Our Emotions Go Round and Round (Blog #1024)

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For the last three weeks I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And whereas I woke up yesterday feeling better (yippee), I woke up today feeling worse (boo). Why knows why this up-and-down happens. The body is a mystery. Life is a mystery. More and more, I have more questions than answers. Recently I compared life to a circle, and this is what I meant. For all our living and learning, we’re just going round and round. One day we wake up and find ourselves exactly where we started.

We think, Ugh. I’m going nowhere!

At least that’s what I thought when I woke up still sick. Like I’ve been stuck in this pattern of upper respiratory distress for decades, and all the doctors, drugs, and gods and in the world can’t change it. That’s right, folks, we’ve discovered the impossible thing to get rid of. Mucus. (It’s here to stay.) But seriously, it’s overwhelming. At least when I think of the rest of my problems. This afternoon I got something in the mail I’d ordered online, and it was broken. Then I got a bill I wasn’t expecting. I just kept thinking, WHEN is something going to go my way?

Not that SOME things haven’t been going well lately. Indeed, I’ve blogged a lot about having headaches, and they’ve gotten SO VERY MUCH better over the last two months. Over the holidays I went weeks without working (and, therefore, earning any money), and this week alone I’ve picked up six different odd jobs. And I didn’t solicit any of them. Well, I did pray. My point being that even when one area of your life seems like it’s falling apart (seems being the operative word), another area of your life can be coming together. And surely if one area of your life can come together, the others can too. It’s just a matter of time, of patience, of remembering–

the universe hasn’t forgotten me.

Just now I said that something in your life can SEEM like it’s falling apart, the implication being that, well, maybe it’s not. What I mean is that, for example, for as frustrating as sinus infections are for me, they’ve taught me how to accept myself and how to ask for help. Just as importantly, they’ve taught me how to have compassion for others. Because all of us have that one thing that seems like a small thing to other people but is a big thing for us because it’s tied to so many other things in our lives. (Phew.) Like the way my sinus problems feel unsolvable, so, especially when I’m sick, all my problems feel unsolvable. Because if I can’t feel well then I can’t work and take care of myself and pay my bills and have a place to live and find a lover who isn’t into hobos.

See what I mean? One fear leads to another.

Overwhelming.

At times like these it’s important for me to remember to slow down, to slow way down, to slow way the fuck down. Like fast (haha). This looks like doing one thing–and one thing only–at a time. For example, this evening I have a dance gig (it’s good to be employed), so I’m blogging now, dancing tonight, and then that’s it for the day. Despite the number of other projects that are calling for my attention, they won’t get it. Rather, my body will. Meaning I’ll rest. Meaning I’ll do my best to allow my fears to arise, stay and be felt as long as they want to, then subside. Because they always do. Our emotions go round and round. In the end, we’re left with ourselves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

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We Can Be Intentional (Blog #903)

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Geez. It’s ten-thirty in the morning, and I’ve been wide awake for two hours. A self-avowed night owl, I’ve woken up at eight-thirty for the last four days, ever since I changed my diet and started intermittent fasting. Is this what skinny people do–wake up early? Metabolize?

I will not become a morning person, I will not become a morning person.

Last night my dad and I went to the gym after I finished blogging, about eleven-thirty. We started this routine last winter when I was doing rehab for my knee, but after six months of going every day or every other day, I rebelled. Fuck the gym, I thought. Of course, they kept charging me for my membership. Every month they take out eleven dollars. “It’s like giving your money away,” someone told me recently. Yes, it’s exactly like that. It is that. Anyway, although Dad’s kept up his routine, I just started back this week.

I can feel my six-pack already.

That’s a lie.

Normally I don’t write during the daytime, but today promises to be pretty long. In a while I’m going to lunch with a friend, then running an errand, then working out again, since unfortunately and apparently it’s not something you can do just once and see results. (Boo hiss). Then I’m cleaning up and going to a concert/dance. A client has hired me to be their partner/leader–oh hell, I’ll just say it–dance gigolo.

It’s all very glamorous, I know.

Anyway, since the event is out of town, it promises to be a late night. And since my body won’t let me sleep in anymore, if i write when I get home, I’ll be a zombie tomorrow. And that won’t do. That simply won’t do.

One thing I’ve noticed about intermittent fasting is that it’s allowed me to slow down. Normally, no matter what time I wake up, my day starts as soon as my feet hit the floor. I go to the bathroom, turn on the stove, crack open three eggs to scramble for breakfast. It’s a whole routine. After eating, I brush my teeth and am out the door–to work, whatever. But now that I’m waking up earlier and not eating breakfast, I have time–to think about the day ahead, to pray, to prepare, to be intentional. Intentional. That’s something I “intend” to be with this diet. Sunday night I made a list of things I wanted to do this week–eat according to plan, dance, work out three times, go for at least one walk, bleach my teeth. I plan to make (reasonable) lists like this every Sunday night for the next year so I can both evaluate my progress and continue to see results. It’s not difficult, but it does require slowing down.

Good health doesn’t just happen.

Especially in the world of dollar menus.

Crap. Now I’m thinking about double cheeseburgers.

Whenever I’m gone from the gym for a while, I feel guilty. Because I haven’t been loyal. Because I haven’t been a good gym student. Because I’ve gained ten pounds. I imagine when I walk through the door for the first time in a while that the staff will passive aggressively say, “Where have you been–Porky?” Of course, this never happens. When Dad and I returned to the gym this week, the said, “Hey guys!” and that was it. This is what I’ve been thinking about this morning, that the gym welcomes you back with open arms. It’s simply this space to work out in, and all you have to do is show up (and pay). Whenever you’re ready. Likewise, there are few things in life that push us along, that demand that we get out of bed, go to work, and fill every minute of every day with–stress. I mean, maybe you have a demanding spouse or kid, but for the most part, you’re the one who pushes you. (The truth–even if you have someone demanding in your life, you’re the one who pushes you.) I’m the one who pushes me.

The good news is that at any point, we can slow down. At any point, we can be intentional.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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That Kid and I (Blog #460)

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Last night I didn’t sleep well. (No more coffee at midnight, Marcus.)

This afternoon I sorted through random papers and old cards I found yesterday while cleaning my room and decided what to keep, what to throw away. This project went on for hours. (I found a lot of old school and summer camp papers in the garage.) In one journal I flipped through, a younger me referred to my one-and-only sister as a “cluts, ideate, and brat.” (Ironic that I couldn’t spell idiot correctly, I know.) I have no idea why I wrote this about her, but–for the record–my opinion has changed.

My all-or-nothing, black-or-white personality has a tough time with sorting projects like these. Part of me wants to keep everything, every little scrap of paper. Another part of me wants to light every fucking bit of it on fire. (What good is a twenty-five-year-old get-well card from a friend from high school?) But today I tried to compromise. From summer camp, I tossed the training manual but kept the pictures. From school, I threw away notes from other people (except a few notes I took pictures of) but kept anything of mine that looked like a journal, short story, or writing assignment. After all, I am a writer, and it might be helpful to go back at some point and see where I started, maybe glean some story ideas.

One of the my other deciding factors in what to keep and what not to keep had to do with things that were dated and made reference to significant events in my life–personal injuries (one note today gave the exact date of when our neighbor threw a hammer over the fence and thus hit me on the head), car accidents, when my dad was arrested. Not that I love thinking about these traumatic experiences, but having a timeline of major moments in my life gives me a lot of compassion for myself. Earlier while looking at my kindergarten, first, and second grade pictures, I thought, What a cute kid, and now it gives me pause considering everything he’s been through in the last thirty years.

It makes me go easier on myself.

As if being an adult is easy, I don’t know how children deal with hard stuff. In one letter I found yesterday, a friend said, “Marc, I’m sorry about your car accident and your dad getting arrested.” I was fourteen. First my Dad and sister and I got broadsided in our Honda Accord and flipped two and a half times down Rogers Avenue in Fort Smith. Then a month or two later, the thing with dad. Not that I’d forgotten about either event, but until I read my friend’s letter, I didn’t realize they were back to back. That’s so much for a teenager, for anyone really. Why do I not remember being overwhelmed?

What I do remember–after the car accident–is my hip hurting. It wasn’t broken, but badly bruised. My friend even mentioned it in their letter. “I hope your hip feels better.” It’s the same hip that gives me trouble twenty years later. Some nights I lie in bed and can feel how tight it is. It’s not always painful, but it’s always there. I can’t prove that it hurts now because of the car accident, but I’m guessing that’s where it started. Plus, I really do believe that our bodies mirror our emotional experiences, and what with dad’s arrest happening right after the wreck, well, it was like getting hit twice.

Now it’s just after midnight, and I’m exhausted. I hit a wall earlier this evening, and the only thing that’s going to fix it is going to bed. Hit a wall–there’s an interesting phrase. I look back at that teenage kid, the one who got knocked around a good bit by life. He never slowed down, never rested. The summer after his dad was convicted, he started working at summer camp. Today I found a “letter log” he kept that first year at camp of all the people he was reaching out to, asking, “How are you?” Now I think, Marcus, you were taking care of everyone except yourself. So I’m determined to do that now–to take care of myself–to slow down–to rest. That kid and I have been through a lot. No wonder we’re tired.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Pump the Brakes, Junior (Blog #370)

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Oh hey, it’s three-thirty in the morning, and I’m so ready to go to bed it’s not even funny. To be clear, in the above photo I’m yawning–not writhing in pain or having an orgasm, although I personally think it looks like some combination of the three. Anyway, I just got home from my friend Justin’s house. We decided to catch up after I taught a dance lesson this evening and somehow got stuck in a six-hour-long conversation. (We both like to talk and both like to listen.) At two-thirty, right about the time Justin began talking about world politics and the fabric of society (I’m not kidding), my brain started shutting down. Then I thought of the blog. “I’ve really got to go,” I said.

Now I’m at home, trying to string two thoughts together. For as difficult and challenging as yesterday was, today was a gem. A decent night’s rest did me a world of good, and yesterday’s daunting troubles seemed to have shrunk down to manageable sizes with a little slumber. This afternoon I saw my therapist, and when I told her about yesterday’s visit to the immunologist and subsequent phone conversation with the insurance company of the guy who read-ended me last year, she said, “It was a lot of information.” I laughed and said, “Yes, it was A LOT of information.”

This is one of my therapist’s deals I’m not sure I’ve talked about before. She often refers to things that happen as information or data. Like, if I met someone I really liked, and they stopped returning my messages or let it slip that they hate children, my therapist might say, “That sounds like an important piece of information.” What I like about this way of looking at things is that it’s neutral. It doesn’t judge a behavior or situation as right or wrong, but simply as a fact (he lied to me, the doctor said we needed to run more tests, the insurance company offered me a low sum of money to settle). Also, it implies that as we gather more information, we can (and should) adjust our behavior and attitudes accordingly (I’m moving on because I don’t date liars, okay–getting a diagnosis is going to take longer than I thought, I may need to speak up for myself or consult an attorney).

Anyway, I guess yesterday was information overload, more important facts than I could handle at one time, too many adjustments to make. What I’m learning in situations like these, to borrow another phrase from my therapist, is to “pump the brakes, Junior.” In other words, when I’m overwhelmed, I absolutely have to slow down. In terms of my health, no matter how much I want an answer, I have to be willing to adjust to the speed of the situation. My therapist said it was a matter of patience, which she said was a tough muscle to work out, but absolutely worth the effort. “I hate being a Debbie Downer,” she said, “but you’ll probably be working on patience for the rest of your life. It’s just the way life is.” She paused. “But it does get better.”

I guess pumping the brakes and patience go hand-in-hand. I’m usually rushing around, thinking I need to find answers “now,” but what I like about these ideas is that they suggest I don’t have to hurry. Rather, I can take my time, take in new information, and adjust accordingly. Now it’s four-ten in the morning, and part of me is “rushing” toward my typical thousand-word word count. But my eyes are heavy, and my ears are starting to itch, historically a pre-cursor to my breaking out in hives. (I just took some Benadryl, so I should be fine.) Still, I know I need to respect this “information” and adjust my behavior. I need to pump my brakes and cut tonight’s post short, trusting that I’ll still get to wherever it is I’m going even if I have to move a little slower to get there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

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