On Life’s Seasons (Blog #484)

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It’s nine in the morning, and I’m still in Somewhere, California. I survived the night and actually got some rest. I just went down to the lobby to grab coffee, and this motel appears better in the daytime. Not great, but better. From the looks of it, the only thing this city offers is a pit stop. Just a place to gas up and rest your head on your way to a better place. For me, that better place is San Francisco, which I plan to roll into later this afternoon. I’m blogging now so that I can have time to get there, maybe explore some used book stores, and find my bearings before the dance tonight.

Not last night but the night before, I dreamed that I was in a large, decorated warehouse that was mostly green–green walls, green comforter on the bed, green everything. Hanging from the ceilings were a few orange and red flags. The owners asked my opinion, and I said, “There’s too much green. It needs balance. More fall colors.” Later, I was in a swamp, and several people were carrying a casket. (This is where things get violent.) Then I took out a shotgun and shot the pallbearers. Blew their faces right off.

It was an absolute blood bath.

Frightening, I know, but–upon waking–I actually thought that last part was delightful. My therapist says that dead bodies in dreams represent the parts of your psyche that are no longer beneficial or helpful, and in mythology blood always represents new life. So the fact that I was taking a shotgun to the pallbearers (whom I generalize as “not useful” and just there for looks), tells me that I’m done with being fake (both personally and with regard to others). Give me something new, something real.

I’ve been reading about the stars and seasons lately, and there’s a lot of talk about festivals. In spring we have easter to commemorate new life, and in fall there is (or at least used to be) Michaelmas, a celebration of the Archangel Michael that honors the end of the growing season. In the Jewish tradition there’s Passover in the spring and the Feast of Tabernacles in the fall. But the point remains the same–there’s a time for spring and a time for fall, a time to be born and a time to die. Balance.

Endings are just as important as beginnings.

With this background in mind, I think the two dreams I had were communicating the same thing. In the first one, part of my consciousness was saying, “There’s too much growth (green) in your life. You need more death (more fall colors.)” In the second dream, it was more obvious. Grab a shotgun! I don’t mean to be morbid here. It’s not that I’m celebrating death. But I am starting to recognize that ENDINGS are just as important as beginnings. In fact, they’re necessary for beginnings. If I hadn’t divested myself of most of my worldly possessions, how would I have room for whatever is coming to take their place? How could the spring occur without first the fall occurring and then the long, cold winter?

Primitive people recognized this fact. It’s gross, but it’s why they sacrificed, why they were cannibals. Death makes room for more life. Endings create beginnings.

Sometimes I worry that I won’t get to wherever it is that I’m going. It’s not that I don’t see progress in my interior and external life, but it’s like I get to a pit stop and think, What if I don’t get to my better place? But surely the planets never think this way, wondering whether or not they are in the right place at the right time. I’m in such a hurry to be “somewhere else,” to get to my summer, my sweet spot, but I’m reminded that even the earth couldn’t rush her seasons if she tried. So I’m going to try to follow her example, to stay steady and sure in my orbit, to let my seasons come and go, to give each one its due respect.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

Don’t Worry, Mom (Blog #483)

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It’s just before midnight, Pacific Standard Time, and I’m in Somewhere, California. It took me a solid fourteen hours of driving to get here from Albuquerque, including one hour stuck in traffic due to construction. I’m absolutely ready for bed. So much so that it doesn’t matter that I’m in a cheap motel and completely disgusted by the bad decor and awful lighting. Granted, I AM wondering how many people have been murdered in my room, but I don’t think that will keep me from getting a decent night’s sleep.

Don’t worry, Mom. I’m exaggerating about the motel. Although I DID have to walk to a gas station to get my own shampoo because all they gave me was a quarter-sized bar of soap. (I could have driven to get it, but I’m SICK of driving.)

The long haul out here went well. I listened to three lectures by Joseph Campbell, two marketing podcasts by Seth Godin, two origin-of-dirty-words podcasts, and a lot of Madonna and friends. The scenery in Arizona was stunning, despite the thin air at 7,000 feet altitude. (I didn’t take any pictures.) The desert heat got up to 118 degrees, at least according to the outside thermometer on Tom Collins (my car). Thank God for air conditioning. Parts of California smell like the Arkansas/Oklahoma State Fair–like barnyard animals or wet socks. But where I am now is–decent.

When I got stuck in traffic, Google Maps told me that I was in an eight-minute slow down. Then it bumped it up to nine minutes, then ten. But it lasted a freaking hour. (Come on Google, get your act together.) Thankfully, no one was in a crash–it’s just that they were doing repairs to the two-lane highway, so it temporarily had to become a one-lane highway. Still, it was bumper-to-bumper, and the whole situation made me so nervous that–as my dad says–you couldn’t have driven a spike up my butt with a sledgehammer. The silver lining for me, however, was that I got to watch the sun go slowly down over the desert. Gorgeous.

After the sunset, I noticed myself getting nervous. Maybe hyper-aware is a better phrase. At home I love the dark, but California is foreign territory for me. I haven’t been here since I was a child, and I’ve NEVER driven these roads. You know–what if something happened? (Don’t worry, Mom, I’m okay.) Plus, I’m alone. Not that I can’t take care of myself–I DID buy my own shampoo!–but it’s always easier when you’re with another person. But again, other than the terrible lighting in this tawdry motel, things are dandy. I’ve eaten, locked the door, brushed my teeth, and am ready for the la-la land. I’m excited about the dance event this weekend. With any luck, I’ll have an easy morning, a few more hours on the road, and I’ll be THERE.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Good night.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

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The Dog Just Farted (Blog #479)

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Today’s (a)musings–

1. The whole fam damily

This afternoon about two o’clock, me, my aunt, my parents, and their dog piled into my car, Tom Collins, in order to drive to Albuquerque, where my sister lives. We have so much shit, it took two tries–one by my dad and one by me–to pack everything into the back. In addition to bags and bags of luggage, we have pillows and blankets, grocery sacks full of snacks, a cooler of drinks, two CPAP machines (for those who have sleep apnea), three Rubbermaid tubs of prescription medications, and one tote entirely dedicated to hair products. This is what happens when three senior citizens and a homosexual travel together.

As my aunt said, “We’re crammed in here like sardines.”

2. Taking our damn time

So far the trip has gone well, although we’re stopping every hour and a half to stretch because half the car has restless leg syndrome. Plus, no one has a large bladder. Our second stop of the day was just after five o’clock, and that was to see my aunt’s son–my cousin–and his family. They fed us dinner, my aunt played with her grandkids (I did too–we jumped in the bounce-around and used their telescope to look at the craters of the moon), and I even got a nap in. We were there five hours. All this to say that it “should” take eleven hours to get to Albuquerque from Fort Smith, but we’ll probably do it in twenty and will definitely be driving through the night.

Oh well, what’s our hurry?

3. What’s that d-a-m-n smell?

My aunt, who’s in her seventh decade, still spells curse words. Earlier she said, “My A double S” is sore. It seems like every thirty minutes SOMEONE bitches or gripes about how little room we have or how they can’t get comfortable. Just now my aunt said, “Marcus, I’ve got to do something. This sewing bag [her sewing bag] is in my way.” I replied, “Feeling good about all that s-h-i-t you brought NOW?”

Currently it’s 1:23 in the morning, my dad is driving, and my aunt and I in the backseat. I’d prefer to be driving, but I can’t drive AND blog at the same time. My dad and my aunt are talking about an extremely large cross in Groom, Texas. I guess they have a bet about who will see it first. Otherwise, my aunt and I are betting about who keeps farting–my dad or the dog. Dad says it’s the dog, so I’m betting it’s him.

4. Trying to have some damn fun

Yesterday evening I met three of my friends from high school for dinner. Well, we met first for coffee, then we went for dinner. (It was a marathon catch-up session.) Anyway, at the coffee shop I ordered a piece of banana bread, and the girl at the cash register said, “Do you want that for here or to-go?”

I said, “For here because I want to put it in my mouth as soon as possible.”

She laughed then said, “May I have a name for your order?”

“For my banana bread?” I said. “Let’s call him Jack.”

“That’s creative,” she smiled, and typed it in. Then when I got my receipt, in big bold letters, it said, “Jack.” This is honestly one of the most exciting things that’s happened in my life lately.

I need to get laid.

5. Damn, I’m tired

Now it’s 1:55 in the morning, and I don’t know why all my headings involve the word “damn.” I’m exhausted. We just passed the giant cross in Groom, Texas, and we’re stopping in seven miles to stretch our legs, pee, and hopefully eat something. My aunt is starting to get silly. She just finished singing the children’s song “The Farmer in the Dell.” I think “the dog” just farted. (Help me.) This evening I’ve had a phrase stuck in my head that I heard on a tape about spiritual healing–“God is able to work in all situations.” Surely that includes this car, this trip, this life of mine.

Surely.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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Nowhere Else to Be (Blog #207)

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This morning my alarm went off at six, and I woke up feeling worse than I’ve felt in days. When I coughed up some junk in my sister’s sink, it became clear that whatever moved into my sinuses last week had not only made itself comfortable, but had also put its snotty little shoes up on an ottoman and confiscated the TV remote. Needless to say, I was not impressed, and I seriously considered screwing my plans in Arkansas this week and going back to bed. But I cleaned up, got myself and my things together, and prepared to hit the road.

Some days you simply have to power through.

After a quick breakfast and goodbyes with my sister and nephews, I grabbed a cup of coffee and walked out the backdoor. Just as I did, I caught a final glimpse of my sister talking to one of my nephews, and part of me wanted to stay, to listen, to hold on a little longer. But it was already after seven, so just like that, I closed the door, jumped in my car, and headed east. Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m back in Van Buren at my parents’ kitchen table. I can still see my sister there in her kitchen, and it’s kind of hard to believe we’re only separated by a day’s drive and don’t see each other more often.

To be fair to both of us, it makes for a pretty long day in the car. Especially if you happen to feel about as good as a warm turd.

Because I had dinner plans, I plowed through the drive in record time, and only stopped twice. This made the trip just over ten hours, including two stops. Normally my bladder would have needed more breaks, but I purposefully deprived the little sucker of fluids, which is probably not the smartest thing to do when you’re sick. It’s also probably not a good idea to drive with the windows down so all the dust and air pollution can irritate your already irritated sinuses, but I did that too. I kept hoping the decline in elevation would help everything, but so far I haven’t experienced a miracle, even though I’m almost a mile lower than I was this morning.

That being said, it is easier to breathe, and I’ve heard breathing is important.

The drive itself was great. I’ve really been so grateful for Tom Collins (my car) this trip. He’s been a true-blue trooper and infinitely better to travel in than the car I had before. (Sorry, Polly.) At the beginning of today’s journey, I listened to a lecture on trauma and transformation, then one on boundaries. Well, I can only handle so much “growth” in one day, so for the rest of the trip I listened to a travel playlist my friend Bonnie sent me. Y’all, it was the coolest thing–every song was handpicked and had something to do with getting away, being on the road (again), or coming home. Short of a hot toddy, it was just what I needed to prop me up.

After dinner, Tom Collins and I finally pulled into my parents’ driveway. Safe and sound and only a little worse for the wear after nearly two weeks on the road, both of us heaved a collective sigh. Ever anal-retentive, I immediately began unpacking and putting everything back in its place. Then I went to Walmart for supplies for yet-another sinusitis home remedy and bananas. I’ll say more about the sinus thing after I try it out, but no (in case you were wondering), the bananas were not part of it. I’m up for just about anything, but come on, bananas go in your mouth, not your nose.

For a while before I started blogging, Mom and Dad and I talked about my trip–our family (of course), all the friends I got to see, all the things I got to do. (If you’d like to know more, uh, read this blog.) In turn, they filled me in on the latest in Van Buren, then went to bed. So for the last thirty minutes, I’ve been sitting alone, blogging. Also, in an effort to undo some of the damage from earlier today, I’ve been double-fisting liquids–water in one hand, hot tea in the other–and (I’m pretty confident) have already ingested enough fluid to float a battleship.

Or at least a bladder-ship. (Yuk, yuk, yuk.)

Anyway, we’ll see if hydrating, having air to breathe, and sleeping makes a difference. Tomorrow promises to be a long day also, so fingers crossed. At the moment, all I can really think about is going to bed. Daddy is WTFO (That’s Worn the Fuck Out, Mom.) Still, part of me wants to wrap this day up somehow, put it away in its proper place as if it were a t-shirt. It seems as life changes in an instant. One moment you’re seeing your sister in a doorway, then you’re not. One moment you’re powering through, then you finally hit a wall. You wake up in one state and pass out in another. Personally, I’m starting to believe that “coming home” really has very little to do with where you unpack your bags. Rather, “coming home” is about seeing yourself through all of life’s moment-to-moment changes and realizing there’s nowhere else you can ever be (or ever have been) except right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t pick and choose what you receive from life, and you can’t always accurately label something as bad.

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Time Well Spent (Blog #200)

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9:33 AM

I’ve been awake for an hour or so, and I just finished a continental breakfast here at the glorious Comfort Inn and Suites in Carbondale, Colorado. Check out is in an hour and a half, so I’m about to take a shower, pack up, and hit the road. (It’s been real.) My destination is Albuquerque, where my sister lives, and it should take about eight hours, stops included. Because I’m still feeling yuck, blah, and gross, I imagine it’s going to be a long day. Jesus, take the wheel. Still, at the end of the road will be the ones I love. All things considered, life is good.

If it’s not obvious, I’ll be writing the blog in “installments” today to make my life easier. If you can think of some little something to make your life easier today, do it–you have my full support.

4:12 PM

I think I just set a new personal record. I drove for five and a half hours without a pit stop. I didn’t realize that was possible, so I’m considering nicknaming my bladder Champ. Who knows why the sudden change in behavior? Usually I pee constantly. Maybe my kidneys got enlightened this weekend, or maybe I’m just dehydrated.

The drive so far has been surreal. For whatever reason, my mind is at ease, and my usual sense of nervousness is nowhere to be found. Even when driving along narrow roadways with steep drop-offs, I was like, Whatever. I’ve only taken one picture (at a stoplight in Aspen), but the scenery has been gorgeous–Colorado and New Mexico in the fall are basically God’s backyard. Anyway, I’m in road-warrior mode and ready to see my nephews, so I’ll write more later.

8:08 PM

I got to my sister’s a couple of hours ago. When I arrived, the nephews started bouncing off the walls, and even Ander (the younger one), who usually hides from me, went nuts. They were skipping, jumping, leading me outside then back in. Eventually I sat down for dinner (thanks, Dee-Anne) and visited with my sister and her husband while Ander scooted across the kitchen floor on his back and repeatedly said, “Ow, ow, ow.” My brother-in-law said, “Imagine this non-stop for seven years.” I said, “I can’t.”

Seriously, how do parents do it? Well, how do parents who don’t drink do it?

Before Christopher (the older nephew) went to bed, he put a craft book on the table and asked me to help him make a paper airplane.  Seriously, this kid is great with building and making things, so he probably could have done it himself, but I guess this was an “advanced” model. Y’all, uncle-ing is hard. The instructions had like ten steps–the plane had a tail fin and everything. It was super detailed, complicated actually, and a couple times I thought, I can’t figure this out. But then I did–it finally came together. What’s more, it flew!

That’s right, I’m thirty-seven and can make a paper airplane.

But get this shit. Christopher–that little turd–ran straight to my sister and said, “Mom–I made an airplane!”

(Awkward pause)

“Well, I helped make one.”

9:40 PM

We always have more support than we realize.

For the last hour I’ve been chatting with my sister, but she just went to bed because she’s a mom. Anyway, I really like her. We talked about our family, school, and our individual responses to some of the bullshit we went through as children–specifically the fact that she expressed her emotions back then and I stuffed mine way, way down. (It’s okay, they’ve been working their way back up–like they do.) Since Dee-Anne lives so far away and most of my healing progress has happened the last few years, sometimes I forget that she went through a lot of the same stuff I did. Of course, it’s always good to remember that you’re not alone. We always have more support than we realize.

10:08 PM

A couple hours ago I realized that today’s blog is number 200. That’s 200 days in a row of sitting down, more than once propping my eyelids open with toothpicks, and opening my mind and heart for both me and the world to see. The goal is every day for a year, and I recently hit the halfway mark (183 days), but I note it on the blog every fifty days if I remember. So that’s why we’re talking about it now.

When I started this blog over six months ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Since I’ve been living back at home, I was originally going to call the blog Me and My Parents, then Me, My Parents, and My Therapist. But I thought, Surely I’ll move out again one day, so I dropped my parents altogether (but just from the blog). Anyway, as I’m writing about the blog now, it makes me want to cry. Maybe that’s because I’ve come to think of it as a friend. We have all these memories together. Each night we cuddle up together, I talk about my day, and the blog listens, wraps me up in its arms, and tells me I’m okay.

I’ve said it before, but I can’t overemphasize what a positive journey this has been. I’m out of work, living with my parents, and really have no idea what the rest of my life will hold. On the surface, I don’t have a lot to show. But beneath the surface, where it counts, I’m better than I ever have been. I’m less afraid and more sure than ever before. I’m more self-confident, comfortable in my own skin. I’m not perfect, of course, but I own my shit and am either working on it or okay with saying, “I’m fine the way I am.” The reason I want to cry, of course, is because I realize it’s not the blog that’s been my friend these last 200 days–it’s me–I’m the one who’s been there for me.

10:31 PM

At the spiritual retreat this last weekend, the teacher was joking about how people approach their spiritual lives, like, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a few free hours between errands today, I’ll check out that meditation thing.” This attitude, of course, is ridiculous. After all, he said, what’s more important than your freedom?

Learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing.

I’ve thought about this question off and on today. I know I’ve worried a lot this last year about how I’m going to make a living or what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but when I consider how much freer, happier, and peaceful I am now as compared to six months ago, all that “worldly stuff” pales in comparison. I’m not saying this process has been easy. On the contrary, there have been plenty of days that it’s felt like making a complicated paper airplane and letting someone else take the credit for it. Often the road has been long, and I haven’t felt so great. Still, I’d recommend the journey to anyone. For surely learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing, and making time to be your own friend is time well spent. And here’s what I can promise–at the end of the road will be the ones you love (and that includes you), and things will finally come together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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How Wide My Branches (Blog #195)

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Once again, I’m blogging while the sun is up. I hope this doesn’t become a habit. I mean, it’s all right. I woke up early to get ready to go out-of-town. For the last three hours, I’ve packed, showered, and gone to Walmart to get my “subscriptions” filled to deal with my current skin inflammation. I swear, my nipples are so red, it looks as if I’ve been breast-feeding. Anyway, I’ve quite literally packed almost everything I own for this trip. I might as well just throw the rest of my shit in the car and go ahead and move. Maybe I’ll meet Zac Efron in Colorado and that will be that. A girl can dream.

My main stress today has been “getting on the road.” I love a good road trip, but I hate getting ready for them. You know how it goes–all the shit to move around, trip after trip from inside the house to the car. My hair products alone weigh enough to make for a decent Crossfit workout. But I digress. The other big stress has been what to write about. It seems like I just did this last night, and other than spotting a few lesbians at Walmart, not much has happened. I guess we could talk about the yogurt I’m currently eating or the fact that my pharmacist said to not put the antibacterial ointment on my nipples as if it were axle grease.

I wonder if he thought I would enjoy that sort of thing.

Just now a man pulled in our driveway and hopped out of his truck with his two sons. Last week his uncle knocked on our door and asked if he could take some of the Chinese Chestnuts that had fallen from our tree into our front yard. “Sure, take all you want,” I said. Well, I guess our nuts are becoming a town hit, since the guy told his nephew about them, and he later came by and asked if he could bring his kids to get some. I remember being excited about this sort of things when I was younger. My sister and I would put the tops of carrots in little saucers of water, watch them sprout into little forests. Once a man came over and helped plant apple trees in our backyard. I was so excited, like I was going to be Johnny Appleseed or something, spend my summers hanging from the branches. Eventually they died, but before they did, our white-haired neighbor with painted-on eyebrows made a few killer apple cobblers.

As part of getting ready to go out-of-town, I dismantled the Lego set I put together several weeks ago. It’s not for certain, but I’m hoping to see my sister on this road trip, and I’d like to give the Lego set to my nephew. Since he’s seven, I’m assuming he doesn’t read my blog and that it will be a surprise. Anyway, when I put the Lego set on the kitchen table, my dad said, “How old are you?” Well, I put my shoulders back and said, “I’m thirty-seven, thank you.” Tonight I’ll be staying with my friend Megan, and she said she and her son were building a castle this afternoon. Honestly, this excites me. Just because you get older, I don’t think that means you have to lose your childlike sense of wonder. My therapist says that growing up means you don’t act childish, but you can–and should–be curious.

Earlier my friend Kara sent me a text with best wishes for my road trip. I said, “First, thanks! Second, help! I don’t know what I’m going to write about today.” Well, being the dutiful friend and eternal student that she is, Kara sent me a list of suggestions–road-trip snacks, pictures with roadside attractions, etc. My favorite, however, was “How quests have to start with questions.” Until she said it, I hadn’t thought of my trip as a quest, but I guess it is. Ultimately, I’m doing this because I’m looking for something besides Zac Efron–knowledge, self-discovery, more peace of mind. On the surface, the question I’m asking looks like, What’s this all about? Deep down, it looks more like, Who am I and what am I really doing here (like, on the planet)? I don’t expect to have those questions answered in a weekend, but perhaps a piece of the puzzle will come together.

Maybe that’s what I like about it–the mystery of it all. I can pack and plan all I want to, but I really don’t know what’s going to happen. I may stop and see some friends next week who are staying in New Mexico, but they said they may leave early if the weather gets bad. So I’m trying to be up for anything, to remain open and curious. For a planner like me, it’s not easy, and it’s kind of like I’m planning to be spontaneous. This makes even me shake my head. But I do think it’s exciting, not knowing exactly what lies ahead. Like those who plant seeds, my constant hope is to simply remain in fertile soil and tend gently to myself, all the while wondering what will become of this tree and how wide my branches can reach.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

Something Shifted (Blog #81)

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Today my friend Bonnie and I drove to Austin, Texas, to visit her daughter Annie. Well, okay, Bonnie drove while I slept and drooled on a pink pillow strapped around my neck. (I only woke up every couple of hours to eat lunch, use the bathroom, or freak out in big-city traffic.) I really think sleeping on road trips is the best thing ever. It’s like time traveling, or at least teleporting. Close your eyes in one city–open them in another.

Beam me up, Bonnie.

Somewhere–I couldn’t tell you–we stopped for a bathroom and coffee break at a Buc-ee’s, which is basically a warehouse-sized gas station/grocery store/Hobby Lobby with a beaver for a mascot. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous and mesmerizing in all my life. I’m pretty sure I could have gotten an oil change and a pedicure if I’d wanted to. The place was so big (everything’s bigger in Texas), I think I met my cardio requirements for the day just walking to the bathroom, which had 34 freaking urinals. (I don’t think anyone minded me tapping him on his shoulder as I counted.) I mean, there were so many toilets, I could only assume they hosted competitions.

Just look at the mouth on that beaver. (I guess the positive side to only having two teeth is that flossing would be super easy. Then again, you wouldn’t make much money off the Tooth Fairy, so there’s that.)

Here’s a picture of what our car ride looked like after I woke up and took the neck pillow off. I’m reading a book called The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning of Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettleheim. It was written by a child psychologist and is a pretty fascinating read about the positive things fairy tales do for both children and adults. Anyway, I think Bonnie was listening to Tracy Chapman about this time, but it might have been STYX or Cat Stevens.

When we got to Austin, Bonnie and I stopped by Annie’s work, a chiropractor’s office where she teaches pilates. After a short reunion and a discussion about whether the bathroom door was green or blue (we still don’t know), Bonnie and I got a key to Annie’s apartment and left to unload our things while Annie finished working.

Like any good nosy houseguest, one of the first things I did when we got to Annie’s apartment was look through her books. One of them had to do with astrology, and although I don’t make a big fuss about horoscopes, I am interested in the zodiac from a personality perspective. Since I’m a Virgo, that was the section I flipped to. The information was mostly familiar, but it said one thing I hadn’t heard before, that Virgos are focused on functionality. Basically, they cut through the crap and get down to what’s useful. Whereas a sign like Gemini seeks out all information (knowledge for the sake of knowledge), a Virgo seeks out only useful information (knowledge for the sake of transformation).

This evening the three of us walked to a local restaurant and sat on the patio for dinner. (That’s us at the top of the blog.) We spent most of our time talking about decorating ideas, since Annie’s about to move her pilates business to a space of her own (!). I’m sure we’ll dance and do other things this week, but Annie’s new space is really the reason for the trip. (Get excited. Tomorrow we look at flooring and paint samples.)

Back at the apartment, as we were all talking about pilates and the new studio, I told Annie that I’ve been to a number of body workers over the years, but there were still things about my body that I wanted to change, like the fact that my right hip always feels like it’s in my rib cage, or the fact that my shoulders are rounded, or the fact that my head constantly turns to the left. Annie said she’d be glad to talk to me about it, and I said, “Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now.”

So Annie had me kick my shoes off and stand in front of her mirror. Then she bent down and started measuring my body with her fingers. It felt like going to the seamstress. Well, within a few minutes, Annie had a plan, explaining that the muscles around my rib cage are tight on the right side (and weak on the left), so they pull my rib cage down into my right hip.

Of course, it’s never just one thing. I have other muscles (in my butt) that are stronger on one side than the other, and all of it contributes to my imbalances. But Annie said we’d start with stretching, so she had me lie on a foam roller for ten or fifteen minutes. At first I was like the Y in YMCA, but then my arms fell asleep, so I ended up like this.

After a few minutes, I could feel some of the muscles across my chest start to relax. Ever so slightly, something shifted. And then Annie gave me some exercises to work on, things to lengthen and strengthen my abdominal wall and help stabilize my hips. Usually my hips feel pretty tight, rigid, like a door that’s rusted shut. But as Annie walked me through the exercise, I actually felt them move–no, I felt them slide. And get this shit. When I got up, I was visibly better. Like a wilted flower that’s been watered, I stood taller, more level, less slumped.

I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings.

Since last year when I decided to close my dance studio, I’ve been telling myself and everyone else that I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings. Like, I think I want to move to Austin, but I’m open to other ideas, other possibilities. I mean, I’ve been at my parents’ for a few months, and although that wasn’t my original plan, I’ve tried to be open to the fact that good can and is coming from that situation (this blog, for example). So since earlier this week when Bonnie invited me to Austin for a few days, I’ve been trying to not make a big deal of it. I knew that I could get down here and absolutely love it, but I also knew that I could get down here and feel like it wasn’t the place for me.

But I’ll say this. Two hours outside of the city today, ever so slightly, something shifted. I can’t say more about it than that. My therapist says when she moved from her hometown, it felt like a lightening bolt up her spine. My experience today wasn’t that dramatic. But my body did feel different, and it felt–good. Now that I’m here in Austin, it just feels good. There are hot people–hot guys–jogging the streets. There was a lady in Annie’s office today–a lady with gray hair–who had a cut off t-shirt with a picture of an old dude on a bicycle that said, “Put the fun in between your legs.” Tonight our waitress (who grew up in Kenya) had a tattoo that said, “The journey is the destination.” She was just cool. Annie told us one day she was at a park and stumbled upon a naked yoga class for pregnant women. Imagine that!

Honestly, I love all of that. I can’t tell you how much I would love to call this place–or a place like it–my home.

One day–just like that–you find something that works.

And then there’s Annie and the little pilates miracle that happened tonight on her living room floor. Talk about finally finding some information that’s functional, information that’s transformational. One of my best friends is always saying, “It’ll change your life,” as in, “This cheesecake will change your life,” or “This hairspray will change your life.” But really, folks, if I could get my body more in balance, get this hip back to where it’s supposed to be, that really could change my life. It could make it better.

I realize there’s a lot of work left to do here. By that I mean, I’m probably a long way from standing taller, holding my shoulders back, sticking my chest out proud. I’m probably also a long way from realizing my dream of being a full-time writer and living in Austin, fun in between my legs, naked yoga in the park, whatever. But maybe not. I’m finding that you can spend years sorting through crap, all kinds of information and possibilities. And then one day–just like that–you find something that works, something that clicks, something that’s useful. Maybe you can’t put your finger on it, but you know for certain–something has shifted ever so slightly, and it feels–good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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