The Hardest Lesson You Will Ever Learn (Blog #608)

Phew. I swear. I haven’t had a lick of energy today. I hate that, feeling like I’ve had the stuffing knocked out of me, going about my day with all the inner fortitude of a soggy biscuit. Still, I’ve tried not to obsess over it (even though I’m clearly obsessing about it now) and just put one foot in front of the other.

Left, right, left, right.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we discussed my frustration with not feeling well. She said that she went through a similar period in her life. And whereas it frustrated her at the time too, she’s grateful for it now–because it helped make her who she is today both personally and professionally. Like, she’s more understanding and supportive and shit. “It’s about developing patience,” she said, “and patience is THE HARDEST lesson you will ever learn. It FUCKING SUCKS.”

But for real.

Later my therapist said she felt like 2019 was going to be a good year for me. God, I hope she’s right. Regardless, I can’t tell you what a big deal this is, to have someone who not only believes in and affirms me, but also consistently imagines a better future for me. Even when I’ve been too down to hope for myself, she’s said, “Things are going to get better. And it’s okay if you don’t believe that–I believe enough for both of us.”

After therapy I went to a coffee shop and read until I got kicked out. The book I’m working my way through is a 450-page tome on addiction in all its many forms (nicotine, drugs, alcohol, shopping, you name it). Then, despite the fact that I’m nowhere near finished with this and a number of other books I’ve started, I went to the library and checked out two more–because THAT’S my addiction. Buying (or checking out) books is that thing that gets me excited (that is, that causes my brain to release dopamine) just thinking about. And whereas I might have “worried” about this at one time, I don’t anymore because 1) it’s a benign habit, 2) it’s not hurting me or anyone else, and 3) it could be A LOT worse.

This evening my parents, my aunt, and I went out to eat for my mom’s birthday (it’s today), and despite my professed lack of energy, I somehow managed to shove a giant burger, a fistful of fries, and half a piece of cheesecake into my mouth. Anyway, here’s a picture after ALL OF US cleaned our plates.

After dinner my parents and I drove around Fort Smith to look at Christmas lights. This was the perfect thing–low-key, easy, beautiful. Now it’s after midnight, and I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. I’m in this weird place–not thrilled about where I am and how I feel, but not devastated about it either. Of course I want things to get better. I want to have more energy. But if this is my life now, this is my life now. If this is meant to teach me patience, then that’s what I intend to learn.

Slowly, of course, since patience by definition can’t be learned quickly.

Damn it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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On Levity and Gravity (Blog #510)

Today and I went to therapy, and–for the first time in a long time–didn’t refer to “the list.” Rather, I let things unfold naturally and talked about whatever came to my mind. I’m frustrated about this. I’m worn out about that. I’m angry about this AND that. “Here,” my therapist said, “take these squeezie balls and squeeze the shit out of them.” (I took the squeezie balls, one in each hand.) “Or do you need to throw something? I have things you can throw if you want to throw things.”

As instructed, I squeezed the shit out of the balls.

“I think these will do,” I said, then continued to vent, mostly about the fact that my life isn’t working like I want it to work right now. “I just feel so–(squeeze, squeeze)–fucking stuck.”

“Maybe you need to get laid,” she said.

“Yes, that’d be great,” I agreed, squeezing some more. “I’ll get right on that.”

I swear. She makes getting laid sound so easy. Maybe it would be if I were. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.)

Okay, here’s something wonderful about seeing a therapist. Specifically, here’s something wonderful about seeing MY therapist. No matter what mood I’m in or what we’re talking about, I almost always end up laughing. Even today while I was venting my frustrations about life, I was actually laughing and having a good time. And whereas this kind of joking around happens with some of my friends–I don’t know–when I over-vent to my friends, things can get so–what’s the word?–heavy. I mean, no one knows what to say when someone you love dies or you lose your job and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing with your life.

Or whatever your problem is.

But that’s a therapist’s job–to first of all know how to listen and second of all know what to say. They went to school for that shit! Not that they get it right every time (my therapist says she thinks she hits the nail on the head about thirty percent of the time), but at least they’re–ideally–objective, as much as a person can be. Like, with a friend or family member, they’re invested, often tied to or affected by your issues. But a therapist–who hears the good, the bad, and the ugly day-in and day-out–can offer a different, more-detached perspective. I know mine can watch me yell or scream or cry and not take it personally. Instead, she can support me by offering compassion, making me laugh, or otherwise helping me to lighten up.

“Let it out,” she says. “This is normal. YOU are normal. You’re going to make it. You’re going to get laid.”

Or whatever.

But back to lightning up. I’m currently reading a book called On Becoming an Alchemist by Catherine MacCoun that’s right up my alley. Today I read that two terms alchemists (people who, by one definition, are concerned with transformation) often use are “levity” and “gravity.” Levity, of course, relates to being light-hearted, lightening up, and not taking yourself or life so seriously. Think–gold. Gravity, on the other hand, relates to being heavy-hearted, serious, or–well–grave. Think–lead. Also, think about how “grave” is actually a term that relates to death or that which is below rather than above the surface (of the earth, of your consciousness).

One of my takeaways from reading about all this is that one’s perspective and (consequently) their emotions change depending on whether they’re looking at a problem from “below” or “above.” Think about it. When you’re feeling “down” and taking both yourself seriously, the world looks worse than it does when you’re feeling “up.” And it’s not that your problems have moved; it’s that YOU have.

This, I think, has been the prized jewel I’ve discovered through my work with my therapist and this blog–movement. On the horizontal plane of matter, time, and space, my problems look much the same. If it’s not one damn thing, it’s another. I still get angry and frustrated about all of it. But on the vertical plane of spirituality, psychology, and my interior, my life looks much different than it did before. Not that I don’t have “down” days, but I’m more “up” than I ever have been. Consequently, I see both myself and life differently, better. My problems are fewer and farther between. Largely due to my perspective, they resolve faster.

Except, apparently, the getting laid thing.

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.

"

An Attention Intervention (Blog #503)

It’s five in the evening, and all I want to do is read. I’m still in the middle of the book by Richard Bach I mentioned yesterday, and I just picked up two more (one about the moon, one about the practice of alchemy) at the library. Really, “the hunt” is as much fun as the reading, looking around, digging for new sources of information and knowledge. I really have a hard time turning it off. Earlier this week my friend Marla said, “Marcus, you’ve GOT to watch this television show on Netflix,” and I said, “I CAN’T STOP READING!”

“Do you need an intervention?” she said.

Yes, yes I do. An attention intervention.

Earlier today I saw my therapist. She said I seemed “anxious,” which I guess I am. I’ve been working a lot lately, I’m going out-of-town next week for business, and–consequently–I have a hundred things on my mind. Plus, I’m signed up with the United States Postal Service to receive digital images (pictures) of the mail that’s being delivered every day, and this morning I found out that later today I’ll be receiving a letter from my doctor. I’m assuming it’s my results from last week’s cholesterol, thyroid, and testosterone tests. And whereas part of me wants everything to be “okay,” another part of me “wants” there to be SOMETHING wrong in order to explain why my health and energy levels have been so up and down this last year.

So I’m on edge.

At one point during our conversation today, my therapist used the phrase “enough for the moment.” I think it was in the context of dealing with stressful or self-critical thoughts. Like, putting your hand up and saying, “STOP. Back off, jerk-wad. That’s enough for the moment.” But later we were talking about that concept–enough–since I often feel like EVERYONE ELSE has what they need to succeed, but I don’t, as if I need to be smarter, or better educated, or richer, or better looking in order for my life to “work out.” But my therapist reminded me that I AM enough, that WHO I AM is enough.

“You have EVERYTHING you need to succeed,” she said.

So now I’m telling myself, I am enough. I am enough for this moment.

This is something that’s been on my mind lately–this moment. Earlier today I started re-listening a set of Caroline Myss lectures that are some of my favorites–Fundamentals of Spiritual Alchemy. (Alchemy is a theme for me lately.) The basic idea is that in “this moment,” your physical body may be sitting in your chair in the living room (or wherever), but that–chances are pretty good–your spirit or soul is what Myss calls “non-local.” Like, you’re still thinking about that argument you had with a co-worker yesterday, or angry about what your mom said to you twenty years ago, or worried about what you’ll wear for your date this weekend. In other words, you (and me too) are way spread-out, anywhere but right here, right now.

Myss says that the point of alchemy and the ancient mystery schools was to train a person (an “initiate”) how to be in present time. Jesus said it this way–“Give no thought for tomorrow.” Of course, this is hard work, but worth it– since being out of present time creates psychic “lead,” which not only is a bitch to carry around (we’ve all got baggage!), but also literally slows down the pace at which your life moves–how quickly you can manifest your dreams, even how soon you can heal a physical illness. It’s fascinating. (It’s terrifying.) As Myss says–it takes AT LEAST an entire lifetime to learn.

In my way of thinking, so much of this work comes down to what you let yourself think about, what you allow to command your attention. Maybe this is a good way to say it: Do you let the circumstances of your life command your attention, or do YOU command your attention? When my therapist and I were talking about not feeling good enough, she said, “That’s a slippery slope to go down–the ‘poor me’ slope.” (I said, “Yeah, it’s a real Black Diamond.”) But the point is, we do have a choice about which hills we step onto and consequently go down. We CAN work at putting our focus on the here and now, rather than the past and awful, or the future and terrifying. We CAN self-initiate an attention intervention.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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What Would My Therapist Do? (Blog #496)

Today I woke up early-early-early to get blood drawn at my doctor’s office–cholesterol, thyroid, testosterone (GRRR). Afterwards–because I was feeling faint–I went to a donut shop and overloaded on sugar and caffeine. Honestly, I could have crashed, gone back to bed. But I was already awake and out of the house–I had clothes on for crying out loud!–so I spent the morning chugging coffee and reading my book on alchemy and mysticism. Only a hundred more pages to go!

This afternoon I poked around in one of my favorite used bookstores and unearthed two psychology books that I’ve been looking for. (They’re on Amazon, of course, but I think it’s more fun to find them in person.) Then at lunch a waiter at a local burrito shop made my day when I placed my order (three tacos) and he smiled and said, “I feel like The Three Tacos are the most undervalued item on our menu.”

Beaming because I had the good taste to value something others apparently don’t, I said, “Well, I for one appreciate a good taco.”

Or three.

My next and last stop for the day was seeing my therapist, and I realized even before getting there that I was in a good mood. This is nearly always the case on therapy days. First, my therapist is consistently funny, insightful, and uplifting, so there’s an anticipation and expectation that things will go well. Second, I often use therapy days to do things I love–read a book, peruse book and antique stores, eat tacos–like I did today. I mention this because I’m starting to realize how important it is to notice the things that put you in a cheerful mood–activities you participate in, thoughts you think (like, I’m a good person. I value tacos.) Then if you find yourself in a shit mood, you’ve got some reliable things you can try to shift you into a better one.

My personal shortlist of feel-good actions:

  • Get out of the house (get some sun)
  • Go for a walk
  • Read a book
  • Buy a book
  • Listen to eighties music (current favorite: “Private Eyes” by Hall and Oates)
  • Eat a taco (feel-good bonus: while listening to eighties music)
  • Flirt with a stranger
  • Window shop and daydream about when I can afford more things
  • Look at the stars

My therapist and I talked about this stuff today, the idea that you can create touchstone actions to help encourage better feelings, and she said you can also create touchstone thoughts to do the same thing. This part of the conversation came up because the hypnosis book I read yesterday said that when you’re in a downtrodden or sourpuss mood, it’s often because you’ve forgotten something good and positive in your life. For example, if you’re thinking, I CAN’T go up and talk to that person, in that moment you’re forgetting all the times you HAVE talked to a stranger, all the times you HAVE been confident and outgoing. So my therapist suggested having a shortlist of thoughts that make you feel happy and strong whenever you think about them–like that time your friend or relative did that one thing and you couldn’t stop laughing, or that person you love more than anything else in the whole-wide world, or that thing you did that you thought you couldn’t and are really proud of.

See–doesn’t that feel good?

Personally, I’m working on become more aware of my thoughts. After reading the hypnosis book, I know that MOST of my bad moods don’t come from what I physically feel (kinesthetic) or what I see either in the world or in my head (visual), but rather from thoughts I think (auditory). In short, there’s a lot of internal bitching, a lot of “this isn’t good enough.” But lately I’ve been catching myself mid-thought and audibly saying, “Stop.” Then I’ve been turning whatever the situation is into a joke, like “there I go again,” or otherwise trying to “lighten up.” Armed with my shortlists, I’ve started telling myself, I don’t have to make a problem where there isn’t one. I know how to feel good.

I know how to value and appreciate tacos AND myself.

Another thing my therapist and I discussed was “three strikes and you’re out,” something that came up because I’ve recently been putting up some bad (rude) behavior from an acquaintance of mine. My therapist said, “If you flake out on me once, shit happens. If you do it twice, you’re on thin ice. If you do it three times–[here she held out her closed fist then suddenly opened her fingers wide]–mic drop!” Later my therapist said that many of her clients–whenever they’re uptight, frustrated, downtrodden, or “in a pickle” with another person–will think, What would my therapist do (or say or think) in this moment? (WWMTD?) In other words, Would she put up with this shit?

If you don’t have a therapist, you could say, “What would a mentally healthy person do?” (If you don’t know a mentally healthy person–that’s a problem.)

You can be more discriminating.

This is something I’ve really been focused on lately–healthy models for change–since it’s become really clear to me that we all have default ways of thinking and responding to our environment, but there ARE other ways of being in the world. Like, just because I do a lot of internal griping, doesn’t mean everyone does or that I HAVE to. It’s simply a habit, and my mind IS CAPABLE of learning something new. Or just because I’ve always given people a million chances, doesn’t mean I have to for the rest of my life. I CAN BE more discriminating–in my thoughts, actions, and relationships.

I AM being more discriminating.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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And God knows you don't make everyone else happy. But this is no reason to quit or be discouraged, since doing what you love and feel called to do is never--never--about gaining acceptance from others.

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The Sound of My Shoes Splashing (Blog #495)

For the last three days, my stomach has been upset something awful. I’m not doubled over in pain or anything–it’s not time to call an ambulance–but it has felt like a pubescent demon has been poking at my insides with his pitchfork.

Stop, demon, stop.

When I was a teenager, I had stomach problems constantly. I have so many memories of being curled up in my bed, knees to my chest. I used to toss back calcium tablets like they were candy corn. My therapist once said she thought my tummy troubles were because I was repressing my true (and fabulous) self. “You don’t think it was just a bad case of gas?” I said. Anyway, those days are mostly over. Mostly. A few years ago an ulcer (or something) did show up uninvited and lasted several weeks. I wanted to scream.

Well, get this shit.

In the midst of my last great intestinal undoing, I picked up a remodel job that required that I completely tear apart a friend’s subfloor, which had rotted due to water damage. I think it took two days and every hammer, crowbar, and power tool I had to bust up the tile, rip apart the linoleum underneath, and pull out the old plywood. Talk about feeling like a man. I’ve never done so much grunting in all my life. But the best part is that after I spent two afternoons absolutely fucking a floor up(!), my stomach problems completely went away.

Just like that.

My therapist said–in this instance–she thought my stomach problems were a direct result of my tendency to internalize my emotions (who, me?) and that busting some shit up was a good way for me to “get the poison out.” She’s recommended this strategy on a number of occasions–throw something, go for bike ride, break a damn sweat.

Believe it or not, I have been thinking about this advice the last few days while my stomach acids have been bubbling up and boiling over my intestinal cauldron. Actually, even BEFORE my stomach began hurting, I was thinking, I need to start walking again, maybe even running. But it’s been so damn hot. And I’ve been tired. (And drinking beer.) But when I woke up this morning and my belly was STILL hurting, I thought, Today’s the day–I’ve got to do something. So this afternoon I went to the health-food store and got some ginger/peppermint tea, as well as some kombucha, a probiotic drink that I was consistently ingesting before my recent two-week vacation but haven’t had since I’ve returned home. And whereas I think they helped, I kept thinking, Go for a run, Marcus. Get out of the house.

But again–it was like a hundred degrees outside, and I prefer to run at night.

Finally, just about the time the sun was going down and a thunderstorm warning was being issued for our area, I decided to take off. “I’m going for a run,” I told my parents, “but it’s supposed to rain.” My dad, engrossed in some television program, didn’t even look up. “You won’t melt.” So I stuffed a Ziploc bag in my pocket to protect my phone if it started raining and hit the pavement.

A half-mile in, the wind started picking up, blowing dust and trash across the road. It was like something from the movie Tombstone. Part of me thought, Marcus, go home before a tornado picks you up and sweeps you off to Oz. But surrounded by dark, billowing clouds and feeling the air push against my skin, another part of me thought, Keep running–this is what it feels like to be alive. (Don’t worry, Mom, it wasn’t lightning–very bad.) About twenty minutes in, the bottom of the sky fell out, so I ran up under a pine tree and slipped my phone into the Ziploc bag. Then I pulled my shirt off, shoved it in my pocket, and kept going.

Within minutes, I was soaked to the bone, but I was loving it–smiling, laughing, evening yelling along with the thunder (getting the poison out). Alternating running and walking, I played in the rain for two miles until I made it home, sometimes watching the “rivers” run along the sides of the streets, sometimes listening to my tennis shoes splash-splash-splash through the puddles, but never once thinking about my stomach.

That was two hours ago, and–go figure–my stomach is better. Maybe not perfect, but good enough that I’ve been going significant stretches of time without thinking about it. So that’s something. This afternoon I finished a hypnosis book that said if you’re having physical (kinesthetic) pain and can focus on something you see (visual) or hear (auditory), your pain will lessen or neutralize because it switches you over to a different input/output system. (You may want to try it NOW). So maybe that’s what happened. Or maybe it was the kombucha and ginger tea. Or maybe I had internalized a handful of emotions and frustrations (I DID just complete a road trip with my immediate family) and was able to EXTERNALIZE them.

We all need to feel alive.

Personally, I’m inclined to think it was the running and externalizing, since my body has been telling me for the last few days that it wants to run. So often I forget this, that the body has wisdom and knows what it needs. I’ve spent a lot of time lately inside with my nose in a book. I love reading, of course, but it’s easy to sit inside and 1) think I can solve everything with a book and 2) concentrate on my problems. And whereas these two activities are fun on a certain level (who doesn’t like to read and wallow?), neither of them feel like the rain on my face or sound like my shoes splash-splash-splashing through the puddles. Yes, we all need this–both once in a while and fundamentally–to connect with nature, to be soaked to the bone, to feel alive.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

"

On Life’s Seasons (Blog #484)

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

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

It was an absolute blood bath.

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

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

Endings are just as important as beginnings.

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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Route 66 and the Quest for the Holy Grail (Blog #482)

This morning I woke up to an e-bill (from the lab that did my immunology testing) for $1,600.00. This is not a good way to start the day. (Marcus, from now on, at least wait until you get out of bed before checking your phone.) Anyway, I spent my morning dealing with this matter–calling the company to see what’s going on, talking to my insurance agent. After a solid hour of this business, the matter still isn’t resolved, but we’re closer. As it turns out, my first visit to the lab was billed to the wrong insurance (technically mine, but the wrong one), and the second visit is still being processed. My insurance agent said, “You can handle this when you get back. Stop worrying.”

Does she know me or what?

Similar incidents have happened a number of times this last year, and my therapist always reminds me that 1) this is the nature of medical billing and insurance, 2) the universe is abundant, and 3) considering my background with financial stressors, it’s normal for me to overreact. The good news, however, is that I actually didn’t overreact today. Sure, I stressed out a little, but I didn’t flip shit. So maybe my attitude about such things is improving. Yesterday I read that the word grail (as in the Holy Grail) is related to the word gradual. The point was that advances in consciousness (depicted as challenges and victories in the grail-quest legends) happen in phases, rarely all at once. My point is that I AM changing my mind about things–just a little at a time.

And that’s okay.

Other than dealing with the insurance company, I paid bills this afternoon and spent some time reading. Then this evening I (finally) mapped out a plan for getting to San Francisco. As it turns out, the drive is close to 18 hours, so I’ve decided to break it up into two days. Hopefully I’ll drive 13 or 14 hours tomorrow, find a place to spend the night (I have a few options already), then drive the rest of the way Friday morning/early afternoon. Since the dance event I’m attending starts Friday at 8 PM, this should work out just fine.

God willing and the creek don’t rise.

I’ve spent this evening getting ready for the trip–taking a shower, shaving, washing clothes. Now it’s 9:30, and I’m trying to keep this short so I can knock myself out with Benadryl and get some sleep. I’m going to TRY to get up early in the morning. (Early for me that is.)

When my family and I first got to Albuquerque, I noticed a car I hadn’t seen before in my sister and brother-in-law’s garage–an antique–a 1971 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, it turns out. And whereas I’m not a “car guy,” I thought this car was awesome and asked my brother-in-law if we could go for a spin. So tonight before I cleaned up, he said, “Do you want to drive it? It’s a standard.” Hesitating because I technically know how to drive a standard but don’t do it often enough to be confident about it, I said, “Uh–uh–yes!”

I added the exclamation point, both on the blog and in real life, because I think it’s important to be enthusiastic about trying new things.

So my brother-in-law started out, then pulled over to let me try. And y’all, we give him a hard time sometimes for being rough around the edges, but he was a great teacher. First, he gave me a refresher course about all the pedals, then he talked me through any jerking or rough spots along the way. And whereas I thought we were just going to stay in the neighborhood, he navigated me onto the highway–historic Route 66. (As in, get your kicks on.) Talk about feeling like a badass–driving an antique convertible, top down, on Route 66.

Believe it or not–all things considered–I did a good job. I only stalled out once–at a stop sign. (Technically, I was just following directions.)

We have time to figure things out.

Just before we got back to the house, it started pouring down rain, so I pulled over and my brother-in-law put the top up and took over driving. (We couldn’t roll up the windows because he recently had the interior redone and hasn’t put the cranks for the windows back on.) Anyway, he sped home and pulled back in the garage. (We were only half-soaked.) The whole affair was one of the funnest things I’ve done in a long time. During the trip I kept getting nervous, like, What if I mess up or do something wrong? But honestly, my nervousness paled in comparison to the good time I was having, even the pride I felt at trying and learning something new. So again I’m reminded that life is meant to be fun, that we have time to figure things out, that we can “get our kicks” gradually.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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Number 6: My Tits (Blog #475)

This morning I had a checkup with my doctor. “I’ve been feeling pretty good, but my energy levels are still up-and-down,” I said. “We should check your thyroid and your testosterone,” she said. (I distinctly remember asking about my thyroid and her saying it was fine a couple months ago, but whatever.) So that’s the next step–those two tests, which I have to go back for because one of them (I don’t remember which) is most accurate at the butt-crack of dawn. (These are my words, not my doctor’s.) Also, she also said it’s time to re-test my cholesterol and B12 levels to see if the supplements I’m taking are working. More accurately, in the case of the B12, to see if my body is absorbing the supplement.

You know, some things don’t sink in with certain people.

Let’s talk about my nipples. I never used to think about them before puberty. But then “the change” happened (as it does to us all), and–uh–I don’t know–they kind of grew. Ever since then, they don’t stick flat against my chest. They “pop out” a little, the right one more than the left. There, I said it. My tits are asymmetrical. I’m telling you this because for twenty years now, my boobs have been a source of personal concern and worry. You know, I use them to compare myself to others. Not constantly, mind you, not every minute of every damn day. I do have other things to fret about. My hairline, for example, or my fallen arches.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

As a teenager, I HATED taking my shirt off. I remember swimming practically fully clothed at junior-high pool parties; I was so anxious about my chest. Not that anyone ever cared or said anything. In high school I worked at a summer camp–I was a lifeguard for crying out loud–and I bore my torso constantly. Not once–not one single time–did someone say, “Good Lord, Marcus, you’d better start wearing a training bra or you’re gonna put someone’s eye out with those things.” But you know how shit becomes a bigger deal in your head than it is in actual reality. I just knew I was different because I didn’t look like him.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve mostly made peace with my nipples. But every now and then my old worries creep up like a pair of cheap underwear. Sometimes my right breast will–um–itch or something, and I’ll think, It’s growing! (or) I’m going to get man boobs! (or) I probably have too much estrogen because I’m gay and eat soy sauce!

Like you don’t think a lot of crazy things.

Anyway, this morning while I was preparing to see my doctor and making note of things I wanted to talk about, I added my nipples to the list. (Number 6: My Tits.) Last year while watching Embarrassing Bodies on Netflix, I learned that it’s normal for teenage boys to have “growing nipples” and that many men who have MOOBS (that’s “man boobs,” Mom) opt to have surgery to have them reduced, and since I’ve been wondering whether or not they’d have to cut my nipples OFF and SEW THEM BACK ON as part of the procedure, I thought, Marcus, This is neurotic. You trust your doctor. She’s a professional. Just ask her about your pop-up nipples!

And no, they are not also scratch-and-sniff.

So there I was in the exam room, waiting, determined to do this, hoping I wouldn’t get nervous, yank my shirt up, and blurt out, “DO MY TA-TAS LOOK NORMAL TO YOU, DOCTOR?!” Well, get this shit. Today–for the first time ever–my doctor brought a medical student into the room with her. Jesus Christ, I thought, I wanna talk about my hooters, and there’s a frickin’ job shadow standing in the corner! I almost backed out. But then my doctor started talking about women’s nipples during another conversation about sensitive skin, stating that they can change colors after childbirth. (Like, from pink to brown, not from pink to chartreuse or anything cool like that.) So she was the one who technically broke the nipple-conversation ice.

All this to say that I asked. “You Googled gynecomastia, didn’t you?” she said.

“Twenty years ago,” I replied. (And maybe once every three years since.)

Then she looked. (When she lifted my shirt and read the text across the front, she said, “What does LUCKY U mean?” I said, “Lucky is a brand. Their thing is that when you unzip the zipper on their jeans, it says, ‘LUCKY U.” She said, “That’s cute.” I said, “I wish it were true.”) Anyway, get this shit. She said I was normal. (Me! Normal.) Her exact words were, “I don’t see ONE THING that would make me think you have high estrogen levels. If anything, some people are genetically predisposed to deposit fat in certain places.”

“So maybe a little fat there, but not breast tissue?” I said.

She laughed.

“No, not breast tissue. But don’t start smoking pot or go crazy–since both marijuana and certain anti-psychotic drugs can make you GROW breast tissue.”

So that’s a serious relief. I mean, honestly. How else are you supposed to feel when you’ve been off-and-on worried and concerned about something for twenty years and then an authority (like, a doctor with an actual medical degree and NOT some stranger from Fargo, Minnesota, with internet access and a keyboard) tells you that you’re okay? Personally, I feel a little confused, a little disoriented. I’m so used to believing that something ain’t right. Now part of me thinks, Maybe she’s wrong. It’s not like she SQUEEZED my nipples. (It’s not like anyone has lately.) Maybe she’d change her diagnosis if she SQUEEZED THEM. But most of me thinks, This is really good news, Marcus. One less thing to worry about.

Freedom lies on the other side of everything you’re afraid of.

Personally, I think it’s important to talk about your nipples. I mean euphemistically. This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we discussed my experiences last weekend with the dancing homosexual cowboys and the fact that several of them “rejected” me. I said, “Is it normal for me to feel icky after being turned down on the dance floor over and over?” She said, “Yes, it is. And people can argue with me until Christ returns, but gay bars are places of judgment and oppression. When minorities feel excluded by society, they unfortunately pass it on to others. It’s a cycle.” My point is this–I can’t count the number of times I’ve discussed my fears, worries, and embarrassments with my therapist and how many times she’s gently offered ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE. Because mine obviously isn’t the only one. So often my perspective is–in fact–a leftover viewpoint from childhood, a small fear that grew into a big, cumbersome fear because I either didn’t know better or didn’t know whom to discuss it with. This is why I’m all in favor of asking the difficult questions, of having the hard conversations, of being–well, honest–because I’m fully convinced freedom lies on the other side of everything I’m afraid of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

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Embracing All That Is Gray (Blog #454)

This afternoon I saw my therapist and spilled my emotional guts all over her new polka-dotted area rug. I told her I’ve been everything lately–sad, overwhelmed, frustrated, worried. She said, “That’s why you’re here, to sort this stuff out.” So that’s what we did–sorted things out. And whereas I’m still tired and emotionally drained, I have been reminded of the bigger picture. My frustrations are temporary. This too shall pass. I don’t have to feel one way and not the other, do one thing and not the other. Life isn’t black or white.

As my therapist said, “There’s gray everywhere.”

I really do feel better today. Not amazing, but better. Last night I watched A Dog’s Life and cried. That helped. Before that I watched a standup comedy special on Netflix–Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette–and laughed out loud AND cried. That helped A LOT. Honestly, I should go back and watch it again. I was in awe the entire time. Most comedians share vignettes–little stories here, little stories there, one thing not connected to the other. In standup, that’s okay. But Hannah does something different, something that–in my opinion–only a master writer and storyteller can do. She shares all these stories that seemingly don’t have anything to do with one another, but still manages to tie them together like a patchwork quilt. It’s gripping, vulnerable, uplifting–the truth.

Seriously, go watch it. (Buy a box of Kleenex first.)

On the way to therapy I kept thinking, What if I were kind(er) to myself in this moment? Not that I’m unkind to myself normally, but I think I could soften up around the edges, make room for the situations and feelings in my life that I find “unacceptable” or “not so cute.” Last night while watching Nanette I ended up sobbing–ugly crying–when Hannah spoke of the shame that is often instilled or planted (from the outside) in those of us who are homosexual or otherwise different. Then I did the same thing–bawled–while watching A Dog’s Life, especially during the scene in which there was a house fire, I guess since our house burned when I was a child. The whole thing–the tears and snot–was so gross and yet so beautiful and a-long-time-coming.

So gray.

Life is not meant to be controlled.

When I told my therapist that my emotions were just “too much” sometimes, she said, “Life is too fucking much.” Personally, as a recovering neat freak, perfectionist, and hung-up-on-completion-ist, this is a lot for me to recognize. The universe is chaotic, wild, and gray–anything but “just so.” Still, I’m learning to find comfort in the idea that this is the way life is–unpredictable and too much at times–not meant to be controlled. In other words, life is messy. So I’m trying to sit in the “not so cute,” to let my emotions show up when they’re ready, to accept them rather than push them away into the land of black or white. It’s a difficult thing to do–embracing all that is gray–but I’m finding that a grayer world is a kinder world; a softer-edges world; a more honest, connected, patchwork-quilt kind of world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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Life’s Labyrinth (Blog #448)

Today was the summer solstice, the “longest” day of the year. (I had to take a nap to get through it.) For the next sixth months, the amount of sunlight we have will gradually decrease each day. Yes, dear reader, the long, slow march to winter has begun. I’m not excited about this. (I hate winter.) Historically, today is a day of celebration (the sun is high in the sky!), but it feels like a death to me. There’s only one longest day a year, and now it’s over–dead–just like spring is dead, just like increasingly longer days are dead.

I really liked these things.

I saw my therapist this morning, and we talked about relationships (friends, students, lovers). This was in the context of my tendency to people please, my desire to follow-up with everyone in my life to make sure they are “okay” or not mad at me. My therapist’s advice–don’t chase anyone. It’s desperate, needy, and stems from a “lack” mentality. Abundance, she says, is where it’s at. (Step right up and get you some!) My personal jury is still out on this one, but I’m considering it.

It SOUNDS like a good idea.

After therapy, I went to the park to read and watch hot guys jog around without their shirts on. Last year I started a book on mythology by PL Travers (the woman who penned Mary Poppins) and recently picked it back up. The book, called What the Bee Knows, is a collection of essays that Travers wrote for a magazine, so they are sort of all over the place topically. But an image that stuck with me from today’s reading was that of a labyrinth, this maze-like path that loops back on itself. Travers says life is like this, moving around in circles. We think we’re lost, that we’re going backwards, but that’s just The Way.

Going backwards. That’s how I feel a lot. I’m living with my parents. I don’t have “a real job.” I’m almost forty. Shouldn’t I be passed all this by now? Passed–my past? Even in therapy there are times I think, Are we STILL talking about my desire to please people?

Yes, yes we are.

You can’t get lost.

Back home this evening, I rested before teaching a dance lesson. For dinner my dad made chicken nuggets, then I went for a walk to make myself feel better about the fact that I ate so many of them. For a while I did my usual route, up down one block, then the next. Finally I stopped at a labyrinth at a nearby church and walked the path. I guess it was on my mind from the book this afternoon, but I like to do this sometimes, start on the outside of the circle, wind my way around and around until I hit the center. This is how a labyrinth is different from a maze. A maze has multiple entries and exits, or at least several possible ways to get where you’re going. Plus, there are wrong turns and dead ends. But labyrinths aren’t like that–they have one entry, the same exit. You can wind around getting to the middle (that’s the point) but you can’t get lost.

This is what I love about a labyrinth–there’s only one way. Perhaps this is why so many people use them as a meditative device. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm as you walk around in circles. Early on in the labyrinth you’re within steps of reaching the center–your goal–but then you’re taken away from it. Within minutes, you’re far away from it. All the looping back is frustrating and seems inefficient. But then you realize that looping back is, essentially, a way to time travel–to clean up your past–to pick up anything you dropped along The Way. So eventually you learn to trust the path you’re on.

This is something I’m working on, letting go of how I thought I’d “get there” and accepting each step along my particular journey. Every day it’s something new, something old. Oh, this again. Haven’t we been here before? I mourn the death of longer days, the changing of The Seasons, but this too is part of life’s labyrinth. Here, there’s one way in, one way out. Everything moves in circles. Everything loops back and repeats itself. You and the stars are no different–each on your own heavenly path. So one day you move a little closer to The Center, the next a little further away. No matter. The Center awaits. There are no wrong turns.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."