantly–mosquito spray (for a nominal fee, of course). My point is–we never do things completely alone.

It takes a village and all that shit.

When I got home this evening, I took a long, hot shower. Well, okay, fine–I took a bath. (I like baths. So sue me!) Anyway, I scrubbed the latex paint off my skin and washed the bug spray out of my hair. And–I don’t know–it was like nine o’clock, and I was SO READY for bed. Hell, at seven I was ready for bed; it gets dark SO FRICKIN’ EARLY these days, all I want to do is hibernate. Well, okay, fine–get fat and hibernate. And whereas I’d planned to blog and fall right to sleep, I got distracted by the internet and ended up watching every trailer and promo video I could find for the soon-to-be-released movie about Freddie Mercury. (Freddie Mercury was the lead singer for the band Queen, Mom. He himself was a queen and died due to complications related to AIDS.) Anyway, the movie looks FABULOUS. Granted, it doesn’t have ANYTHING to do with tonight’s blog, but–nonetheless–I can’t wait for it.

It occurs to me that I often “can’t wait” for a lot of things–can’t wait for this project to end, can’t wait for this Freddie Mercury movie to come out (no pun intended), can’t wait to go to bed. And yet there’s no rushing life; everything happens in its own time, in its own season. Something is always ending; something is always beginning. If we’re lucky, we’re able to find appreciation for this present moment, for what is, for the way things are–whatever they are–right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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About What’s Important (Blog #489)

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Yesterday I spent the day with my great-aunt and great-uncle in California, then drove from 8:30 last night to 11:00 this morning back to Albuquerque, where I am now. Talk about being tired. Fourteen and a half freaking hours on the road. I saw the sun set AND rise. When I got here, I brought in my luggage then crashed hard until my not-so-quiet (but extremely beautiful) nephews woke me up around three this afternoon. Now it’s 10:00 in the evening, and I’m just okay, basically functional. As I’d still like to shower and finish reading a book that belongs to my sister’s local library (and which I started this afternoon), I need to keep this short.

Tomorrow morning my parents, my aunt, and I leave to go back to Oklahoma City (and then Arkansas the next day). Honestly, I love traveling but am weary of the road. Last night’s trip alone was 900 miles, and everything from Arkansas to California is starting to blur together. I’ve listened to more songs and more podcasts than I can stand. Also, I apparently left my phone charger in California, a fact that I hate. I normally have my shit more together, but–hell–it was a LONG weekend. These things happen.

They make more chargers, Marcus.

All that being said, I wouldn’t trade the time on the road. Even if I could go back and get a plane ticket for the dance event in California, I wouldn’t do it. Obviously, the driving has given me a lot of time to process and think–time to be alone–and this has been a good thing. Plus, I was able to see my relatives. Even driving out here with my parents and my aunt has been good. Just off seeing my great-aunt, whom I haven’t seen in 25 years, reminds me that our time together is limited. Last week after I posted about my dad farting in my car on the way out here, my friend Chelsea (whose father is no longer alive), said, “I would pay every dime I will ever earn to get one more ridiculous car trip.”

So let’s be clear about what’s important.

To me, it’s family and kindness, not phone chargers–although my hyper-organized, anal-retentive self often forgets this. Honestly, it’s sort-of better, sort-of worse since the estate sale and becoming a minimalist. On one hand I think, It’s just one more thing to let go of, Marcus. On the other I think, But I have so little now. I don’t want to lose anything else. Byron Katie says, “You don’t get to keep anything.” To me this means that when we die–sometimes even before that–we lose it all–possessions, relationships, even memories. So we have to make peace with where we are in this moment. Like, it has to be ENOUGH that I’m sitting here on a couch absolutely exhausted and that I’m no longer the owner of a phone charger, since–right here, right now–this IS my life.

And yes.

Right here, right now.

It’s enough.

I’m enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love stands at the front door and says, “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself to come inside.”

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The Universal Dance Floor (Blog #450)

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As much as I love swing dancing (and I do), I adore two-stepping. Two-Step, a country dance, comes from Foxtrot, and, although there are a number of different ways to count and dance it, is typically counted “quick, quick, slow, slow.” Like Foxtrot, Waltz, Quick Step, Polka, and Tango, Two-Step travels counterclockwise along line-of-dance, which is the imaginary “loop” or “track” that’s laid out around the perimeter of any dance floor. (Spot dances like Rumba, Cha-Cha, and Swing are danced in the middle of the floor; line-of-dance dances are danced on the outside.) Anyway, there’s just something about two-stepping. Not only do you get to constantly travel around the dance floor, you can also turn or spin around yourself or your partner at the same time.

It’s go-go-go. (Yeehaw.)

Currently it’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Today’s blog is number 450 (in a row), and I’m writing it now because I’m going to a wedding reception this evening and plan to party hardy. The wedding itself was earlier today (at noon), just down the street from our house. (I walked there and back.) And whereas it was a beautiful wedding (truly), it was also a Catholic mass, which means it lasted a long time and involved a lot of standing and sitting, a lot of repeating, “Lord, hear our prayer.” Honestly, it was difficult for me to pay attention. I used to work at weddings as a photographer, and after about a hundred, they stopped being riveting. Plus, today’s mass was mostly in Spanish, and I don’t speak Spanish.

In short, my mind wandered.

Yesterday I wrote about my search for the constellation Cassiopeia, part of my recent fascination with our solar system. I’ve really been wanting to understand why stars and planets move or appear to move the way they do. Last night I looked up a model of the universe online and found a site that shows where the planets currently are. In one diagram, the sun was shown in the middle, in another, the earth. This was extremely enlightening, seeing the universe from both an outside and an on-the-ground perspective, and it really helped me understand why this planet is over here and that planet is over there.

This is all I could think about in church earlier today, the planets and their orbits. Normally planets move through the constellations (the zodiac) on the ecliptic (the planetary racetrack) from west to east, but sometimes they seem to move from east to west. This is called retrograde motion, and I learned last night that it’s an illusion that occurs when a faster moving (inner) planet passes a slower moving (outer) one. This same illusion happens when you speed past someone on the highway. You’re both technically moving forward, but relative to you, the other person or car appears to be moving backwards.

Still trying to get a picture of how the whole thing works, I imagined during the wedding that the sanctuary was our solar system. I thought, What if the sun were in the middle of the room, and I (as the earth) were orbiting around it? What would another planet to the left or right of me look like? What if they were on the other side of the room, “eclipsed” by the sun? And then it hit me–the universe is like a dance floor!–all the planets looping around the sun counterclockwise, each on its own path, some spinning right as they go (Venus, Uranus) and some spinning left (all the others). I thought, It makes perfect sense. Some planets dance solo and others dance with partners (moons).

Like one big cosmic Two-Step.

We’re all equal on life’s dance floor.

Yesterday I was reminded of an affirmation that I’m quite fond of–“Everything is happening in divine right order.” To me this means that the planets and yes, even you and I, are on our proper paths. Not that everything is predetermined, but rather that we are all where we are meant to be–the universal dance floor!–and the rules of dance apply. Here it doesn’t matter if you spin right, spin left, dance solo, or grab a partner. What matters is that you’re dancing. Some days you’ll dance quick, some days you’ll dance slow. At times, others will appear to pass you by. Don’t let this upset you. It’s an illusion. We’re all equal on life’s dance floor. Each of us–at best–is simply, fabulously whirling around in circles–circles that have nowhere to go or be other than right here, right now–circles with no beginning and no end.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love stands at the front door and says, “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself to come inside.”

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You Can’t Go Home Again (Blog #363)

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It’s almost three in the morning, Daddy is tired, and tonight’s blog (number 363) is one of the few that I’ve written (or am writing) on not-my-laptop. Hang in there, I’ll explain.

For the most part, today was just a day. I slept in, finished reading a book, took a nap. This evening, however, was something else. First, when I woke up from my nap, I got a letter in the mail that said my health insurance was ending in–uh–three days. Shit, I thought. My appointment with the immunologist is next week! Well, it took a few minutes, but I remembered that a friend (and blog reader) of mine works in health insurance, so I called her. “Oh,” she said, “they probably just need you to update your income information. Let me make some calls. Don’t worry until I tell you to.” Y’all, I can’t tell you what a relief this is, that even though the “problem” isn’t solved yet, I have someone who’s not only experienced with this stuff but is willing to help. (Phew.) Once again I’m reminded–no one is alone.

Also, thanks, friend.

Tonight our improv comedy group, The Razorlaughs, had our monthly performance at a local restaurant. We were short a couple members, but thankfully some talented (hilarious) friends of ours were in the audience and were able to fill in. (The show went great.) Afterwards, I went over to my friends Justin and Ashley’s house to eat Taco Bell, have a few drinks, and–apparently–play the longest card game ever, Phase 10. (I came in second, even though we technically quit before the game was over, since some people have to go to work in the morning.) Anyway, I’m at Justin and Ashley’s now, as I opted to stay here rather than drive home not-drunk-but-not-sober-either.

Good choice, Marcus, good choice.

We were like Three’s Company.

For those of you that don’t know, Justin has been one of my closest friends for the last eighteen years. As he says, we’ve known each other longer than some people have mortgages. We met on the debate team in high school and moved in together in 2009. Now Ashley is his wife, but back then they were just dating, and after a while Ashley moved in with Justin and me. Well, she actually moved in with Justin, but I came along with the deal. Anyway, for several years all of us lived together here on Reeder Street (where they still live, and I am now), and we were like Three’s Company or whatever. Looking back, it really was magical. Having lived with my parents until I was–uh–twenty-eight, this was truly my first “on my own” home, the first place I thought of as mine, even though it technically wasn’t. (Justin bought the house, and I paid rent.) Still, when I moved in I got to pick the colors for my room and have some shelves installed in both my room and my closet. Plus, I got my own bathroom and half the office, and Justin pretty much let me do whatever I wanted.

Again, for four years, this was my home. This is where I ate my meals, this is where I brought my dates, this is where I meditated, and this is where I taught dance lessons when I wasn’t at the studio. But eventually, things changed (like they do). In 2013, just as Justin and Ashley were preparing to get married, I decided to move out of the Reeder Street house and in with my ex. (If you’re familiar with the blog, you know that relationship didn’t end well, but it did send me to therapy, and that turned out great. Consequently, now I live with my parents and have this blog. Such is the mystery of life.) Anyway, I’ve been back to Justin and Ashley’s a number of times in the last several years, but tonight is my first time back in my old room, my first time sleeping here, since I moved out.

Currently I’m trying to take it all in and not get too emotional. The room itself is still the same–the walls are still brown and orange, the shelves still hang where they did before. As I’m writing I keep looking around the room, picturing my old bookshelves, my old knickknacks, even my old ceiling fan–all things that no longer even belong to me since the estate sale. Like, I couldn’t find them if I wanted to–they only exist in my mind. And yet there I can find them as if it were yesterday. There was a red leather chair sitting where the bed is now. A picture of my sister hung low on the wall, underneath the window. (The nail hole hasn’t been filled in.) I used to cry in this room. I used to laugh in this room.

They say you can’t go home again, and I guess that’s true. Both back in my old room at my parents’ house and back in my old room at Justin and Ashley’s, I feel a twinge of the familiar. These places are comfortable, filled with memories the way the sky is filled with clouds–here one minute and gone the next. And whereas I’m grateful for both my old rooms–for a night, for a year, whatever–I know that I have long since outgrown them. Things are different now. I’m different now. This is what not being able to go home again means–not that you can’t be in the same physical space you grew up in, but that you can’t turn back the clock to a time when things were simpler or less complicated. You can’t exchange your memories for reality. You can’t un-live your life or un-grow yourself.

The past is no more serious than a cloud in the sky.

Three more posts (including this one) away from a full year of blogging, and this is what being in my old room reminds me of–how much I’ve grown. Honestly, my life has been a roller coaster since I moved out of here. Sometimes it’s been a real bitch, actually. But even though I’d like to see some things in my outside world change, I love where I am on the inside, and I see every bit of my past–including this room–as having brought me to where I am now. For this reason, I’m grateful for my past, with all its tears and laughter. But I also know that I wouldn’t choose to go back or relive any of it if I could. The past is the past, for a reason. I’m glad it’s over. Looking back, I remember being so over-the-moon or distraught about countless things. Now I’m like, whatever, just as surely I’ll be “whatever” about my cancelled insurance a month from now. So surely the past (and even the present) is no more serious than a cloud in the sky, here one minute and gone the next. Surely we weren’t meant to cling to any of it. Surely life was meant to be lived right here, right now, and then let go of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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