On Spilling Tea (Blog #894)

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Today, for the most part, was fabulous. Let’s talk about what sucked.

This evening I went to Starbucks to use their internet and watch a live video about boundaries. Well, first off, I forgot my laptop. No problem, I thought, I can watch on my phone. Which worked until my battery ran low and I didn’t have my charger with me. No problem, I thought, I’ll sit in my car and use my car charger. Then I thought, But first I’ll put more honey in my hot tea. Which is where things started sucking. You know how honey can be kind of thick so you have to really apply pressure to those little ketchup-sized packets in order to get the honey to come out? Well, my hand slipped while I was trying to get the honey out–and I knocked over my hot tea.

All over the counter, the floor, and–my phone.

Which isn’t waterproof.

As this isn’t the first time this has happened (I’m a hot-tea-spillin’ pro), I immediately wiped my phone on my shorts, then wiped down the counter. As for the floor, I asked the staff for help. “Hey man,” I said, “I’m sorry, but I spilled hot tea all over the floor.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll get the mop.”

At which point I headed to my car and got totally engrossed in the video about boundaries.

A couple hours later, I noticed the volume button wasn’t working on my phone, which I attributed to the fact that my battery was still low. Maybe it’s because I put it in power-saving mode, I thought. Then when I got home and my main power button wasn’t working either, I remembered the The Great Hot Tea Accident of 2019 and thought, Houston, we have a problem.

When I first spilled the tea, I was tempted to self-flagellate, to make myself wrong for–I don’t know–being a human. But when I worked at summer camp and kids used to spill their milk, I just thought, Shit happens, and cleaned it up. Knowing that some of the kids came from homes in which they were yelled at for spilling things, I always figured the best thing I could offer them was my understanding. Summed up, my philosophy was–be kind and help. Anyway, tonight I tried applying this philosophy to myself. I figured I didn’t know WHY anything happens. Maybe I was being delayed, kept out of a traffic accident. Maybe I needed to simply receive understanding from someone else. Maybe the guy behind the counter needed someone to minister to.

Now that I have more information about what happened tonight–like, I partially fried my phone–I still think all of this applies. That is, there’s no point in thinking, I screwed up. Rather, I’m seeing it as an opportunity to extend grace to myself. Seen symbolically, it could also be a chance for me to “unplug” for a moment or to reevaluate the boundaries I have with technology. Couldn’t we all take a serious step back from our devices? Which is what I’m about to be forced to do. As soon as I post tonight’s blog, I’m turning off my hotspot and phone and letting it dry out.

If it’s not healed in the morning (or by tomorrow night), I’ll take it to a shop.

The last thing that occurs to me in terms of the symbolism of this incident is that I always spill hot tea on my devices (uh, just two so far). Never coffee. Never water. So there might be something to consider about my spilling tea, or gossiping. I don’t consider myself a HUGE gossip, but I certainly do it, so I think it’s worth taking a look at. Where do I make things my business that aren’t my business? Where do I betray secrets? Linking everything together, one of the points of the video I watched tonight was that in today’s world of social media, it’s way too easy to get involved in someone’s else’s life, put your nose where it doesn’t belong, and dish the dirt about each other. Who’s going to stop us? Only ourselves. This is the thing with boundaries. They’re just as much if not more so about the limits you place on yourself as the ones you place on others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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On Mother’s Day and Feeling Scared (Blog #773)

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Today, for Mother’s Day, my mom and I continued our tradition that we’ve had for the last several years. We went to see a play, then to dinner. This year the play was The Legend of Georgia McBride, a fun, lively, and hilarious (but also touching) show about drag queens. Well, about an Elvis impersonator/bartender who gets roped into being a drag queen (and ends up liking it) when one of the drag queens at the bar where he works doesn’t show up. Anyway, it was fabulous. There were sequins, wigs, and even a Judy Garland impersonation. My mom said, “I learned so much!” Personally, I just think it’s great that she’d attend such a show. A lot of parents (a lot of people) wouldn’t do that.

After the show, we went to Starbucks, which also part of our tradition. (The above picture was taken there.) This gave us time to chat about the show and catch up with each other. I don’t know, it’s weird when you live with a person (your parent). You’d think you’d talk to them all the time, but you don’t necessarily. And yet today Mom and I had such lovely conversation. This reminds me that it’s important to be purposeful with the people in your life. If you live with them, maybe get each other out of the house once in a while.

For dinner, we did the usual, Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. (By usual, I mean once a year on Mother’s Day.) Ugh, talk about good food. I had the ribeye, and Mom had the filet. And whereas we normally sit at a table, this year we sat in a booth–a high back. This made our two-hour dinner even better, since it afforded us just that much more comfort and privacy. And here’s the cool part. When I made the reservation online a couple weeks ago and they asked if I had any special requests, I just asked for it–a booth if you have it. And whereas I forgot about the request, they remembered. Today when they walked us to our table and took us to the booth section, I thought, HOW COOL!

Sometimes getting what you want is that simple. You just have to ask.

After dinner, I drove Mom home, and now I’m at a friend’s house, house sitting. Their dog is curled up next to me and was just making high-pitched noises in its sleep. I guess it’s having having a good (or bad) dream. Maybe chasing a rabbit. Anyway, I wish I were asleep too. Last night I went out to eat with a friend then to the symphony, and it feels like this weekend has been go, go, go. All the activity has been wonderful, of course, but I’m ready to slow down, ready to rest. I wish I could hit Publish.

But here’s something.

Today as Mom and I were leaving the show (so before Starbucks and Ruth’s Chris), Mom fell. She was stepping up on a sidewalk, and I guess her ankle rolled on the curb. I was right there, and it just happened so fast. The next thing I knew, she was lying face down on the concrete, her glasses, bent, lying on the ground beside her. Thankfully, she was okay. Well, she probably twisted or sprained her ankle, and she scrapped her hand and part of her face. I’m sure she’ll be bruised in a day or two. But she said she was more scared than anything else.

Ugh. Fear. I felt that too. It’s terrifying to watch someone you care about stumble and fall and not be able to do anything about it. As soon as it happened, I remember thinking, I don’t know what to do. I actually moved her purse from the street to the curb because it was SOMETHING I felt like I could do competently while Mom was re-orienting herself. Three people came over–a couple and an older woman. Y’all, they were so kind. Also, nobody knows what to say. I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you for checking on us.” It’s like all of us were kind of in shock, like, We can’t believe this thing happened. And we all wanted it to be okay. But it HAD happened, and although it was okay, it wasn’t.

As the evening went on, Mom’s ankle swelled more, and walking was harder for her. When I left her at home earlier, Dad had put an ice pack on her leg. So healing has started.

It’s weird the way your brain keeps playing pictures in your mind. What I mean is that although I know my mom is okay, that’s she going to be okay, and that she’s at home right now, I keep seeing her on that sidewalk. The whole thing reminded me of once when I was a teenager and Mom fell in our kitchen. I could be wrong about this, but I believe it had something to do with a medication she was on (or wasn’t on). All I remember is that one minute she was making Cream of Wheat, and the next minute she and the Cream of Wheat were on the floor. Just like that. (Gravity is fast.)

In that instance, Mom ended up spending a few days in the hospital. Honestly, I don’t remember how it transpired. Dad was in prison, so someone probably called a relative to help. Either before or after she got settled in, I probably cleaned up the Cream of Wheat, just like I moved the purse today. Because it was all I could do.

Fuck feelings.

What I mean is that feeling your feelings is difficult. Like today when Mom fell, I kept wanting her to be okay. Not just for her, but for me. Because it hurts to see my mom hurting, and it’s scary to think that things could have been worse or that this could happen again. You know, as long as gravity is a thing. And whereas Mom was OKAY, the fact is that she limped the rest of the day. The fact is the side of her temple was bleeding. There’s a scratch there now. Having watched Mom fall more than once, having seen her in the hospital, these things unsettle me. And it’s like, if she’s OKAY, I don’t have to feel scared.

But the truth is we all feel scared. Feeling scared is part of the human experience, and there’s nothing that can keep us from it. (Although whiskey and chocolate help.) Personally, I’m at a point in my journey where I’d rather acknowledge and feel my fear than ignore it or shove it down. Now, granted, I’ve been putting it off. Writing about it tonight, I saved it for the last thing. (This is called burying the lead.) Still, I’ve been saying that I’ve been trying to keep my heart open to WHATEVER arises, so I’m trying to keep my heart open to this. To feeling scared and being uncertain of what to do. Not because it’s fun but because I’ve shoved my feelings down enough to know that they don’t go anywhere–they just come up later.

So crap. Sooner or later, you have to meet yourself.

A lot of teachers say that when feeling your feelings, it’s important not to “run your story.” To me this means that when I’m scared I do my best to not tell myself, This is so awful. What if it happens again? Rather, I try to experience what being scared is like physically. My heart is beating. I can’t sit still. I have a lump in my throat. This is hard, hard, hard to do, but always brings me out of my fear-based fantasies and into the present moment. For example, after Mom fell today and she sat up on the sidewalk, I noticed that the fall was OVER and that there were kind, smiling people there to help us. This was my experience when I hurt my leg several months ago. Not that the situation was pleasant, but that it wasn’t as terrible as I’d made it out to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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The Sky Is Not Falling (Blog #760)

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What a delightful day. This morning I woke up. And whereas that in and of itself would be enough (my dad says any day above ground is a good day), things just got better from there. First, I had a nice, quiet breakfast. Then I mowed the lawn. And not that mowing the lawn is “fun,” but it sort of was. I mean, I had my earplugs in and was grooving, and the sun was shining. I love me some Vitamin D. The only downer is that all the walking/mower pushing aggravated my left ankle, which I apparently pissed off yesterday while running on the treadmill (for an hour). But oh my gosh, you should see the yard. Even Dad says it looks great, and he’s not the easiest man to please.

Is anyone’s father?

After mowing the lawn and getting all nasty, I took a shower. Then Dad came home from running errands and wanted to go to the gym. So I was like–what the hell why not?–and went with him and got gross again. Now I’m even grosser because this evening I went on a short hike with friends and covered myself in bug spray before taking off. Which means I’ll probably take ANOTHER shower before I go to bed tonight. Ugh. A two-shower day. I hate that. There are entire WEEKS I don’t take two showers.

Maybe this is why I’m single.

Last night I made a big production out of the fact that I finished a 1000-piece puzzle and came up short one piece. What I didn’t say was that the puzzle belongs to a friend of mine, so part of my freak-out was not wanting them to be upset that I’d somehow lost a piece. I really got stressed out about it. I thought, What am I going to do? I LOST A PUZZLE PIECE! Granted, most of my brain was all chill, like, This is a cool person, Marcus. They like you. They’re not going to fly off the handle about a little piece of cardboard. But that wasn’t the part of my brain in control. THAT part of my brain scoured the internet last night for all sorts of fix-it options. THAT part of my brain even tried to buy a replacement puzzle from a shady company in China and ended up getting credit card scammed. (Don’t worry, Mom, it’s under control now.)

Geez. That part of my brain is such a sucker.

The one good thing that came out of my searching the web last night is that I ended up contacting and hearing from the manufacturer of the puzzle. (Apparently losing puzzle pieces is a thing, and a lot of companies offer replacement pieces.) Unfortunately, this company no longer makes the puzzle in question (of course they don’t), but they DID offer to send me another one of their 1,000-piece puzzles–get this shit–for free. “Just pick one out, and we’ll be happy to ship it to you,” they said. So I told my friend (the puzzle owner) all this today, and she didn’t fly off the handle at all, didn’t bust my balls in the slightest. “Thank you for going to all the trouble,” she said, and that was that.

Another crisis averted.

This afternoon I got an email from a credit card company. “Your Starbucks SPECIAL OFFER is about to expire,” it said. “Act now so you don’t miss out!” Geez, everything is an emergency. A crisis. Well, in this case, a false crisis. That’s what I was thinking later, that advertisers often approach us as consumers like, The sky is falling, the sky is falling. But–guess what?–it’s not. My point is that I often scare myself shitless doing the same thing, creating a false crisis. My friend is going to be upset. A piece of cardboard is MISSING. The sky is falling. But for crying out loud–settle down, Chicken Little (Marcus Little)–it’s not.

I repeat. The sky is not falling.

More and more, I’m learning that it’s okay to freak out. I mean, it’s going to happen. Even this morning as I was mowing the lawn, my mind would start to get twisted about SOMETHING. (Pick a topic, any topic.) But rather than try to push, push, push my worry or anxiety out of my mind, I tried to include it. This is a technique I’ve learned lately, to expand my awareness. So I’d think about my stress, but then I’d also smell the grass, feel the sun on my skin, and listen to the sound of the mower at the same time. Consequently, it put my problem in perspective. More specifically, it brought it both out of the past and out of the future (which is where all your fantasies live) and into the present moment, where not only is the sky not falling, but all things are–what’s the word?–okay.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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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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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

"

 

Connecting the Dots (Blog #465)

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A few short stories and observations before I leave town this afternoon for business and pleasure–

1. People think they are soooo funny

Two nights ago after I turned my lights out and crawled into bed, I heard an insect buzz, buzz, buzzing around my head. I yelled into the living room, “THERE’S A JUNE BUG IN HERE!”

My dad hollered back, “That’s odd–it’s July.”

2. People are assholes

Earlier this week I was writing at Starbucks, and some goober on the other side of the room struck up a conversation with three strangers. That’s a natural-enough thing to do, I suppose, but this guy was separated from these women by at least ten feet and was practically yelling across the communal area–HELLO THERE!–going on and on about where he was from (he was a Yankee) and why he was down here in the south (he needed a change of pace). Anyway, I had my earplugs in listening to music, TRYING to concentrate on writing, but this jerk wouldn’t stop being socialable with these ladies.

The nerve.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW STARBUCKS GOT STARTED?” he said.

Then he told them (and me) exactly how it all happened. I’m not kidding–he shouted every frickin’ detail about this entrepreneur who was trying to sell coffee machines and ended up hawking Joe out of a broom closet in Seattle’s fish market. Loud Guy even ended the story by saying, “–and the rest is history.”

I wanted to throw my latte straight at his bald head.

But I didn’t because I’m in therapy.

So get this shit.

The next day–the next day!–I’m out driving in my neighborhood and see this same fella walking the streets–just gliding along with a damn smile on his face as if he owned the county. He even had his t-shirt tucked into his khaki shorts–like a perfect asshole! I wanted to roll down my window and yell, “Untuck your shirt, you little turd, and wipe that grin off your face!”

But I didn’t because I’m a spiritual person.

3. The universe is an asshole

Seriously, the universe can deliver this guy into my experience two days in a row, but it can’t introduce me to Zac Efron.

4. People are kind

Conversely, here’s something. A couple months ago I was in Hot Springs working on a travel-writing story. My last day there I “took the baths” for a few hours, and while soaking my body in mineral water, I met the kindest man–a chiropractor. For at least an hour we chatted–about Hot Springs, the hot springs, health and wellbeing, worry and meditation, even his family in Fort Smith. As much as the guy at Starbucks got on my nerves, this guy delighted my soul. Such a pleasant surprise.

Well, Friday night I was out listening to live music with my friend Kim, and there was a group of obvious friends sitting by us. You know when people are enjoying each other–talking, laughing, carrying on, dancing. Well, one couple in particular caught my attention. They just seemed laid back, fun.

So get this shit.

The laid back, fun guy was the brother of the gentleman I met in Hot Springs. (Kim knew him and told me his last name, and I made the connection.) What a small world, I thought, then kept thinking I should introduce myself. But what would I have said?

“Hi, I’m Marcus, and I met your brother in a bathhouse.”

You know how we all have voices in our heads? Like that voice that tells says you should lose weight or get a damn job or whatever? Well, I have this still, small voice that never puts me down and is never shaken by life (or assholes at Starbucks), and that voice spoke up while I was watching these darling strangers.

“They’ll come to you,” it said.

But then the evening went on, and they didn’t. (Oh well.) Everyone left the restaurant except me and Kim and the staff. And then–and then–out of nowhere–the two returned. She’d misplaced her glasses. (They were in her purse.) But the point is–like the voice said–they came over to say hello. (Life is weird.) I said, “I met your brother in a bathhouse,” and we had a delightful chat about jewelry, dancing, staying “open.” We all hugged before they left, and they said, “We love you.”

To me, a total stranger.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I love you too.”

5. The universe is kind

Love is all around us.

Last night after a hard day of manual labor and a hot shower, I stood in my driveway and looked at the stars. Searching the sky, I finally found The Serpent constellation, then afterwards discovered Pegasus, The Horse. Although they’ve been there for centuries, they seemed to appear out of nowhere. For me, I guess they did. Not that I haven’t seen the individual stars before, but I simply didn’t know how they fit together. Even now their fitting together seems to blink in and out–it’s there one moment and gone the next. Since this is my experience with people–now we fit together, now we don’t–perhaps love is like the stars–all around us–there if we can only see it and connect the dots.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

"

My Mother’s (Day) Example (Blog #409)

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Two years ago on Mother’s Day I had plans to see a musical with a friend of mine, but they called that morning violently ill. In a mad dash to find another plus-one, I asked my mom to go, thinking she’d say no because she isn’t exactly spontaneous. But she said yes, so then I made reservations at the only place I could find that took reservations online–Ruth’s Chris (Fancy Pants) Steakhouse. Based on Mom’s reaction when we pulled into the parking lot, it completely made her day. (Considering I’d actually forgotten it was Mother’s Day until that morning, this was a huge win.) Anyway, last year we repeated our adventure–saw a play, went back to Ruth’s Chris. (You can read about here.) Again, Mom was thrilled.

And thus a tradition was born.

That’s right, today for Mother’s Day, we did it all over again. First, Mom and I saw a play in Fayetteville at Theater Squared, The Hound of the Baskervilles. A humorous take on the classic Sherlock Holmes story, it’s the same show I saw last week and stars the three talented actors who taught the comedy workshop I attended a few days ago. Y’all, the production was just as hilarious today as last week, even more so. You know how it is the second time around–you notice things you didn’t notice before, subtle little things. At least that’s been my experience with theater productions and boyfriends. (That last part was a joke.) Today there was a line that completely escaped me the first viewing, a reference to a miniature cow, which one of the characters called “a bonsai bovine.” A bonsai bovine–how clever! I’m still tickled.

After the show, Mom and I briefly went to a bookstore, but neither of us saw anything we couldn’t live without. Still, it was fun to look. Then we went to Starbucks because Mom hardly ever goes to Starbucks and it’s still a treat for her to get a Chai Tea. (It’s the little things.) As for me, I got a White Chocolate Mocha and a chocolate-chip cookie because, well, fuck Autoimmune Paleo. (At least for today.)

No regrets.

Leaving Starbucks, Mom and I went back to Ruth’s Chris for dinner. Seriously, the name is weird, but it’s a pretty classy joint. The waiters all smile at you (imagine that), there’s a candle on every table, and today all the mothers got a rose. Oh, and did I mention the food is fabulous? Tonight Mom and I both got steak and split our sides, creamed spinach and southwest mac and cheese. (Can you say fattening?) And then–and then–we both had chocolate cake. (Can you say bitch, it was delicious?)

It’s weird what all can happen in twelve months. This time last year, mom was just about to be diagnosed with breast cancer. Now she’s undergone chemotherapy, had a double mastectomy, and completed radiation. Last week she got a new wig, and today she wore her foobs (fake boobs) for the first time. One is slightly bigger than the other, which Mom said was true to life. (We talk about EVERYTHING in this family.) At dinner tonight I asked Mom how it felt having come through the whole ordeal. Glancing at a bracelet around her wrist that says, “Hope,” she said, “I’m glad it’s over.” This really is good reminder–something worthy of celebrating–that just as challenges can come into our lives, they can also leave.

Never give up on life or anyone in it.

Later I told Mom, “The next time you reincarnate, I’d ask for an easier life. You’ve had more than your fair share of trials and tribulations this go round.” Seriously, the woman has. I won’t go into details, but she’s had it rough. And yet here’s what I notice about my mother, that not only is she able to weather the storms of life, but that she’s able to do so with poise. Not that she doesn’t have bad days, but she doesn’t whine about them. At least from my point of view, she’s not bitter. And whereas I consider my mother’s unconditional love her greatest gift to me, perhaps this is her second greatest gift–her example of grace under fire. Perhaps this too is unconditional love–to refuse to be defined by your bruises, to never give up on life or anyone in it (including yourself), to hope.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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A Time I’d Like to Remember (Blog #403)

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Whatever I said yesterday about my body not hurting “that bad” after jumping around on a trampoline this weekend, I take it back. Everything hurts. I’ve been shuffling–shuffling–around the house all day. Like an old man with a walker. They say the second day is always the worst, so maybe it’s downhill from here–or would it be uphill? I guess downhill usually means smooth sailing, but it could also mean that things are getting worse. The English language is so confusing.

Now I have a headache. I really shouldn’t think so hard.

Today I didn’t have a damn thing I had to do–nothing on the calendar at all. Consequently, I’ve been cooped up in the house from the time I got up this afternoon. I haven’t even gone to the mailbox. (Tonight’s selfie, at Starbucks, was taken yesterday.) I did consider taking a walk this afternoon, but thought, My allergies are already acting up. The last thing I’m going to do is step outside during pollen season and intentionally breathe! Instead, I propped myself up in a chair and read several chapters in a how-to book about comedy.

But don’t expect things to all-of-sudden get any funnier around here. (That’s not the way it works.)

Later I tried to take a nap but couldn’t sleep, so I watched two movies. One was about Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis and starred Sean Hayes, and the other was an old Disney movie my sister and I used to watch starring Jodie Foster. I do this occasionally, feel the need to go back decades later and rewatch movies I grew up on. I find it fascinating. Today I remembered several details about the movie–the opening scene and the movie’s ending were quite familiar–but most of the middle was faint, fuzzy, or even fresh, as if I’d never seen it before. It’s weird what your brain decides to hang on to and let go of.

Other than that, I’ve been eating constantly. The body is such a mystery. The only thing I’ve done all day is either sit in a chair or lie in bed, but the way I’ve been raiding the refrigerator, you’d think I were a marathon runner. Maybe I just don’t have anything else to do. Maybe I’m a “bored eater.” Or maybe I’ve just been starving myself to death on the Autoimmune Paleo diet for two weeks (I turned down spaghetti today). Maybe my stomach has finally had enough of grilled chicken and sweet potatoes and that’s why it’s screaming, “Give me some damn corn chips.”

That’s probably it.

I don’t have a big takeaway today but am ready to go to bed. (If I don’t, I’ll eat something else.) My eyes are watering, practically running like Niagara Falls. But I keep thinking about that Disney movie my sister and I used to watch, how seeing it today reminded me of a time when I wasn’t concerned about going outside because of the pollen count or whether or not what I was eating was good for me. This is a time I’d like to remember more often, a time when I didn’t think so hard, a time when the world worked without my worry.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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Dirty Santa and The Endowment Effect (Blog #262)

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Last night I went to a Christmas party and wore a cowboy hat. (Saddle up, Santa.) Honestly, I’d planned to spend the day with my nose in a book, but my friend Summer, from the improv group, invited me to her place for a Dirty Santa Gift Exchange and the big reveal of her unborn child’s sex. (It’s a girl!) I’m not always in love with group gatherings, especially when they involve new people, but I told myself it wouldn’t kill me to get out of the house and be social, damn it. So I actually took a shower, put on clean clothes, and everything.

I guess last night was about getting out of my comfort zone, since I don’t usually wear cowboy hats either. But a couple months ago my friend Marina gave me this black cowboy hat, a Resistol, and it’s really cool. I believe it belonged to her son. He’s no longer alive, but his hat’s still here. All the tags are still inside the brim, and one of them says, “You have just purchased the most comfortable hat made.” (That’s good to know.) The others say it’s a size seven and three-eights. Apparently it was purchased at a western wear shop owned by Johnnie Lee Wills, a Tulsa musician who performed at Cain’s Ballroom in the 1960s, and it originally cost twenty-one dollars.

And now it’s mine.

If you’re a sore loser like I am, I don’t recommend going to a Christmas party and playing Dirty Santa. The premise is that everyone brings “a good gift” and “a bad gift,” and they all get numbered. Then one-by-one everybody draws numbers and opens the corresponding gifts. This part, of course, is hilarious. Oh look, you got a Walmart gift card (good) and some drink coasters with vaginas on them (obviously bad, at least for a gay man). Well, the dirty part of the game is that rather than opening a new set of gifts, players have the option to take someone else’s gifts, and that’s where my bad attitude started. I’d opened a gift that included a Starbucks gift card and there I was, perfectly satisfied, just minding my own business, when some bitch took it away.

No offense to whoever it was–I’m sure you’re not really a bitch and that you’re normally very kind and don’t go around stealing coffee cards from perfect strangers.

Anyway, this lady traded her gifts with me, which left me with a coffee mug and a Rugrats hat. (Rugrats was a cartoon on Nickelodeon a long time ago, Mom.) Well, two can play at that game, so I ended up stealing four giant Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (good) and a single condom (bad) from Summer’s husband. But then Summer stole those things back, and before it was all said and done, I walked away with a miniature box of generic Corn Pops cereal (bad, bad, very bad) and twenty super-girly postcards (also very bad). I thought, What the hell, universe! Feminine postcards? Can’t you see I’m wearing a cowboy hat over here?

Honestly, losing the Starbucks gift card didn’t completely ruin my evening, but it did bother me more than I’d like to admit. It’s like you think you’re making all this progress–you sell or give away almost all your worldly possessions and think, I don’t need physical objects to make me happy, I’m so–unattached. Then one round of Dirty Santa, and there you are pouting, drowning your sorrows in a bottle of beer and half a dozen chocolate chip cookies, your ego just as intact as it ever was. But I was gonna buy a frappuccino with that gift card! As if that weren’t enough, then someone suggests playing board games. Oh perfect, you think. Another opportunity to lose.

By the time I got home last night, I’d pretty much talked myself down off the ledge. I’d realized there were a handful of other things that have been stressing me out lately, little disappointments that have all added up. And whereas having a total stranger snatch away my Monday morning mocha was the final straw, it was just a straw–certainly not the entire hay bale. Plus, I had a great time at the party. I’m currently focusing on one small irritation, but it was a wonderful evening.

Things are only important because we think they are.

Recently I heard about a psychological phenomenon called The Endowment Effect, which has to do with the magical properties we assign objects when we own them. Like, how many people in the world don’t give a shit about your quilt collection or new car, but you think, These things are special–the best–they belong to me. Personally, I’m in love “my” new cowboy hat. I love that my friend Marina gave it to me, I love the tags inside, and I like to imagine her son walking into the western wear shop and trying it on all those years ago. But the truth is, it’s just damn hat, just like it’s a damn gift card, a damn board game. Things are only important because we think they are.

It seems that life is often a Dirty Santa game. We make plans for things to happen one way, then those plans get snatched away. We don’t always go home with the gifts we had our eyes on. Of course, sometimes it happens the other way around. One day you wake up with nothing, and before you lay your head down that night you’ve got a cappuccino in your stomach you didn’t even pay for. (Harumph.) If you’re lucky, maybe you’ve got someone beside you, someone who can help you use that single condom you got at the party last night. (Wouldn’t that be nice!) Life is so funny. We get upset about the smallest of things. One-by-one the straws pile up, and we break our own backs. We say, “This is mine–that’s yours–I win–you lose,” the whole time forgetting we’re supposed to be having fun down here. Life is just a game, after all.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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Gay Parties in 1981 (Blog #224)

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Introduction

Well, hell. It’s 3:36 in the morning, and I’m just sitting down to blog. This is nothing new, of course, but blogging at this hour always comes as a surprise, since I always mean to start earlier. But for over six months I’ve also been meaning to reread Practical Intuition by Laura Day, and I finally started that project tonight. For the last few hours I’ve had the book open, hunched over it like the monster of Notre Dame. But now the book is closed, and I’m sitting here at the kitchen table slightly more upright and eating pineapple chunks out of a can. It’s a glorious life, I know, but someone’s got to live it.

Earlier today I had the idea that tonight’s blog needed to be presented in vignettes. I suppose that’s often how my writing works, but today’s the first time I’ve thought, Just give the highlights, even if they don’t clearly tie together. And not that I always pay attention to every thought I have, but my relationship with this blog has taught me to trust my hunches more, so I’m going to pay attention to the thought about vignettes and see where it leads us. So far, my internal sense of “this is what I should write about today” hasn’t let me down. My internal sense of “this would be a good person to date,” however, is a different matter altogether.

Scene One

Today I got up at 2:30 in the afternoon and ate my first meal about an hour later. Considering the recent time change and the fact that I don’t see much daylight to begin with, I’ve started feeling like I’m living in Alaska. (I’ve wanted to use that line for five days now.) Anyway, Virgos tend to worry about their health, so I’ve been concerned that I won’t get enough Vitamin D this winter and will develop Seasonal Affective Disorder, a medical condition related to depressed moods with the best abbreviation ever–SAD. With all this in mind, I took myself for a walk today at 4:15, the same time senior citizens have dinner at The Golden Corral and only an hour before the frickin’ sun went down.

Scene Two

Recently I started listening to a podcast called A Mother of a Murder, which is about the murder of Ruie Ann Park that took place here in Van Buren in 1981. My friend Anita Paddock wrote a book, Blind Rage, about the murder and is featured in the podcast. Anyway, the podcast is delicious and takes under two hours to listen to, and I finished it while walking today. My favorite line from the whole thing, referring to some of the murder suspects and said by an older man in a deeply southern accent, was, “They were gay and they were having gay parties.” I didn’t get the impression the gentleman thought this was a good thing, like something to be celebrated or attended, but I certainly did.

Just think of all the glitter.

Scene Three

As the podcast was ending, I looked up and saw a boy, a toddler, running–absolutely running–toward me, his arms spread out as if he were an airplane. His mother was behind him, by their house, and she tried to stop him from “bothering me.” But he just continued his long journey across their big front yard–thump, thump, thump–until he made it to me and the street. His little red head no higher than my knee, he flung both his arms around my left leg as if it were his best friend and said, “Hi!” Wrapping one of my arms around his back, I said, “Hi! You are so cute!” then continued walking. When I turned a corner two houses down, he waved and screamed, “Bye!”

My heart is still melting.

Scene Four

This evening I attended improv class and afterwards went to Starbucks and finished reading Rising Strong, the book by Brene Brown I blogged about yesterday. While sitting at a table trying to concentrate on the book, I kept getting distracted by the conversation at the table next to me, where sat a nineteen- year-old in the reserves and–from what I could gather–a potential mentor who wanted to know the kid’s views on money and whether or not he had a five-year plan. I thought, I’m thirty-seven and I don’t even know what I’m going to do tomorrow. Anyway, while this whole thing was going on, a total stranger asked if he could sit at my table until his friends arrived. I said, “You bet” and returned to my book, but as he sat down he reminded me of that kid running across the yard with his arms spread out, someone unafraid of asking for what they want.

Scene Five

The book I started rereading tonight is about how to use your intuition. The idea is that our inner wisdom is willing and able to communicate with us on all subjects if we would just slow down enough to listen, so each time you go through the book you get to ask three questions. Will I get married in the next year? What stocks should I invest in? Could I pick up extra cash as a drag queen? Whatever you’re curious about–sky’s the limit. When I worked through the exercises in the book five years ago, I wanted to know what profession I’d enter into after dancing. I dug out my answers from an old notebook tonight, and my intuition was obviously spot on and getting me ready, since the pages were littered with words like writer, author, and communication.

As I understand it, your intuition can answer questions about your past, present, and future (and anyone else’s) because a part of you is connected to everyone and everything else. As the mystics say, “We are one,” and, “There is no time and space.” Of course, it’s hard to wrap my head around these ideas, but I’m inclined to believe they’re true. One of the warm-up questions in the book tonight was, “Without thinking, what do you need most?” and my answer was, “A hug.” Later it asked, “Upon reflection, what do you need most?” and I answered, “Authentic connection.”

Conclusion

Only later while reviewing my answers about needing a hug and authentic connection did I remember about the little boy and the hug he gave me this afternoon. And whereas my first thought was, I guess I need more hugs, I later realized my inner wisdom was telling me that all my needs are met before I even ask for them. Now I realize I’ve spent so much time thinking about what could go wrong–what could happen if I don’t wake up in time to get enough sunlight–that I’ve often missed what is going right, including the sleeping in and worrying about Vitamin D that were necessary to get me walking by that boy’s front yard at just the right moment. So in the same way that he wrapped his arms around my leg, I’m starting to wrap my arms around this glorious life, this life that connects me vignette by vignette to toddlers running freely across front yards, strangers sitting down at tables in coffee shops, and even gay parties in 1981.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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Somehow We Ascend (Blog #204)

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Currently it’s eight in the evening, my sister and her husband are on a date, and their friend Laurel is putting the boys to bed. I just got back from spending the day in Santa Fe with Brian, the boy I met for drinks last night. I’m putting a certain amount of pressure on myself to finish tonight’s blog and finish it fast, as I may go out dancing in a couple hours. Not that I really have the energy, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity. I’ve only got one more day here, then it’s time to say goodbye, so why stay home?

We’ll see how it goes. I could very well pass out on this keyboard and wake up in my own drool.

This morning before leaving for Santa Fe, Brian and I went to Starbucks, and I’m pretty sure the guy at the drive-thru said, “Welcome to a normal human Starbucks.” Even now, I have no idea what he meant. Was he trying to be funny? If so, no one was laughing. My therapist says humor is a function of intelligence, so that would say something about either the barista’s smarts or mine. (Since this is my blog, let’s assume he’s the one with the problem.) Also, are most Starbucks for abnormal humans?

I still have so many questions.

In Santa Fe, Brian and I went to an exhibit hall called Meow Wolf. We spent a couple hours there, but much like the interaction at Starbucks, I still can’t tell you what it was about. Outside there were several sculptures, so I made the assumption that we were going to an art gallery. But when we got inside, it was pretty much one big acid trip–or what I would imagine an acid trip to be. The first room was a house, but there was some story about how the people in the house had been sucked into an alternate dimension or universe, so a lot of the doors (and even the washing machine) opened up into strange and bizarre worlds full of dinosaur bones, chutes and ladders, or a hall of mirrors.

Initially we didn’t realize there was a theme–the whole bit about the family disappearing into a different world. But I guess if one had the intelligence and patience, there were notes and clues hidden throughout the entire exhibit, and supposedly you could piece together what the hell everything was about.

One of the clues said the rooms represented the emotions the family members were feeling before they got swept away, but what do you make of a psychedelic forest, cereal boxes that look like they’ve been eaten by aliens, or a bathroom floor that’s been crumbled up like last week’s newspaper?

Seriously, most days I can’t make sense of my own emotions, and now I have to figure out someone else’s? I mean, I gave it the old college try for about five minutes, but then quit because some days you just can’t–you just can’t even.

Again, I still have so many questions.

After Meow Wolf, Brian and I checked out downtown Santa Fe, starting with two of the chapels. Perhaps the more famous of the two, Loretto Chapel, contains what many call a miraculous staircase. (I think an escalator beats a staircase any day, but that’s just me.) But really, this staircase is pretty awesome. The story goes that over a hundred years ago a stranger showed up to build a staircase when the church was in need. No one knows who the man was, but people say he was an angel or at least a genius because engineers today say the staircase, which is spiral and doesn’t have a center support pole, shouldn’t be able to hold the weight that it does. Supposedly no one has been able to explain how the staircase is structurally sound.

People have so many questions.

Since we got back from Santa Fe and I dropped Brian off, I’ve been entertaining opposite emotions. First, I had a wonderful time with Brian today. I spend so much of my life doing things by myself, it was really–really–nice to be in such good company. I texted my friend Bonnie about it, and she said, “Sounds like your time together made your heart light for a minute. That’s definitely something.” In response, I said, “That’s definitely something. And I didn’t realize it was so heavy.”

That’s the second part–the opposite emotion–heavy. Part of me thinks it’s about all good things coming to an end, but another part of me thinks it’s about realizing what I’ve been missing out on. It always feels like that in some way–like I’m missing out on a good time at a dance, some magical relationship, or some better life. My therapist is quick to point out that plenty of people in relationships would trade places with single me in a heartbeat, so I guess we all want what we don’t have.

Clearly, we all have so many questions. At least us normal humans do.

People say your life only makes sense in reverse, that one day you’ll look back and realize why things happened the way they did. But lived moment-to-moment and day-by-day, life is a real head-scratcher. Nothing seems to compute, including our experiences and emotions. Try to figure yourself out, and you might as well have a conversation with a wannabe stand-up comedian at a drive-thru or spend a day at Meow Wolf. Maybe we’re not really meant to connect the dots, at least as we live them. Some days I guess the best we can do is embrace the wonder of it all, ever grateful for those places and people who cause our hearts to beat, even when it’s time to say goodbye to them. Perhaps this feels like climbing a miraculous spiral staircase and not understanding how we’re being held up. Yet step-by-step we’re supported and somehow we ascend–ever higher into our own mysteries.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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