Finding Some Way to Un-clutch (Blog #523)

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This morning, after going to bed at 1:00 and sleeping for three short hours, I woke up at 4:00 and–I’m not kidding–got ready for the day, since Mom was scheduled to have surgery at the ungodly hour of 7:00 (AM). “Be there at 5:00,” they said, so we were–me, Dad, and of course Mom–who’s wanted this surgery since January when she had her double mastectomy and the doctor left “excess skin.” Obviously, it’s personal (and I’m my mom’s son), but she said things just haven’t “looked right,” and the doctor today was going to fix them. And I get that, the need to go back and clean things up, the need to have everything just so. But must we do these things so frickin’ early in the morning?!

The only consolation was the fact that Mom’s doctor was smoking hot.

But I digress.

The surgery itself went well, and everything–registration, prep, surgery, recovery–only took four hours, during which time Dad and I grabbed breakfast (and saw a full rainbow), read, and harassed the other people in the waiting room. Well, Dad did the harrassing. “Have you read that magazine?” he asked a complete stranger. “MY SON HERE wrote an article in it!” Not surprised by my father’s behavior, I looked up from my book to the lady before me and tried to manage a smile.

“Hi,” I said.

After leaving the hospital, Mom, Dad, and I ran a couple errands and came back home, and I went straight back to bed until one this afternoon. Then I went to a used book store, since–I thought–that would be a good thing to do on a Friday. However, I discovered upon arriving at the bookstore that today is, in fact, NOT Friday, but rather Tuesday (and the bookstore ISN’T open on Tuesdays). I swear, I felt so turned around and confused. How could I not know what day it was? That being said, I haven’t had a regular schedule in a while, we just came off a holiday weekend, and I WAS up EXTREMELY early this morning.

Already frustrated, I decided to use the rest of the afternoon doing everything I didn’t want to do but needed to do, things like requesting some of my personal medical records (from the car accident I was in last year) and paying my property taxes and other bills. Just get it all over with, I told myself.

Recently I wrote about the parking ticket I got when I visited San Francisco and the protest I filed in reply. Well, I got the city’s response today, and they didn’t buy it. “Screw you,” they said in not so many words. Well, to be fair, they said, “You should have known to turn your wheels when parking on a hill. That’s a thing. So pay up.” Anyway, again–in an effort to get something unpleasant over with–I paid the ticket today too. (The City of San Francisco conveniently takes payments online.) But still–I’ve been thinking a lot about it, since it really is drag. Part of life, maybe, but a drag nonetheless. $69 down the drain because I made an honest mistake.

But here’s the thing–a lot of shit things happen in life. Maybe you’re happy when you’re a small child. You’re happy for no reason, really. And then your mom gets sick, your house burns down, the neighbor kid’s an asshole, your dad goes to prison, you’re in a car wreck (or two), and–I don’t know–you fall in love with Satan. (I’m just pulling stuff out of the air here.) But you know, this is life. We accumulate baggage. And yeah, sometimes it’s big baggage; sometimes it’s little baggage, little things that get under your skin that you inevitably gripe about–things like living with your parents, not feeling well or not having a job, or the fact that you got a parking ticket.

Again, these are just random examples.

In my experience, somewhere along the way–because of the shit we go through and the shit we hang onto–we lose a certain amount of our childlike happiness. In exchange, we get our irritations, complaints, and things to bitch about. We get to “be right.” This is the ATTRACTIVE thing about baggage; it’s part of why we clutch tightly to it. We get to think or say, “Can you believe what those assholes did to me?” and “Fuck them AND the horse they rode in on.”

Like anyone rides in on horses anymore. But here’s my point–as much as baggage is kind of fun–as much as being upset about a parking ticket gives me something to blog and bitch about–baggage is baggage is baggage. In other words, baggage–big or small–is by definition heavy and weighs a person down. This is why, having protested and lost, I immediately paid the parking ticket this afternoon. I’m TIRED of CARRYING that issue or problem around. I was just fine before it showed up and DON’T want to carry that problem into tomorrow. Honestly, I don’t want to carry ANY of my past into my future.

The past is too heavy to carry around.

The past, after all, is simply too heavy to carry around. This is why Jesus said, “Let the dead bury the dead.” He wasn’t being unfeeling; he was being practical. It’s over. Let it go, Nancy. Forgive. (And if that doesn’t work, forgive again). Forgiveness–I don’t use that word very often on this blog, but I’ve used ever other word or combination of words that mean the same thing–letting go, patience, self-acceptance. Forgiveness is what I mean when I say that I get the need to go back and clean things up, to get everything just so. That’s what I’m doing here on this blog, after all–cleaning things up and forgiving the past, finding SOME WAY to look at all the shit and baggage in my life and NOT hang onto it, finding SOME WAY to un-clutch and start tomorrow lighter and more childlike, more free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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You Know, a Guy Could Take This (Blog #505)

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Twenty days ago, while I was in San Francisco for a dance event, I received a ticket (from a meter maid!) for parking on a steep hill and NOT turning my wheels toward the curb. Talk about a serious drag. I didn’t know a person was supposed to do this. Anyway, when I talked to a friend of mine who’s a policeman in San Francisco, they said, “Might I suggest a good old-fashioned protest?” Well, sure enough, there’s a website listed on the back of a ticket, in case someone wants to put up a fuss. So, in light of the fact that the ticket is sixty-nine frickin’ dollars, that’s exactly what I did this morning.

I resisted.

Unfortunately, I was limited to 1,000 characters, so I couldn’t be as “flowery” as I wanted to be with my words. Still, here’s what I said:

Hello. My name is Marcus Coker, and I recently visited SF for the first time (in order to attend a swing dance event). The event housed me with a local, on 14th Avenue. Of course, parking was a challenge, but I “finally” found a spot after 45 minutes of circling the neighborhood. You can imagine my relief. There was a sign about not parking on certain street-cleaning days, but otherwise–I thought–I was good. (Phew.) Alas, when I went to check on my vehicle the next day (a friend who is a policeman said vehicle break-ins were common in SF), I’d received a $69 dollar ticket for “parking on grades,” a term that I had to Google and means I didn’t turn my wheels toward the curb. Ugh. This really put a damper on my weekend, especially since I had no idea about your city’s policy. After all, it wasn’t posted, and, being from the flatlands of the south, I never park on hills. As I immediately corrected the problem, I ask that you forgive this incident. Please have mercy. Regards, Marcus

Then, when the website asked if I had any supporting documents, I uploaded this PDF: SF_ParkingProtest

So we’ll see what happens. At the very least, I figure I’ve bought myself some more time. This morning when I saw the ticket in my to-do pile, I freaked out. First, either the protest or the payment is due tomorrow, and that triggered my “not enough time” response. Second, the fact that this is an “authority issue,” made my butt pucker. But then I thought, You can do this, Marcus, and sat down and got to work. In no time, I was simply doing my thing–writing. Plus, I was trying to have a good time. So much of my past has been filled with my being nervous, afraid, and terrified about things that really amount to nothing. A parking ticket. A meter maid. But–regardless of how it turns out–this protest was actually fun for me.

So that’s something.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for my friend and local artist Ralph Irwin. I wrote about Ralph in detail here (in my most highly read article), so I won’t go into great detail about him here. However, I was reminded yesterday what a profound impact one person can have on another. Honestly, although I worked two doors down from him when I had my dance studio, I didn’t spend that much time with Ralph. We only had a handful of heart-to-hearts. That being said, they were enough. Ralph left his mark on me.

One of the things that was mentioned at the memorial service was that Ralph would often take some odd, discarded object, hold it up to the light, squint, and say, “You know, a guy could take this and–.” Then Ralph would proceed into a barrage of wild ideas and creative possibilities. This was my experience with him. Once he told me, “Some people might look at a rusty old door and think of it as trash. But an artist would look at it and see possibility, something you could paint or hang on a wall or use for something else entirely.”

Possibility. If nothing else, Ralph taught me that there’s an infinite number of ways to see the world. What’s more, there’s an infinite number of ways to make your world more beautiful. But it all starts with how you see things. Do you look at the objects and people in your life–do you look at yourself–as trash? Or do you see something beautiful there? Personally, I think Ralph saw people the way he saw objects–full of potential. At least that’s how I think he saw me. I’m not sure he ever said it directly, but he took time to help me flesh out ideas and show me new ways of looking at things. He encouraged me (and I know he did this for countless others).

Of course, it’s no small thing to be encouraged.

There was something said yesterday about how Ralph felt like he didn’t get enough done. The man was teeming with creative ideas and projects, and although many of them were completed during his seventy-six years on earth, many of them were not. I get this–I love completion. But as an artist and creative, I think this is a good “problem” to have–to wake up every day with a million ideas, to see possibility everywhere you look, to not get locked into one way of seeing a situation. This is where I see progress in my own life. Five years ago I would have gotten a traffic ticket, and it would have been “awful” from start to finish. But whereas facts are facts–I got a parking ticket–I can choose how I look at the facts. I can paint them up and put a frame around them that I like and that’s fun for me. I can choose how I respond.

I can hold my problems up to The Light.

I can squint my eyes.

I can see the world differently.

Yes–

It’s more beautiful now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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The Golden Gate Disappointment (#487)

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Highlights from the last 36 hours, in no particular order–

1. Someone said I was skinny

This last weekend I attended a dance event in San Francisco, and my host toted me around on his scooter. At one point he said the scooter was easier to drive with “a little extra weight” on it. Best compliment I’ve received all month.

2. San Francisco has A LOT of hills

Yesterday I didn’t feel like taking classes and went looking for books instead. I started out just on foot, but damn if San Francisco isn’t a lot of up and down, up and down. So I ended up Lyft-ing (Lyft is like Uber or a taxi, Mom), then walking, then Lyft-ing, then walking some more. Basically, I just hunted for bookstores–I went to six in all. The amazing part? I didn’t buy a thing. Still, I had a great time (yesterday was gorgeous) and even wandered through a lovely park (Delores Park). I thought it might be the place used in the opening credits of the television show Full House, but–alas–it wasn’t. Anyway, check it out.

3. Last night was fabulous

Just before the last dance at the workshop I attended–The Switch–I had a beer with my friend who helped organize the event, then grabbed dinner. Then I had a handful of dances, all of which were delightful. (The last night of any dance event is almost always the most fun, since people are laid back, settled in, and generally too tired to put up a front or give a shit about looking better than anyone else.)

4. What the hell, Tom Collins?

After the final dance (and the scooter ride home), I walked up the steep hill where I parked Tom Collins on Friday in order to check on him. And whereas he was technically okay and I hadn’t gotten any more tickets (I got one yesterday for not turning my wheels toward the curb), the lock on Tom’s trunk wasn’t working. (This problem has happened once before, and you can read about it here.) Anyway, I futzed with the switch and latch by hand for a good twenty minutes to no avail, then ended up asking my host if he had two screwdrivers, a pair of pliers, and a wire coat hanger. Thankfully, he did. (I would have used my own tools but I left them back in Arkansas so my parents, my aunt, and I could have enough room for all our damn luggage.)

Using the tools, I took the inside panel off the trunk door. As it turns out, there are two small nuts that hold the power lock for the trunk in place, and one of them had come loose and disappeared. This means the lock was TECHNICALLY WORKING, but it wasn’t being held securely in place. So it wasn’t ACTUALLY WORKING. Anyway, not having a nut to replace the lost one, I used the wire hanger to fasten the lock to the frame until I can get to a hardware store (or my brother-in-law’s garage) and fix things correctly.

Sometimes you simply do the best you can.

5. What the hell, San Francisco?

This morning after cleaning up and packing my things, I drove Tom Collins to a park and hiked in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge. And whereas I was really looking forward to seeing and having my picture taken with this iconic monument, it was almost completely covered in freakin’ fog.

But what can you do?

6. Come on, universe

Fresh off The Golden Gate Disappointment of 2018, I went for a sourdough bread bowl, something one of my friends recommended. Wouldn’t you know it? They’d JUST sold out.

So I ate a sourdough sandwich instead.

And whereas the sandwich as a whole was extremely tasty, the bread was THE HARDEST thing I’ve ever tried to chew in my entire life.

7. Finally– a win

My last stop before leaving town was ANOTHER bookstore, where I ended up getting two books–a children’s book I’ve wanted for a while, and a book on alchemy and mysticism. So that was fun. Plus, there was a sign out front that said, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

Hear, hear.

8. You’ve got to be kidding

Leaving San Francisco took FOREVER, I guess because there’s only one bridge out in the direction I was going, and there was a wreck (or two or three) nearby. (There was SO MUCH traffic.) So what should have been a three or four-hour drive to Fresno (where I am now, visiting relatives), took six. Nonetheless, I’m here–safe and sound.

9. It all catches up

Now it’s thirty minutes before midnight, and I’m worn out. All the dancing and all the driving has obviously taken its toll.

So for now–

I’m done.

But I should be clear.

It’s been a good day.

Life doesn’t suck.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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I Stumble Along (Blog #486)

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Yesterday I woke up with a headache, and it never really went away. Like, it would get better for an hour or two then resurge, especially if I were dancing with much energy. (I’m at a Lindy Hop weekend, and it’s a lot of bouncing up and down, which apparently is better at creating tension in the body than relieving it.) Anyway, that’s sort of how the day went–there’d be this build-up of internal pressure, and then it’d let off a little.

A little.

When I first started attending dance workshops, I went to every class that was offered, rotated around to a hundreds of strangers and said, “Hi. What’s your name? Where are YOU from?”, and tried to learn as much as I could about everything and everyone. Now, I hate doing that. I adore learning, but the whole meet-and-greet and be patient with a million strangers who are all struggling to do something new, frankly, is exhausting. All this to say that yesterday I skipped my classes (that I paid for) except one (which went well, and I enjoyed meeting and dancing with A FEW new people). The rest of the time I either observed or talked to friends.

Here’s the deal. I really don’t know many people out here. Like, I know the main organizer and my host, and they are both darling people, but they are also new relationships. I have close friends and people in my life with whom I can breathe deep and feel “completely at home,” but they simply don’t happen to be with me. So there’s this feeling of I’m-all-by-myself that keeps coming and going this weekend like my tension headache. I wouldn’t say that it’s “a ton” of internal pressure, but it does build up off-and-on throughout the day.

For example, yesterday I walked to lunch with a friend, but ended up eating alone. I eat alone all the time and am rarely bothered by it, but yesterday’s situation was magnified as a big deal in my head because “everybody else” was sitting at a table with their friends–laughing, carrying on, loving life–they basically looked like an iced-tea commercial. And there I was alone at the bar, looking like the first part of an anti-depressant ad. BUT THEN a girl from overseas whom I’d met in the buffet line came over and asked me if I wanted to walk back together and chat. (I’d asked her opinion about a specific dance event.) Well, get this shit–we ended up skipping the two classes after lunch and talking instead–getting to know each other, chatting about dance—like friends would. Halfway through the conversation, my friend the organizer joined in. All of a sudden, the iced-tea tables were turned. Had someone else been walking by alone, they might have seen us there on the sidewalk, basking in the sun, eating gluten-free snickerdoodles, and thought, Life sucks. I wish I had friends like that.

When classes were over, my host and I came back to his place, and I walked up the street to make sure my car was still there. (Parking here is a mess, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t do something wrong.) As it turns out, I did do something wrong. I parked on a hill, going down, and didn’t turn my wheels toward the curb. So I got a fucking ticket for $69. And whereas I didn’t immediately overreact or freak out or really feel bad about it at all in the moment, my mind kept coming back to it throughout the night. This blows. Why does life hate me?

But honestly, how was I supposed to know? I never park on hills.

But then my host and another new friend and all went to dinner, and it was fabulous. But then, after having been in a dance contest between classes and coming back to the house, I found out I didn’t make it to the next round. (What a bummer.) But then I got to the dance and my host said, “Let’s take a picture together by the sign [like friends would],” and then I had some delightful dances with people who were smiling and kind and fun to be around. But then I did that I-should-be-better-than-I-am thing. But then one dancer said, “I enjoy dancing with you so much. You’re clear without being forceful, and you have a lot of interesting shapes.” (So that felt good.) A couple hours later when the dance was winding down, I was in the middle of a good conversation AND a headache.

So it was a mixed bag.

We are all too hard on ourselves.

Waking up this morning, I’m more centered. My body is sore, but I got good sleep, and that always helps. Plus, I’m more focused on the positives and am reminding myself that EVERYONE does that comparison bullshit, especially at dance weekends. We see others laughing and having a good time, but we simply have no idea what their internal dialogue and experience is. Mostly like, we are all too hard on ourselves and ask too much from life, demanding that every experience be pleasant, every dance fabulous. But what’s the truth? Some dances, some days, suck or are mediocre. Some are both great and not-so-great at the same time. These are the ones I don’t know what to do with, the days when the tension comes and goes, the days when I stumble along. Emotionally, these days are exhausting. A little up, a little down, over and over, can take its toll.

Still.

I keep dancing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All emotions are useful.

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Driving to a New House (Blog #485)

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It’s nine in the morning, and I’m in San Francisco. I drove here yesterday, and it took four hours. Along the way I saw vineyards, orange and lemon tree groves, and more trucks filled with tomatoes that I could count. The rolling hills of California, under the hot sun, appeared to me to be pure gold. But don’t get excited and start heading west–they’re really just made of dead grass.

The lesson here is that good lighting can do wonders.

I’m staying with a new friend of mine who’s attending the same dance workshop I am–The Switch. The event’s purpose is to foster the culture of ambi-dancing, or dancing your non-primary or non-gender-specific role. In other words, people who are normally leaders (typically men) have a chance to follow, and people who are normally followers (typically females) have a chance to lead. Anyway, finding my host’s apartment wasn’t a problem, but finding parking was. I circled the block for over an hour. (Street parking is free here but hard to come by, especially on a Friday evening.) FINALLY a someone pulled out two blocks (and up a steep hill) away, and I snagged their spot. (Having packed like Rose on the Titanic, I had to consolidate bags before huffing it down the hill.)

And because I don’t want to go through all that again, I’m not using my car the rest of the weekend. What would be the use? Parking is difficult EVERYWHERE here.

Here’s a picture of the Oakland Bay Bridge, which I drove in on.

After getting dinner at a local Mexican restaurant and checking out a neighborhood bookstore, my host and I went to last night’s dance together–on his scooter. (Don’t worry, Mom, I wore a helmet.) I can only imagine we were quite the site, a small Asian up front, and this large Caucasian behind (with a large Caucasian behind), holding on for dear life, zooming through the crowded, steep-hilled streets of San Francisco. But we made it to the dance in tact and easily found a parking spot–scooters can fit anywhere. Along the we drove through The Castro–the local Gayborhood–or as my host called it, “Queer Central.” Y’all, there were more homos and multi-colored flags than I’ve ever seen in my life. Even the crosswalks were rainbows. Plus there was a bar named Moby Dick, a grocery store named Bi Right (clever, huh?), and a coin laundry named Sit and Spin (think about it).

Fabulous.

The dance itself was lovely. Honestly, I haven’t seen a room full of such happy, smiling people in a while. The “rules” for the event are that if you ask someone to dance, you ask what role they would like to dance–lead, follow, or switch (as in, switch roles throughout the dance). So the place was full of not only the traditional setup–girls leading girls, but also guys leading guys, girls leading girls, and even girls leading boys. You know, just people dancing, having fun.

Being in a new city and not knowing anyone (except a few people I’ve met at other events), it took a while for me to get up the courage to ask others to dance. I mean, I did just have a rough experience asking guys (and girls) to dance at a gay bar in Dallas, and some of those feelings of rejection popped back up. Plus, I did that thing I always do the first night of dance events–compared myself to everyone else in the room and found myself wanting. But I told myself, These feelings ALWAYS show up and try to ruin your good time, Marcus. Just let them be–and ask someone to freaking dance. So that’s what I did. Actually, I asked quite a few people to dance–and a few people asked me to dance. And I had some delightful conversations. And it was fun.

And no one died.

The scooter ride back from the dance went well, but it was freezing. Having come through 120-degree desert heat on the way here, this is something I was unprepared for. I guess it’s because San Francisco is covered in fog (you can’t see the moon, or the stars, or anything at night), but it was sixty degrees when I got here, and God-knows-what when my host and I rode home last night. Thankfully, my host let me borrow a jacket (he’s very kind) so I could layer-up, and I’m looking at the cold weather as an “adventure.”

I can do anything for a weekend.

Currently I’m sipping coffee and thinking about getting ready for classes, which start in two hours. I need to take a shower and round-up a light breakfast. Mostly I’m contemplating a book on hypnosis, which I read a couple chapters in last night before I went to bed. From what I understand so far, the book suggests that 1) hypnosis is both a state of mind and a form of learning and 2) all of us are technically “hypnotized” far more often than we realize. In fact, according to the book, it’s possible (and likely) that my feelings of rejection and better-than/less-than came up at the dance last night because the environment (new city, new people, dance hall, music) reminded my subconscious of dozens of similar situations in the past in which I had responded the same way (feeling insecure). Sort of like when you change jobs or move houses but crawl in your car and suddenly find yourself driving to the old location and not the new one. We’re talking about “learned behavior” here (crawl in the car, go to location X), and this action/response mechanism can apparently apply to emotional responses as well (go to new dance event, feel insecure).

If you can learn to lead, you can learn to follow.

This theory makes a lot of sense to me. I’ve talked before about how I often react to present situations with past emotions–when dealing with finances, for example–and having this context about learning and behaving helps me better understand what’s going on here (in my life). Now–what to do about it–I don’t know. I’m only three chapters into the book. Stay tuned. But I trust that if a human can learn to respond to a situation one way, they can learn to respond to a situation another way. If you can learn to lead, you an learn to follow. You don’t keep driving to your old house forever.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For I am a universe–large–like you are, and there is room here for all that we contain. An ego, of course, is small, and it is disgusted and humiliated by the smallest of things. But a universe is bigger than that, much too big to judge itself or another, much too big to ever question how bright it is shining.

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