two-beer Marcus (blog #24)

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All other things being equal, I like Two-Beer Marcus better than I like Sober Marcus. Two-Beer Marcus is more authentic–more relaxed, more friendly, and more confident. And, at least in his opinion, he’s pretty damn funny. Sober Marcus, on the other hand, is often uptight, shy, and hesitant. I guess this is because he tends to take himself pretty seriously and is often concerned about what other people think, particularly at dance events. But Two-Beer Marcus doesn’t give a fuck. (T.B.M.D.G.A.F.)

Before we go any further–and in the spirit of honesty–One-Beer Marcus is typing now. (He’s not so bad.)

My intention with this post is not to discuss the benefits (and obvious drawbacks) of drinking. Rather, what I’d like to point out is that I think sometimes a couple of beers can let you know what’s lurking just below the surface. To quote my therapist, “Alcohol reveals what sobriety conceals.” (She typically uses this line if I’ve told her about someone who got drunk and hit on me, or someone else who got drunk and acted like a real tool bag, but I think it can be applied positively.) What I like about this theory is that, apparently, just below the surface is a guy I really like, a guy who’s more honest with himself and everyone else, a guy who’s not such a stick-in-the-mud. And whereas there’s part of me that wishes I could just drink a couple of beers every day in order to calm all my social anxieties, there’s an even bigger part of me that knows that could turn into a real problem. I mean, beer has a lot of calories, and I’d eventually have to buy new pants, and that’s something I, my wallet, and my pride are NOT okay with.

Speaking of needing to buy new pants, I just sat down on the floor–and it wasn’t easy. As I sit here, the final dance at Sunflower Swing is in progress. It’s at a place called Care to Dance, and it’s maybe my favorite dance venue so far–mostly because there are mirrors in the room. (I’m pretty famous for looking at myself in the mirror when I dance, so I’m in heaven now.) And whereas I’ve been accused of being vain–and I am–what I like about the mirrors is that they offer me immediate feedback on my dancing, and I almost always come away feeling better than I do without mirrors. If the point hasn’t already been made and belabored this weekend, I’m usually running a low level of “beating myself up” or “feeling insecure.” But when I look in the mirror, I actually like what I see. It’s better than the me that’s in my head.

I think that as a general rule, I blow a lot of smoke up my own ass. Like, I gan five pounds, and I think I’m SO FAT or SO UNATTRACTIVE and I’M SO SORRY you have to even look at me. Or I mess up a dance move or don’t dance like THAT GUY, so I think that the person I’m dancing with is probably bored, really inconvenienced by having to hold my hand for three minutes. Well, just a couple of beers (and two easy payments of $4.99), and that voice in my head gets a lot quieter. Or just a quick look in the mirror and (most the time), I get closer to the truth–I haven’t completely let myself go, and my dancing is more polished than I give myself credit for.

I once had a friend–who’s older than I am–ask me if I thought she was pretty. (There’s only one socially acceptable answer to this awkward question, right?) When I told my therapist about the situation, I think she rolled her eyes. She said, “By this point in my life, I know what I got, and I know what I don’t got.” So when it comes to things like how I look or how I dance, she says the goal is to take an honest, accurate assessment, to not make myself more than I am, but not make myself less than I am either.

Ultimately, I think the closer a person gets to his or her authentic self, the labels of more than or less than seriously start to fall away. When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare. And that’s what I think the value of Two-Beer Marcus is. (He doesn’t G.A.F., remember?) More specifically, he lets me know that I’m capable of being more relaxed, friendly, and confident. I mean, those qualities have always been there, or they couldn’t come out after a couple of drinks. And honestly, especially since starting therapy three years ago, I’m more of all those things than I used to be, even without the beer. And whereas it may not be perfection (whatever that is), it’s certainly progress.

[P.S. One-beer Marcus may have started this article, but Sober Marcus finished it, and he resents being called a stick-in-the-mud.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

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well, that was awkward (blog #23)

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marcus coker and megan p at sunflower swing, 2017

Once again, I’m coming to you live from a big swing dance in Wichita. (Can’t you feel the excitement?) The dance is being held at the local Shriner’s…uh…shrine, and the ballroom is on the second floor, and the floor is literally shaking, bouncing up and down like a dime store pony. Earlier I had a vision, like, what would I do if the floor collapsed? In my fantasy, I’d jump up and grab a chandelier, and think, That was close, but the truth is that I’d probably just fall to my death and (on the way down) think, I wish I hadn’t had that pizza for dinner.

Last night Megan and I stayed up pretty late. I was blogging, and she was uploading pictures from the dance. You can find them here if you’re curious. Anyway, somehow we started talking about awkward situations at dances. I told her that my standard thing to do after a dance is over is to clap my hands together two or three times like a little girl and say, “YEAAAAAAAH!” And then I say, “Thank you for the dance” and run away because I don’t do so great with strangers and small talk. After “Where are you from?” and “What do you do?” I’m pretty much toast.

Once I told my therapist about a situation where I’d been spending a lot of time with one of my friends, and I ended up saying that I needed some space. So the next time I saw them, it felt really (like, really, really) awkward. And this is what my therapist said–“So let it be awkward. It’s probably them more than it is you.” And it was like this big revelation for me–let it be awkward–that it was okay for there to be tension in the air and it wouldn’t cause me to combust.

So I was telling Megan about how awkward I often feel when I try to make small talk with someone when a dance is over, how it often feels like I’m trying to force a connection that’s just not there, like the other person is giving me nothing to work with. And she said, “A lot of dancers are awkward.”

AND ALL GOD’S PEOPLE SAID, “AMEN!”

I mean, is she right, or she right?

“A lot of dancers are awkward.”

marcus coker and megan p at sunflower swing, 2017

For whatever reason, this was like big news to me. Not that I didn’t know it before, but I just hadn’t applied it to my interactions. Instead, I was taking full responsibility for every bit of small talk and conversation–asking twenty questions, afraid of just a moment of silence. I was too afraid to let things be awkward.

So my take away from the conversations with my therapist and Megan was that it’s not just me (it’s you). Any conversation is two people, just like any dance is two people. And if things aren’t clicking, if things aren’t going well, sure, part of the responsibility is mine, but not all of it. The other person plays a part too. So my new goal, at least for tonight, is simply to be honest with myself–I’m getting along with this person, or I’m not. And whereas it may be awkward for a moment if we’re not connecting, it’s not bad. It’s just something to blog about later.

[Thanks again to Megan for the photos tonight (and the great, non-awkward dances and conversations). And to Nikki who actually took the photos.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?

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there’s plenty of room here (blog #22)

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At this moment, it’s a quarter ’til midnight, and I’m in Wichita, Kansas, which the locals say is “Wichitawesome.” (Isn’t that adorable? I think it’s a lot better than the one my friend Craig came up with for Fort Smith, which is “Fort Smith—It’s okay.”) I drove up earlier today for a Lindy Hop weekend called Sunflower Swing, and it’s going on now. The ballroom has started to thin a bit, but it’s still full, and the sounds of jazz skip across the floor, as do the dancers.

My typical experience watching Lindy Hop dancers is twofold. On one hand, I’m completely inspired by the talent, creativity, and—at the very least—enthusiasm. But if you haven’t met me, I tend to be pretty judgmental, which means I either end up feeling better than every one else, or feeling like everyone else is better than I am. Facebook reminded me today of a quote, I think by Eckhart Tolle, that goes something like, “When you feel better than or less than someone else, that’s your ego.” So my ego is definitely here tonight. I mean, I don’t remember inviting him, but I guess it’s good to know he hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s nothing if not loyal.

On the way here, I stopped in Tulsa to see my friends Gregg and Rita. They’re probably the Lindy Hop friends I’ve known the longest, and two of the coolest. And although they are lovely dancers, that’s not why I love them. Rather, I love them because they love the dance and love other people. Plus, they’re just amazing. Rita used to dance for Disney, and Gregg used to ice skate and teach blind people how to snow ski. And I guess when I dance with them, my ego gets quiet because the joy I feel dancing with my friends is louder than my ego could ever be. Today we even danced in Panera Bread.

It’s like I always have this moment that I’m having right now at dance weekends. I’m having fun, and then my ego pops up out of nowhere, like, HEEEEEEY, I’m over here! And then he starts telling me how great I am (which feels pretty good), and then he sucker punches me and tells me I’m not as perfect as someone else seems to be. (Rude, I know. Total party crasher. Bad form.) And it usually just takes a few hours for me to convince him once again that we’re just fine, it’s only a dance, and he’s welcome to go sit against the wall with the other nerds.

My therapist says I have an abundance issue and that I’m pretty focused on scarcity. (I’m working on it.) Usually this is in the context of money, but she says that if you’re into scarcity, it’s across the board. Like, sometimes I think, Where’s all the sex? (See, scarcity. But really, where is it?) So for the last thirty minutes, I’ve been thinking about this whole ego, comparison, who’s-the-better-dancer bullshit in terms of abundance and scarcity. I’m thinking that I’m approaching the matter as if there’s not enough talent to go around, that if someone else is succeeding or doing well, that somehow diminishes me and my success. (This dance floor’s not big enough for the both of us!)

When I look at it on paper, it sounds kind of ridiculous. (Silly ego.) Still, it’s how I feel–sometimes. My therapist says that when you feel like there’s not enough of something to go around, that’s the time to open up. That’s the time to give–give thanks, give money, give your talents. So during this period of my life when it feels like I don’t have a lot of stuff (did I mention that I sold it all?), or a job, or a plan, or a six-pack, I’ve been trying–trying–to open up to the idea that there is abundance here somewhere. (Hello! Where are you hiding, abundance?)

Well, so far what I’ve come up with is that I have an abundance of time. I don’t have a deadline to move out of my parents’ house. I get to sleep in every day. I get to do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want. And a lot of people aren’t in that situation. So I can give my time to my friends, and I can listen. I also have an abundance of talent. (I used to think this was bragging, but my therapist says it’s just a fact.) As Craig says, I “suffer from doing a number of things well.” So that means that I can give my writing to this blog and to anyone who reads it. I can give my dance knowledge to my students, or kids like the ones at last week’s dance who wanted to learn more. I can help my parents out with odd jobs around the house, like fixing the garage door, since they are unable to do it for themselves.

But back to the dance tonight, which is now over. (My friend Megan, whom I’m staying with, and I left the first venue when it closed, went back to her house, grabbed some food–food always helps–then went to the second venue. And now we’re back at her house where I can use the internet, which means I don’t have to upload this entire blog from my phone. More abundance. There’s internet IN THE AIR.) As I think about it now, there was an abundance of talent tonight, more than enough to go around. And there was an abundance of room, not just room to move around in, but room for every single person, including me, to grow and learn in. And there was room for my ego to show up, and room for us to sort things out. There was room for my mood to improve, dip back down for a while, then pop back up again.

I guess no one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace. No, at best we stumble along, often forgetting there’s room for that too.

[Special thanks to my friend Megan for hosting me, taking the two photos of me dancing at the top of this blog, and for the great dances and conversation tonight. Your abundant generosity sent my ego running.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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