One Step at a Time (Blog #63)

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For the last two freakin’ hours, I’ve been looking through three years worth of photos that I have backed up online, searching for inspiration, something to use for tonight’s blog. Honestly, I didn’t find much, so I just took the above photo instead. It’s a painting Bonnie and her family call “Chicken Shit,” which you should be able to figure out if you look at it long enough. Anyway, it feels exactly like what I have to offer at the moment. Promising, I know. But hang in there, and we’ll see what happens.

This afternoon I went for a two-hour walk. Last week when I got my new phone, it came with a fitness app, and when I entered my height and weight, it told me I was fat. (Rude, I know. We just met!) Actually, the word it used was “overweight,” which, according to the Body Mass Index, I apparently am. Personally, I would feel better about the diagnosis if it said, “Overweight, but that’s probably because you have a bubble butt,” or “Overweight, but we understand you’ve been through a lot lately and have needed beer and macaroni to help get you through it.”

But that’s not what it said. It just said, “Overweight.” Period. The end. And then–without even asking my permission first–it set me up on a fitness plan and told me I needed to walk an additional seven thousand (!) steps a day.

Talk about bossy.

And as if that weren’t enough, it now tracks my movements–like a stalker–and sends me a message whenever I’ve walked for about an hour and have “met my goal.” So today after I walked for two hours it said, “Way to go, you’ve exceeded our expectations.”

Or something like that.

You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

On the walk today, I listened to an interview with the author David Sedaris. The interview was about his new book, a collection of personal diary entries that he wrote over a twenty-five year period. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m going to see him in Tulsa in a couple of weeks, and the event ticket includes a copy of the book. In the interview, David said that he remembers when he was younger and REALLY WANTING to be a successful, published author. He said he didn’t think that was too much to ask. The lady conducting the interview asked him what it felt like now that he was one, and he said it felt exactly like he thought it would–he loved every minute of it. (He also said not to glamorize his life too much because when he’s not on tour, he spends five to nine hours a day picking up trash in his neighborhood.)

My friend Marla told me about the interview, and she says that I have a lot in common with David. I mean, we’ve both done a lot of random jobs in order to make a living, we’re both gay, and we’re both–well–writers. So sometimes Marla and I like to fantasize that my life will turn out as successful as his. I mean, is that too much to ask? (Marla says the problem with the formula is that David did meth when he was young, but I didn’t. Still, maybe it’ll work.)

Honestly, I would love that. I mean, I’ll write no matter what, but the big dream isn’t to be a starving artist. I want to be successful. I want to go on book tours. There–I said it.

In the interview, David said that it seems a lot of people don’t really know what they want, or maybe they’re just not willing to say it because saying your dream out loud makes you vulnerable. Obviously, there’s always the chance it won’t come true. I guess it’s a lot like telling the world you’re going on a diet–it’s scary–what if it doesn’t work out? (What if you don’t work out?)

But then again, what if your dream does come true?

Whether you want a flatter stomach or to be a successful writer, I think David’s right. You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want. And then you do our best, cast your bread upon the waters, and see what happens.

My current challenge, I think, is patience. As a general rule, I want things done a certain way, and I usually want them done now. (My therapist says I’m “fussy.”) Well, this can really set a person up for a lot of frustration and disappointment, so my therapist is always saying, “Man, it’s about the journey.” (I always picture her wearing tie-dye and flashing the peace sign when she says stuff like this, but that’s just my overactive imagination.)

Anyway, as I was looking through all those photos tonight, I was struck by all that actually has happened on my journey the last three years. I started a business. I lost a lot of weight, gained some of it back. I stopped smoking (a few times). More than all of that, I learned about boundaries and cleaned up the drama in my life.

(Here’s an old picture that I consider gross on a lot of levels, but I’m posting anyway in an effort to be 1) vulnerable and 2) self-accepting. Smoker or not, I’m clearly not a morning person.)

As I think about all those accomplishments–as much as I hate to admit it–my therapist is right. There’s just no way any of those things could have happened much faster than they did. Diets take time, just like healthy relationships. Honestly, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, I’m glad it’s that way because now I’m more patient and more understanding, and that’s a really big deal. Plus, there’s a satisfaction that comes when you know you’ve worked your ass off something that simply isn’t there when it’s been handed to you on a silver platter.

So even though I have big dreams, I tell myself every day that my job now is simply to develop discipline and work on my craft. As they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, “Do the next right thing,” which to me means that I can’t productively worry about whether or not success will come, but I can productively sit down and write. And if success as I’ve dreamed it does show up, it will only be because, just like the walk this afternoon, I took one step at a time. Do that long enough, and you’re bound to exceed expectations. Just ask the stupid, chicken shit fitness app on my phone.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

Moving Small Universes (Blog #62)

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This morning I woke up on the couch with Bonnie on the other end jumping up and down like a five-year-old saying, “It’s food truck day! It’s food truck day!”

So–of course–I got up and got dressed.

There’s a park in Nashville with a full-scale replica of the Parthenon. Random, I know, but it’s been around for over a hundred years. I don’t know if this part is seasonal or not, but they have a small fleet of food trucks at the park on Wednesdays. And really, that was all we had planned today. That was the only reason I got out of bed.

Here’s a picture of me on the way to the food trucks. Bonnie took it and said it belonged on Hot Dudes Reading on Instagram. Food trucks and compliments–now there’s a way to start a day!

Here’s the Parthenon. My dad told me that he saw it when he was younger, which is weird for me to think about. (So I won’t.)

By the time we got to the food trucks, I was so hungry that I didn’t take any pictures, so use your imagination for that part. (I had a grilled cheese with barbecue chicken.) We went for a walk afterwards. Here’s a picture of Bonnie sitting in a tree along the way.

Lest you get all excited and wish that you could have tried it, Bonnie said she was sitting in ants. (Ouch.) Todd said, “Aren’t you glad they weren’t fire ants?” (Double ouch.)

This was just before we left. And yes, it was as beautiful as it looks.

When we got back to the apartment, we all took naps, and when we woke up, Bonnie and I ate apples and peanut butter and had a conversation that started with, “Todd’s playing video games tonight. What do you want to do?” and ended with religion and spirituality.

I saw a post on Pinterest today, a quote by Alexandria Hotmer that said, “If we would just take a moment to look around, we would find that the universe in constant communication with us.” I can’t tell how much I love this idea, the notion that the universe is conscious, alive, and intelligent. The older I get, the more I think and believe that life is particularly interested in each of us, moving small universes in order to get our attention. So I told Bonnie that I was personally always looking for signs.

About seven-thirty this evening, Bonnie said there was a Train concert in town tonight. I said, “Oh, when does it start?”

“Thirty minutes ago.”

Then Bonnie added that there was an unrelated post on her Facebook page that said, “Life’s short. Buy the concert tickets.” Well, how much more of a sign do you need? So we bought the tickets. Even better, we landed some great seats at a great price.

On the way to the show, I kept thinking that I hated missing the opening acts–Natasha Bedingfield and O.A.R. I mean, I’m that guy who will just about pee on himself at a movie theater because he doesn’t want to miss a thing. But what do you do? It was either show up late or not show up at all.

When we got there, O.A.R. was finishing their set, and even after Train started, it took me a while to get settled and get present. I kept thinking about what happened before I got there. But then everyone stood up, and Pat Monahan started singing “Calling All Angels.” Even now, if you put a gun to my head and asked me to list all my favorite songs, that one wouldn’t make the list. But for some reason, when the music started, I closed my eyes as if I were praying. The first verse started, “I need a sign to let me know you’re here.” All I can say is that it felt like the universe itself had moved to get my attention. And when Bonnie put her hand on my shoulder, I started crying.

Honestly, I can’t tell you exactly what it was all about, but I know that I’ve shoved down a lot of crying over the years, so I’m grateful for anything that helps bring up the tears. Plus just this afternoon I was saying that I like to look for signs, and that’s exactly what the first verse was about. The second first started, “I need to know that things are gonna look up,” and if that’s not a prayer, I don’t know what is. So by the time the chorus said, “I won’t give up if you won’t give up,” it really felt like God and the universe were answering.

I guess some people would say that I was talking to myself–that God didn’t have anything to do with it. But when all the stars align to bring you to a place at just the right moment, and in that place there’s hope, and in that moment there’s healing–well–just what do you think God is?

The rest of the concert was beautiful. I cried again during “Bruises,” which is a song that I love but until tonight has never caused me to cry. I guess there’s something powerful about live music, speakers that force you to feel, drums that practically beat your heart for you, and friends that touch your shoulder right when the singer says, “Please don’t change a thing, whatever you do.”

When the concert was over, Bonnie and I walked up and down Broadway, and we both bought lapis rings made by a local artist. (I adore lapis.) When I got my ring, I was still thinking about the concert. Pat sang “Marry Me,” and a couple got engaged on stage. Of course, I don’t have anyone right now, but sometimes I have dreams at night about getting married, which I understand can represent the marriage of the self, the joining together of all your fragmented parts. So tonight I put the ring on my marriage finger because I’m promising myself that I’m going to put myself back together. Even when no one else is here for me, I’ll be here for me.

Here’s a picture of Bonnie’s ring. You’ll have to stop staring at the burgers in order to see it.

My ring pretty much looks the same as Bonnie’s. Since we didn’t take a picture of it, here’s this instead.

Really, I shouldn’t have eaten the whole burger. Or all of the fries. But I did. And since I’m not a quitter, I ate a brownie and ice cream dessert that came in a glass bigger than my head. It wasn’t a pretty scene, but it sure was tasty.

Here’s a picture of Bonnie and me with our awesome waitress, Jenna. Jenna moved to Nashville in February and recently got a tattoo of her girlfriend’s name below her breast, by her lungs because “she’s the air that I breathe.” Stories like this one make me wish that I talked to strangers more often.

After dinner, after midnight, we walked around downtown for over an hour, basically so I could pay for my food transgressions and ask forgiveness for everything I’ve ever thought about people who wear pants with elastic waistbands. As we walked, I thought about how glad I was that I let life take me to the concert tonight, that I didn’t insist on staying home because we couldn’t be there for the whole thing. Clearly, we didn’t need to be. Personally, I’d show up late again just to be there for that one song, just to be in the moment, to let go ever so slightly.

As Bonnie said, “It was like church.”

There’s a story about a young avatar, an enlightened child, to whom the town elders in an effort to trick him said, “We’ll give you an orange if you can tell us where God is.” But the boy knew the truth. He said, “I’ll give you two oranges if you can tell me where God is not.” So more and more, I believe that divinity is all around me, hiding behind a drum’s beat or a song’s lyric sung at just the right moment. And I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend’s hand, and the very air we breathe.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Normal people don’t walk on water.

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Waiting for a Door to Open (Blog #61)

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This morning (fine, it was two in the afternoon) I woke up, rolled off the couch, and made a pot of coffee. Before long, Bonnie and Todd came downstairs, and we went in search of food truck tacos to start Bonnie’s birthday celebration. (The two of them actually woke up at a respectable hour and started celebrating earlier–Todd gave Bonnie an espresso machine!) Anyway, in my opinion, any day is a good day that starts with food truck tacos.

This evening the three of us went out to eat at Acme Feed Company, a four-level building by the river in downtown Nashville. When we walked in, a rockabilly band was playing on the first floor, but there wasn’t room for dancing, so we ate on the rooftop. The picture at the top of the blog is of Bonnie and me by the downtown skyline. Bonnie meant to hold up “50” with her fingers for her birthday, but held up “05” from the camera’s perspective. (Technology is difficult, but it can be forgiving.)

After dinner we walked along Broadway, the main street in downtown. There were neon lights everywhere, live music coming from almost every open door, even a few street musicians. Here’s a picture of Bonnie and Todd along the avenue. The sign behind them says, “Liquor before beer–You’re in the clear. Beer before liquor–You’ll be okay. Don’t be a BABY!”

Once we hit the top of the street, we turned around and headed back toward the river, stopping by a statue of Elvis to take pictures. Bonnie went first. Notice that she got a little fresh with the king. But hey, it’s her birthday, and I’m sure he’s used to it.

I went next and decided to flip the scene and make it look like Elvis got fresh with me. (Oh baby won’t you be, my lovin’ teddy bear?)

Lastly, Todd stepped in, and I think he wins the prize for creativity. Notice how he looks all shook up. (See what I did there?)

For the last several months, Bonnie has been saying that she’s “hashtag damn near fifty.” As her birthday has gotten closer, we’ve joked a lot about the Saturday Night Live character Sally O’Malley, this lady played by Molly Shannon who likes to “kick, stretch, and kick,” and tell everyone, “I’m FIFTY!” So when we got back to the apartment tonight, Bonnie went into the same routine. Check it out.

Last week I was at Lowe’s and ran into one of my high school teachers. I’m not sure how it happened, but he started talking about kids these days, and the next thing I knew, he was on a soap box. (Right next to the paint counter, in front of God and everybody!) Anyway, he said, “I hate it when people say, ‘You can be anything you want to be’ because you can’t. Look at me. [He’s short, and in some sort of weird cosmic joke still has a 28 inch waist even though he’s long past retirement age.] I wanted to be in the NFL.”

So I’ve been chewing on that conversation for a while. Personally, I really like the idea that you can be anything you want to be. In my world, short guys with small waists and a lot of passion (which my former teacher has in truckloads) could play in the NFL. But I do get that’s not reality. If you want to play in the NFL, it really does help to weigh more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds and have a waist bigger than a junior high cheerleader’s. Even as I was walking around Nashville tonight, it was obvious that not everyone who wants to be a singer can actually sing.

Of course, that doesn’t stop them from dreaming, and I for one am glad it doesn’t because I think the world needs more dreamers.

Joseph Campbell says, “Follow your bliss, and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” I’m pretty sure I’ve quoted this statement before, and I’m sure I’ll quote it again because it’s my life mantra right now. It’s something I’m willing to live the rest of my life putting to the test to find out if it’s true. Personally, it’s taken me some time to figure out what my bliss really is and figure out what I really want. But now that I have, now that I can say, “This is why I’ve been put on the earth,” I’m moving forward. I see it as my job to do my part, trusting that the universe–which is a pretty big, magical place where magical things happen every day–will do its part.

The truth is that even if you can’t be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don’t let anyone else tell you differently.

This morning while I was having coffee, Bonnie played me a song called Last Night God Sang Me a Song by The Whistles & the Bells. Honestly, I was just sort-of listening, not expecting it to grab me, since I was mostly thinking about an email I received when I woke up about a writing contest I entered and didn’t win. And even though I’m getting pretty used to being rejected or “not accepted” for that sort of thing, it’s always a disappointment on some level. But then the song got to the end and said, “Whatever you do, don’t settle,” and then Bonnie started singing, pointing her finger at me, adding my name in and saying, “Marcus, Please, don’t settle.”

And then I started crying.

A couple of years ago in therapy, my therapist suggested a mantra for me–I don’t chase boys. Another time she told me that when it comes to letting people in my life and loving them, there should be “a door man, a guest list, and a dress code.” In other words, I should have standards, and I shouldn’t settle.

So lately that’s where I’m at. In my personal relationships, I’ve not going to chase anyone, and I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life alone rather than settle for someone or something that’s beneath my standards and beneath my worth. In terms of my future professional life, the same rules now apply. I know that I want to be a writer. More than that, I know that I am a writer. I also know that–in part–it’s what I’m here to do. Along with eating food truck tacos, it’s my bliss. (I’m kidding about the tacos.) It’s the thing that makes me want to “kick, stretch, and kick,” and say, “I’m A WRITER!”

There’s a true story that Elvis was once told to stick to driving a truck because he’d never make it as a singer. Clearly, Elvis and the universe had other plans, and I can only assume it all happened the way it did because Elvis was following his bliss. Personally, I think that when you get clear about your purpose, it’s easier to move forward and not be slowed down by someone else’s soapbox or rejection. Because the truth is that even if you can’t be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. And don’t let anyone else tell you differently. Rather, keep doing what you love and not settling. Stand strong and stare down the walls before you, knowing that–at any moment–the universe will gladly open a door.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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Hipster Confidence and Beauty (Blog #60)

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Today I fell in love with Nashville.

It all started with Hattie B’s Hot Chicken, which I guess is just spicy chicken that you have to wait a really long time for. Check this out. I think we stood in line for about an hour. Ugh. I was SO HUNGRY by the time we got inside. (That’s Bonnie and Todd facing the camera.)

Here’s a picture of Mallory and me while we were waiting in line. We both wore matching baseball caps to cover up our ratchet hair. (Mallory hasn’t washed hers in three days because she just had a dye job and says that it sets better that way. Who knew? I, on the other hand, didn’t have an excuse except that I’m on vacation and–IDGAF.)

After we all stuffed our faces, we waddled across the street for ice cream–you know–to put our insulin to the test. I had a chocolate and peanut butter shake, but Mallory had a dip cone with sprinkles. After it was over, she said, “Okay, Marcus, now we need to go home and think about what we’ve done.”

As our friend Brooke Ann said, “I’m working on my ‘before’ picture.'”

When Bonnie and Todd and I got back to Tim’s apartment, I took a long, hard nap. I think I drooled on myself. Midway through the nap, I woke up to use the restroom, remembered a dream I was having, and wrote it down in my phone so I wouldn’t forget.

In the dream, I was at the library using a computer to finish a blog post. I had about twenty minutes before I needed to give a presentation somewhere. An old man who worked at the library came over to take away my large cup of coffee, and I got mad. Somehow, I spilled the coffee on him, screamed at him like I was Julia Sugarbaker, and threw him up against a wall. (It wasn’t pretty. I mean–apparently–don’t mess with my coffee.) After that, I was with Bonnie, then I saw the old man being carried out of the library on a stretcher and apologized.

(Don’t even think about judging me for yelling at an old man. It’s not like your dreams make any sense.)

Anytime I’ve dreamt about old people in the past, my therapist has said that they represent old ways of thinking. So I can only assume the dream had to do with my search for new knowledge (the library) and the fact that I put a lot of pressure on myself to grow and be perfect, like right now (writing the blog post, needing to give a presentation in twenty minutes). As for the coffee, which is something I enjoy but judge myself for indulging in, it probably represents my leisure time lately. I’m enjoying it–sure–but I’m judging myself a lot.

In light of the fact that I spent time at the restaurant today judging myself–comparing myself to all the new faces–I’m sure the dream was my subconscious saying–in a very strong way–this judging thing has got to stop. And as for the part about apologizing to the old man on the stretcher, I think that has to do with showing compassion to the parts of myself that although aren’t serving me anymore are still part of me, still worthy of healing.

Tonight Bonnie and I met my friend Laynee at a place called The 5 Spot for swing dancing. I met Laynee through Lindy Hop when she used to live in Springfield. Anyway, I can’t tell you how much fun I had. (I also can’t tell you how much beer I had.) As of midnight, it’s Bonnie’s birthday today, so the whole thing was a big celebration. Granted, since we were the first one’s there, it started out slow, so I settled for cheap entertainment like this picture.

I mean, the decoration was pretty rockin’. Just look at that classic record album. And then look at this. It’s velvet.

Thanks to Laynee, I’m pretty sure we found heaven.

For five hours, the DJs played soul music from the fifties and sixties, and as the evening went on, more and more and more hipsters showed up and danced the night away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many mustaches, crop tops, and high water pants in one place. If I had a decent camera, this blog post would be entirely pictures. I mean, I danced a lot, but I did a lot of staring. There we so many fascinating people of all colors, shapes, and sizes–probably a hundred people or m0re—and I don’t think a single one of them gave a fuck what anyone else thought of them.

It was magic.

At one point I had to stop for food, so I went out to the patio and found this handy sign. (I’m guessing I wasn’t the first person there to have more than a couple beers.)

And then, y’all, I ordered and ate the best freaking all-beef hot dog I’ve ever had in my entire life. It had pineapple, chips with ruffles, and some sort of sauce made by fairies.

The hot chicken, the ice cream, and the hot dog may have had something to do with the fact that while I was dancing, I ripped the crotch out of my dress pants. Note to self–no more high kicks until we diet.

Oh, and cheese. There was mozzarella cheese on the hot dog.

One of the highlights of the evening was when Bonnie danced with a pirate, this hipster dude with skeleton pants, guy-liner, a handle bar mustache, and a mohawk. Seriously, he had to be the coolest person there. Check them out in this short video.

So before the evening was over (and with the encouragement of four–or five–beers), I asked the guy, who said his name was Zach, for a photo. (He said yes. That’s the photo a the top of the blog. His mohawk, sadly, had succumbed to gravity.)

As cool as Zach was, he was one of dozens of cool people tonight. There was one large girl who had her stomach showing, but she had the coolest glasses, and she was an absolute badass of a dancer. And there was another guy with a hat like Indiana Jones, and another guy with a shirt that reminded me of Ronald McDonald, but all of them were, well, awesome. I mean, it’s not like they were trained dancers. But they had what I’ve figured out is one of the sexiest things a person can possess–confidence. Confidence takes whatever you have an amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy. Just ask this guy.

Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

And that was my big lesson for the day–confidence. There was this one hipster guy there tonight. He had long hair put up in a man bun, cut off shorts that were a little too tight, and a tank top that was also. But he was owning everything he did on the dance floor, and it was beautiful. And for a guy who spent the afternoon at a fried chicken place judging himself for carrying a few extra pounds, watching that hipster guy–and so many others tonight–was so refreshing. It reminded me that beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is confidently doing what you love. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

And as for judging yourself–comparing yourself to total strangers at a fried chicken joint–that’s outdated thinking–some old guy to spill your coffee on and throw up against a wall. So take those self-judgmental thoughts and send them packing on a stretcher. Look at them and say, “I’m sorry, but ain’t nobody got time for that.” And then when that’s over, go dancing with the hipsters and the pirates. Clearly, they’re much more fun.

[Bonnie–Happy Birthday! Like all those hipsters, you’re an inspiration. Laynee, you’re simply awesome. Thanks for introducing us to The 5 Spot. Zach, wherever you are, thank you. Keep being yourself. Also, you’re invited to every party I host for the rest of my life.]

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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On the Road (Blog #59)

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Last week my friends Bonnie and Todd invited me to go with them today to Nashville to visit their family, look at real estate, and celebrate Bonnie’s birthday. Well, I’m usually a control freak, anything but spontaneous, so I hesitated. But I love Bonnie and Todd, I’ve never been to Nashville, and I’ve been trying to be more open to whatever life brings me. (Lately it’s brought me a crick in my neck, Days of Our Lives, and Friday nights with my parents.) So I said, “I’d love to go. Carpe ducking diem,” or at least that’s what the autocorrect on my phone said.

We hit the road this morning, so I’ve spent most the day in the backseat of Bonnie and Todd’s truck lusting at Bonnie’s bag of snacks, which included a box of cereal, a jar of peanut butter, and a bottle of tequila. I kept thinking, I knew I made the right decision.

Bonnie’s birthday is this coming Tuesday, so for a few hours, we jammed out to a birthday playlist she created on Spotify. On it were songs like Super Freak, Pretty Young Thing, and Billie Holiday’s Getting Some Fun out of Life. Bonnie said the playlist was all about “narcissism, woman power, and,” my favorite, “fuck this shit.” That’s a phrase Bonnie and I have used a lot the last year, since both of us want to move to a different city. (I want to move to Austin, she wants to move to Nashville.) But it’s also a phrase I’ve used a lot in therapy over the last few years, and sometimes I think it’s necessary when you find yourself in a difficult or unsatisfactory situation. I mean, if you’re stuck in a place–or with a person–that won’t let you grow, do (and say) whatever it takes to get you out of there.

Here’s a picture of Bonnie dancing in the car. I’m surprised we didn’t get pulled over for having too much fun.

When we got to Nashville, we spent the evening with Bonnie and Todd’s son Ben and his wife, Mallory. Mallory is super southern in the best way–friendly, hospitable–talks like sweet tea tastes. She said that she was obsessed with big hair, verandas, and china cabinets. I said that big hair should be pretty easy to come by with the humidity in the south, but she said that wasn’t the big hair she had in mind. Bonnie said veranda was just a fancy name for a porch. (I don’t think anyone said anything noteworthy about china cabinets, but maybe we could make that a goal for the week, which is how long we’ll be here.)

Before the evening was over, Bonnie and Todd’s other son, Tim, and two of Ben and Mallory’s friends joined us. Bonnie and I left for fast food for me and beer for everyone else, and the trip took about an hour because apparently the entire city of Nashville was at Walmart for Memorial Day Weekend. Anyway, by the time we got back, I was pretty much shot because I didn’t sleep much last night and the large cup of coffee I had from McDonald’s was doing a terrible job of propping me up. (It still is.)

But I was semi-alert for this moment, when Mallory passed her phone around to let everyone see how a local graffiti artist creatively defaced a neighborhood sign.

Tonight we are staying at Tim’s apartment. There’s a small bathroom downstairs, and you have to turn sideways to sit on the toilet. But Tim (or his roommate, Tim, which makes remembering names easy) must be pretty cool because there are glow-in-the-dark stars on the walls and ceiling, along with a picture of an astronaut, which also glows in the dark. (The picture is at the top of the blog, not glowing, so use your imagination for that part.)

Since I saw the astronaut in the bathroom about an hour ago (there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say), I’ve been thinking about how I’ve felt just a tad bit uncomfortable this evening. What I mean is that although I love everyone that I’ve met and everyone has been delightful today, this is my first time spending a week with this family, and everything is new to me. I’m not in my city, my house, with my family, in my car. I’m glad I’m here, it’s just unfamiliar.

When I first started talking to my therapist about moving to Austin, she said that moving to a new place isn’t a small thing. She said there would be a lot of loneliness, a lot of times I’d be uncomfortable. (She probably didn’t say that exact word because she says, “Uncomfortable is not an emotion.” Personally, I think it should be, but no one asked me.) Anyway, she didn’t say the trip wouldn’t be worth it, just that there would be an adjustment period. I’m sure she’s right. If I’m a little uncomfortable on a trip to Nashville with some dear friends, I’m sure I’ll be plenty more uncomfortable when I finally move out of Fort Smith.

But going back to that astronaut in Tim’s bathroom, I’m sure he felt the same way when he left the earth. It’s just what happens when you decide to do something unfamiliar, to strike out on a new adventure. Sure, you could stay at home where it’s familiar–you could stay comfortable–but anyone can stand on the earth and see the moon. Sure, it’s going to feel awkward if you decide you need a new perspective, and that applies to taking spontaneous vacations, moving to another city, or even starting therapy, just as it applies to astronauts breaking free from gravity. And maybe it takes a bottle of tequila or the right playlist on Spotify to make you say, “fuck this shit,” but before you know it, you’ll be on the road or up in the air, so far from where you started that you’ll wonder why anything ever held you back.

A Million Pieces of God (Blog #58)

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There’s a story in Eastern mythology that says when God first realized he was alive, he experienced pure joy. (What’s not to love about being alive?) However, he thought he might lose his joy or that someone might take it from him, so he experienced fear. (Sound familiar?) But then he remembered that he was the only one who existed, and the fear went away. (Phew!) But then he thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone? So after fear came desire, and out of that desire, God shattered himself into a million pieces and created the world.

Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist, tells a version of this story. He says that fear and desire are the two basic emotions every human must deal with on his way back to God. They show up in every mythology and represent the world of duality and separation. In the Bible, this is depicted by the angels who guard the Garden of Eden. On one side of the gate is paradise, the place where God is all, and all is one. On the other side is duality, the home of up and down, good and bad, and you and me. If you want to get from duality to paradise, you have to go through the angels. In short, fear and desire keep us out of paradise. Fear and desire keep us separated.

Personally, I’ve spent a good part of my life in fear and desire, especially fear. I mean, your house burns down, your mom gets sick, and dad goes to prison, and that’ll pretty much divest you of the idea that life is good. The result, of course, has been a big feeling of separation, a big feeling of “something bad is going to happen.” That being said, I’ve worked really hard the last several years to get back to the Garden of Eden, or at least get closer to it. And although it hasn’t become a constant state of mind, I do think I’ve made a lot of progress. Life isn’t nearly as scary as it used to be.

The philosopher Alan Watts says that life is basically God–shattered into a million pieces–playing a big game of hide-and-seek with himself. Well, I really love this idea, and sometimes when good things happen, I like to think that God’s leaving clues, like, Hey, I’m over here (and over here, and over here).

So get this.

This evening my dance instructor friend Sheila and I danced at a private birthday party in Northwest Arkansas. A lovely lady named Carolyn was turning 90, and her son Jim hired Sheila and me to come dance to a live band because Carolyn loves dancing. Well, as it turned out, this was the kind of gig dancers live for. The party was at Jim’s home, and the place looked like it came out of a magazine. I’m pretty sure the chandelier in the entryway was bigger than my Honda Civic. And not to sound like a total redneck, but–Y’all, the downstairs bathroom was fancy. I mean, look at this sank.

The party itself was out by the pool, and the band was under a tent. Sheila and I danced together several times, and I even got to dance with the birthday girl, who told us that when her late husband first asked her for a date, she immediately said, “Can you jitterbug?” (I plan on stealing this dating requirement and think you should too.)

Here’s a picture of me and Carolyn. Thanks to her granddaughter (who said she was the favorite) for taking it.

As the evening continued, Sheila and I were invited to join Carolyn’s family and friends for dinner, drinks, and desserts. We looked at the four birthday cakes, thought about it for like two seconds, and said, “Okay, you talked us into it.”

On the surface, it was a wonderful evening. I haven’t worked a lot lately, so having a job was nice, and the atmosphere was amazing. I mean, the pool house would have passed for its own property, there was a playroom for the grandkids that looked like a castle, and I think the main staircase came out of Gone with the Wind. (I’d show you pictures, but I think that would border on creepy, and I’ve already posted a picture of these people’s freaking bathroom.) Plus, I found out that Jim used to play in a band that opened for Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and some guy named Bob Hope, so there were plenty of reasons to be impressed. (I kept hearing Mary Poppins say, “Close your mouth please, Marcus, we are not a codfish.”)

But below the surface, I couldn’t stop thinking about mythology and God playing hide-and-seek with himself, and here’s why. When I first walked outside and saw the pool, I noticed the fountain in the middle–three ladies–who are, of course, the three graces that represent charm, beauty, and creativity. (I should learn to zoom, but I think you get the idea.)

So the fountain set the mythological mood for me, and then it continued when Jim gave a present to his brother, whose birthday is close to Carolyn’s. I’ll let you see it for yourself, and then I’ll explain.

That’s right, it’s a statue with breasts and a penis. (I mean, is this a great family or what?) So everyone laughed about it being a fertility god, and I guess it’s a joke of some sort because Jim’s brother told me that it’s been passed around to several family members like a white elephant gift. I think everyone in the photo has owned it at one time or another. (For some reason, no one wants to keep it.)

Well, I think the statue is technically not a fertility god, but rather a hermaphrodite, which is a being with both male and female sex organs. (I recommend that you take my word for this instead of doing a Google search for fertility gods.) In Greek mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite and was a beautiful boy who fell in love with a water nymph that prayed to the gods to unite them forever. According to Carl Jung, hermaphrodites symbolize the union of opposites. Seen in light of the story told by Joseph Campbell, they represent the re-union of God, the return from duality back to the garden.

But wait, it gets better. You can’t see it in the picture of the swimming pool, but on the other side of the three graces is a large, triangle-shaped backyard. (Triangles represent the trinity, wisdom, and the divine power of the female). On one side, of course, is the pool. But on the other two sides are two creeks, and those creeks meet at the top of the yard as one creek. So as I walked out into the yard, I met yet another mythological image of the two becoming one. But what’s more, when I got to the top and realized which direction the water flowed, I saw that it was actually the one creek that became two–God shattering himself into a million pieces.

As I drove home tonight, I thought a lot about the mystical meaning of the party. I know for some people, it may sound like I’m reading a lot into it. But of all the places I could end up on a Saturday night dancing, I ended up at a place with the three graces, a hermaphrodite god, and, from my perspective, two creeks becoming one. Additionally, since I used to work for a wedding photographer, I’ve been to a lot of private parties, and tonight I ended up at a party with some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And when you add all of that to the fact that I’ve been thinking a lot about mythology lately, trying to get away from the idea that “something bad is going to happen,” I just don’t think anything about tonight was an accident. Rather, I think God was bringing a few pieces of himself back together. Personally, I think he was saying, “Hey, I’m over here,” inviting me to return to the garden where something good is going to happen, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and–most importantly–we are one.

[My deepest gratitude to Sheila for inviting me tonight and to Jim and his wife, Jacqui, for all your kindness.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing you can do to change the seasons or hurry them along.

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One Single Loud Clap (Blog #57)

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In 2008 I started uploading dance videos to YouTube. At the time I wanted a way to keep track of what I knew and what I taught at my dance studio, and I also wanted my students to be able to review what they learned. So each week after class, we’d film a review, and I’d post it online. Nine years later, I’ve posted 1,101 videos, which have a combined total of 5,149,733 views. That last number really blows my mind, since oftentimes the classes I taught at the studio had no more than eight or ten people in them. Sometimes, there were only one or two.

Witness the power of the internet.

Over the years, there have been quite a few comments on the videos, and most of them have been positive. I’ve even had a number of emails and phone calls from total strangers–people in Tennessee, Florida, Europe–who’ve said they’ve learned a lot from the videos. However, for the longest time, it was the negative comments that stood out to me, like the person who ripped me a new one for starting rumba on a quick instead of a slow, or the dozen of people who were pissed off that I wrongly referred to Triple Two Step as Texas Two Step, or the guy who loved the videos but said that dying my hair blonde was “a mistake.”

Five years ago, bullshit like that would upset me for days. Now, thankfully, I’m able to take most of it in stride. For one thing, I have no idea who these people really are. Maybe they know what they’re talking about, maybe they don’t. But I finally decided that if you have nothing better to do than criticize the hair color of a total stranger who’s giving you dance lessons for free, that’s your problem–not mine.

This afternoon my friend Sydnie and I performed at a local nursing home for National Lindy Hop Day. I used to get really worked up and nervous about this sort of thing, but I had a great time today. Sydnie was on her way to another dance event, so she was with a friend of hers, another dancer. He took the above picture of us, which is why he’s not in it. (Thank you for the picture. I didn’t know if it’d be okay to use your name.)

Anyway, Sydnie’s friend told me that he started watching my dance videos on YouTube a few years before he started dancing, and then he continued to watch them once life slowed down and he was able to actually learn. He said the videos had been helpful on his journey, so I was kind of like a celebrity to him. (This sort of thing has happened a couple of other times, and it always makes my day. Still, I’m never sure how to properly react other than to say, “Thank you. That makes my day.” Perhaps if it happens again, I could add, “Thank you for not criticizing my hair.”)

Ironically, when I saw the picture of Sydnie and me, I didn’t like my hair, so I sent a message to my friend Bekah to see if she could cut it. Well, sometimes miracles happen, and she said to come right on over. When I got there, both her teenage sons were there too, and although I’m sure they were speaking English, I really didn’t understand much of what they were saying. (This is one way you know you’re getting older.) But at some point, Bekah’s older son, Christian, suddenly raised both his hands over his head and struck them together in one single loud clap. He explained that when he wants a high-five from a friend but he either doesn’t have one present or his friend won’t give him a high-five, he gives himself one.

Strange, I know, but I still think it’s gold.

(Here’s a picture of the haircut. This last year, for the first time in my entire life, I started parting my hair on my right side instead of my left. I’m not sure why. But Bekah added a hard part to the right just for emphasis. The lady in the picture is my friend Betty. She’s one of the friends I was with in 2008 when I went to Dubai and was told by a witch doctor that I had “weak brain.” She was in town tonight and invited me for dinner.)

As I look at the picture, I realize you can’t actually see my hair, but I promise this won’t be the last selfie I post, so don’t go anywhere. (This is called a cliffhanger. Sort of.)

After dinner I went to return some headphones to Best Buy, and while I was there, I got a notice on my phone that a friend had commented on the blog. Like almost every other comment I’ve received so far, it was positive, but my friend asked kindly that I not use the F word. Well, I responded and said (in the spirit of honesty) that probably wasn’t going to happen.

What I don’t want is for this specific blog post to become a conversation about whether or not cussing is okay. Obviously, for me it is, although my boundary about it is that if I’m in the grocery store, the doctor’s office, or a home where people don’t cuss, I don’t cuss. Clearly, other people have different boundaries regarding the words that come out of their mouths or keyboards. But this is my blog, and I pay the bills around here, and the result of that logic is obvious to anyone who reads a single one of my posts. (I think there’s only been one post completely void of a cuss word, and it just happened that way.)

When I first started therapy, my therapist told me that she didn’t care what I did the other twenty-three hours of the day, but she said, “During the one hour we’re together, we’re going to sit in truth, and we’re not going to judge ourselves.” So for the last three years, that’s exactly what’s happened. If at any point I’ve tried to bullshit myself or her about something, she’s called me out on it. And if at any point I’ve judged myself (which I have plenty of times), she’s called me out on that too.

So my goal with the blog is the same. Here, we’re going to sit in truth. More specifically, I’m going to sit in truth because I’m the only one currently in this room, sitting behind this keyboard. Secondly, I’m going to do my level best to not judge myself. And if I do judge myself at the beginning of a blog, I hope to use my writing as a way to work myself into a more compassionate place by the end of it.

What you see here is what you get.

Those two rules being established, what I can promise anyone who is interested and kind enough to spend your precious time here is that I’ll be as honest with you as I am with myself, as honest as I know how to be. I know there are plenty of other things you could be doing, and there are plenty of other places you could go for fake news. So I promise I won’t bullshit you and pretend to be someone I’m not. God, I did that for the longest time, and it sucks. It’s the worst feeling to pretend you’re straight when you’re not or, maybe worse, pretend you just don’t have a sexuality when everyone else around you is talking about the person they’re interested in, or in love with, or go home to when you go home alone. Likewise, it’s the worst feeling to pretend you’re “just fine” when you’re actually falling apart.

So that shit stops here.

What I would say to anyone on YouTube who doesn’t like the way I rumba or doesn’t like my hair, or to anyone who doesn’t like the F word, is that I understand. Honestly, sometimes I don’t like the way I rumba, and I wasn’t crazy about the blonde hair either, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat if the person I thought I was going to marry cheated on me and then later lied and told me he had cancer when he didn’t. And as for the F word, I remember (twenty years ago) when it used to bother me too. So I get it. We all have our opinions about how to act, and I don’t believe mine are the only ones that matter. But, again, I’m doing my best to not judge myself for failing to live up to a certain level of imagined perfection.

But back to being honest. What you see here is what you get. This is the most authentic I know how to be, and this is currently who I am–warts, cuss words, and all. Personally, I don’t like any sort of negative feedback. It never feels good to think I’ve disappointed someone, especially someone I care about. But as Abraham Lincoln said, you can’t please all of the people all of the time. And what I’ve learned about authenticity is that it doesn’t have to. 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. And whereas I’m eternally grateful for every positive comment on YouTube and the blog (and there have been hundreds, thank you), I know that it has to be enough if only one person–the guy behind this keyboard–raises his hands above his head and strikes them together in one single loud clap.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

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On What Really Matters (Blog #56)

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This afternoon I drove my aunt to Oklahoma so she could spend the holiday weekend with her son and his family. I needed to come up for a quick business errand anyway, and apparently my aunt and I have similar bladder schedules, so the whole thing worked out perfectly. During the drive, my aunt talked the entire way, which she said was to help keep me awake, and then later apologized for. But honestly, I loved it. We’re always saying we’re going to go out for Mexican food and catch up, but–you know–life happens. So it was actually really good to be locked in the car together so that we could reconnect and, of course, gossip about the rest of the family.

When we got to my cousin’s house, life was in full swing. His three kids had their last day of school today, and everyone was celebrating in their new above-ground pool. I guess we arrived just in time because dinner was ready, and at least two of the three kids were running around the kitchen, asking for more of this and more of that. Seriously, I’ve never seen a loaf of white bread disappear so fast. It was like a magic trick.

After dinner, I ran my errand (taking a look at a potential remodel project for a friend) and came back. Well, when I returned, everyone, including my retired aunt whose had two knee surgeries, was in the backyard having a water gun fight.

So I thought, what the hell, put my phone away, and joined in.

Well, the great thing about little kids is that they run away from people who are bigger than they are. Even better, sometimes they drop their weapons, which means that in short order, the adults had all the big guns. (Insert evil, sinister laugh here.)

I guess their oldest son is pretty sharp because he went around the house for the water hose, but–thank God–he didn’t really know how to use it, so I managed to stay pretty dry.

When the water gun fight was over, I went inside to use the bathroom and noticed that my underwear was on inside out. (I went to college. How does this happen?) So I started to take off my shorts to get things turned around, and then I remembered I had shoes on and thought, Fuck it, this is too much work.

Before long, all the kids were camped out on the floor watching the cartoon movie Sing. So even though I had planned to get back on the road to Arkansas, when my cousin gave me popcorn with white cheddar sprinkles on top, I sat down on the couch instead. And when their dog hopped up on my lap and started going for my popcorn, she was so cute about it that I almost didn’t care.

Almost.

My cousin kept inviting me to stay the night, but I kept saying no, but thank you. I mean, I didn’t bring a change of clothes or a toothbrush or any anti-fungal spray for my armpits. (It’s gross, I know, but as the lady at the natural health food store said, “Isn’t the body fascinating?”) But as I watched the movie, I thought, I really don’t want to drive back AND THEN blog. And when I saw this, I decided to stay:

Yesterday my mom and I ran some errands–Walmart, Best Buy, home decor store–normal, boring stuff like that. But my mom said my dad doesn’t like doing that sort of thing, and she wanted my input on the home decor part. (Parents–if you have a gay son who can decorate, let him.) Anyway, before we left the house, Mom told me that she really enjoyed having me at home again. And even though nothing spectacular happened yesterday, I kept thinking how glad I was that I could be there for it. Obviously, one day my mom and I won’t be able to go to Hobby Lobby together.

When I picked my aunt up today, I went inside and spent some time looking at all the pictures on her wall. It’s the home my grandparents used to live in, so as I looked at the photos of them, the memories were that much stronger. You know, there’s always that part of you that wishes you’d had more time with your loved ones.

I guess that’s part of the reason I decided to stay at my cousin’s tonight–that, and the fact that he said he’d make waffles in the morning. Really, I know it’s the simplest of things–a family starting summer break by eating popcorn and watching a cartoon movie they’ve seen A HUNDRED TIMES THIS WEEK. But with my cousin in Oklahoma and my sister and her kids in New Mexico, I know I’ve missed a lot of water fights already, so I think sometimes the simplest memories are the best ones. In the end, it’s not the things you do, it’s who (or whom, rather) you do them with.

So now the house is quiet, and I’m in the oldest kid’s room. Next to the bed is a lamp that looks like a pirate ship, and the bedspread looks like the ocean, and it has an octopus on it. For some reason, I keep seeing octopi everywhere I go. I even had a dream about one. I haven’t figured out what it means exactly, but I do know those creatures represent creativity, mystery, and regeneration, so that seems to fit my life right now. Also, they represent flexibility, a quality I don’t always possess. I mean, normally I’d insist on driving home in the middle of the night just so I could have clean underwear in the morning. But in this moment I’m here with people I love–my family–and I’m thinking, Hell, tomorrow I can just turn my underwear right side out, and it will be almost the same thing. I mean, what’s really important here?

Well, I think the answer is obvious.

[Thanks to my cousin Don and his wife, Rachel, for hosting me in your lovely home. I’m so glad I stayed. Thanks, Rachel, for the photos of the water gun fight. Also, bring on those waffles.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

"

Finding True North (Blog #55)

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This evening I went for a walk and ran into my friend Ralph. Ralph’s a local artist, and his work is all over Fort Smith. If you live here, you’ve probably seen it. The huge mural at the entrance of Mercy Hospital–that’s Ralph’s work. The signs for St. Luke’s Lutheran Church and Hannah Oil and Gas–those are Ralph’s work. The sundial on the campus of the University of Arkansas Fort Smith–again–Ralph’s work, as are the marble floor depicting the inner workings of a motor in the Baldor Building and the glass sculptures that hang from the ceiling in the Health Sciences Building. The list goes on.

Six years ago, when I first started working for Do South Magazine in Fort Smith and was published for the very first time, my first article was about Ralph. He’s one of those people who never fails to inspire. He’s worked in the creative arts for so long, he’s become this fountain of knowledge and ideas that never seems to stop flowing. Plus, he has a terrific sense of humor and looks like Santa Claus. What’s not to love? Lucky for me, he lives right around the corner from my parents.

As Ralph and I were catching up tonight, I told him that I was in a transitional period in my life. He said that sometimes you have to “get off the merry-go-round,” step back, and take another look at things. I told him I thought that was the perfect phrase, get off the merry-go-round. Ralph said, “Yeah, I mean, we’re all on one.” (Right?) He said that as an artist, it’s easy to get stuck, so you have to seek out new perspectives, maybe take the painting (or life) you’re working on and turn it upside down.

I told Ralph that I recently made a special trip to the university campus to look at the sundial he made. Sundials, and the fact that most of them have a saying related to time on them, are talked about in the S-Town Podcast, so I wanted to check one out. Ralph said that although several things on the campus faced magnetic north, the sundial was the only thing that faced true north. (I’m not ashamed to say that I just had to Google the difference. And if you don’t know either, true north refers to the imaginary line that stretches into the sky and represents the earth’s axis, that center the earth revolves around. Magnetic north is the thing your compass points to.) Ralph said that in order for sundials to work, they have to face true north, not magnetic north. He also said that the sundial at the university weighs six thousand pounds and has a time capsule inside of it.

How cool is that?

I know that things haven’t always been easy for Ralph. Making a living as an artist in Fort Smith, Arkansas, is, I’m sure, challenging at times. But somehow Ralph has managed to do something he loves and make it work, and the community is better and more beautiful because of it. Ralph said that sometimes you wonder if people notice, but they do. And even when they don’t, I think, the true artist continues.

Ralph said that when the day’s over, you want to be able to say to yourself, “Today was a good day. I did something that brought me joy.” So it’s worth it, he said, to find your true north.

As Ralph and I said goodbye and I went back to my walk, I started thinking about how cool it was to run into him, about the fact that it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to the bathroom one more time before I left the house. And it’s not like I was having a terrible day and Ralph turned it around, but sometimes my therapist says that the universe sends us signals, little incidents that let us know we’re on the right path. Personally, I know that lately it’s felt like I’m walking around blindfolded, so it helps me to think of happy accidents like running into Ralph as God’s way of saying, “You’re getting warmer. Keep doing what you love.”

We all have inner wisdom. We all have our true north.

There’s a principle in talk therapy that a therapist’s job isn’t necessarily to dole out advice. Rather, they provide a quiet and safe place for the client to talk and, maybe for the first time, actually hear themselves. I guess the idea is that we all have inner wisdom. We all know what’s best for us. We all have our true north. But oftentimes our lives are so hectic, so chaotic, and so loud, that we can’t hear ourselves, and it’s easy to step off the path. But therapy can be a way to return, a step in the right direction. Likewise, so can meditation or art, anything that invites getting still, stepping back, and seeing things in a new way.

Personally, I think my therapist has been like a sundial for me. When things have been really hard, when I’ve called her on the phone crying, she’s said, “I’m your rock.” And it’s not that she’s perfect. She’d be the first to say she’s not. But, like a sundial, she’s lined up and she’s solid. She’s not going anywhere. And whereas she’s not going to get caught up in my drama, she is going to show compassion, and she is going to reflect the truth back to me.

Most of this evening, I’ve been thinking that my talk with Ralph was mostly about creativity, about how I recently got off the merry-go-round that’s been my life for over ten years and now I’m taking a new look at things. But as I think about it in this moment, I think I started getting off the merry-go-round a few years ago when I started therapy. Since then, there’s been consistently less drama in my life, and my perspective has changed dramatically. Truly, like one of Ralph’s paintings, my life has been turned upside down in the best way. Everything looks different than it did before.

Of course, my therapist gets a ton of the credit, but I think my progress has been largely the result of becoming more authentic. When you’re trying to be authentic, the path you’re on is the right one because being authentic is the path. Being authentic is true north. Line yourself up with that. And sure, there will be times when the sun shines brightly upon your face, and others when the seasons will change and you’ll be left in the shadows. But guaranteed, you’ll be facing the right direction, and that’s what matters. And there you will stand off the merry-go-round–like a sundial that is steady and strong–giving no more thought to a sun’s setting than to its rising. After all, that is the way of all time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

"

Weak Brain (Blog #54)

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This morning after four hours of sleep, I had breakfast with my friend Bonnie at The Fort Smith Coffee Company. (That’s us in the picture. That’s also a guy I think I know but am not sure how. I hate it when that happens.) Anyway, Bonnie has been in freakin’ Paris (Paris, France) for the last month (a whole month!), so we decided to catch up, eat some bread, and pretend like I was there too. It sort of worked for about an hour, but it’s REALLY HARD to forget you’re in Fort Smith when you’re in Fort Smith.

Other than catching up with Bonnie, here’s the best thing that happened during our time at the coffee shop:

Bonnie’s laughing because the cup says, “ho room,” which we figured meant, “no room,” as in, “no room for cream or sugar.” But ho room is way funnier, so Bonnie took the cup home with her, kind of like a souvenir from our time together in Paris (Fort Smith, Arkansas).

I spent this afternoon running all over God’s green earth on a mission to find a new cell phone because the one I’ve had for over two years has been seriously acting up, and I finally had enough of its bullshit. Anyway, it was a six or seven hour ordeal, and it included trips to Best Buy, AT&T, the Fort Smith Public Library (twice), Sprint, and Verizon (twice). I’ll spare you all the details, but I’ve been with Sprint for eleven years, and they don’t sell the phone I initially wanted, so that led me to the other providers. Well, I figured out that if I left Sprint, I could get better coverage, the same deal I have now (unlimited everything) for less money, AND I could use my phone as a WiFi hotspot. (Specifically, that means I can use my phone to connect my laptop to the Internet so that when I’m at home, I don’t have to write blogs on my laptop, copy them to my phone, do all the editing on a screen only slightly bigger than a deck of cards, and then post everything from there.)

This is really, really good news.

I ended up saying goodbye to Sprint (It’s been real) and going with Verizon. A super guy named Gavin helped me out the second time I was there, and the dude spent over two hours with me in order to get me signed up, switched over, and set up. I mean, it’s never a fun feeling to drop money on a new phone with all the amenities, but my monthly fee stayed about the same, and that includes the new phone. Plus, good customer service, like a good personal lube, makes all the difference.

After I left the Verizon, I joined Bonnie and her husband Todd and some of their family friends for a Paris-style dinner at their home. The whole affair lasted for two or three hours. There was cheese, bread, salami, bread, crackers, bread, salad, bread, some sort of chicken and vegetable situation, and dessert (fruit, more cheese, and more bread). Also, there were three types of alcohol. (Todd told us that in Paris (Paris, France), you’re required to look everyone in the eye when you clink your glasses together for a toast. I love that.) Basically, between the bread and alcohol, it was everything I probably didn’t need to eat in order to make the yeast infection under my arm pits go away.

But it sure tasted great.

After dinner I spent about four hours setting up my new phone. This may come as a shock to some of you, but I’m pretty anal-retentive, so I couldn’t really put it down until I got all my favorite applications installed and placed on my home screen in just the right place. Plus, I had to log into all my accounts and set up my voicemail and the hotspot. Those last two items took the longest, since I guess I had to log into Verizon’s application first, but no one told me that. Still, I finally got it all done, so now I’m at home on my laptop–blogging!–and I’m actually connected to the Internet.

Welcome to the 21st Century, Marcus.

There are still a few things I need to do in order to get the new phone set up, but having it mostly taken care of, especially the part about switching networks and actually getting a new phone, feels fantastic. The whole situation has been a point of stress for a while now, so now maybe I can move on to figuring out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life or, as one friend so delicately put it, attend to my moldy armpits.

Almost ten years ago, I visited some friends in Dubai. Well, one day we saw a local medicine man, some sort of witch doctor who made his own potions and healing ointments. I told him about my sinus infections, but there was a language barrier, so I kept pointing to my head a lot. And the guy just stood there and nodded his head, and he finally said, “Oh yes, weak brain.”

That was actually his diagnosis. Weak brain.

At your service.

Even now my friends and I joke about that. And whenever I’m exhausted and can’t focus (like now), I think–weak brain. I guess the body just wasn’t made to blog until six in the morning and then get up four hours later, even if it does mean coffee in Paris. I mean, I thought I was going to take a nap today, but that didn’t happen. And really, I’m glad it didn’t because sometimes when I get tired, I can’t really fake anything. It’s like exhaustion is a shortcut to authenticity. This afternoon at Verizon and this evening at Bonnie’s, I kept thinking that I should chat more, but I just didn’t have it in me. So I chatted some, and the rest of the time I quietly enjoyed what was going on, which left me grateful for good customer service, and–even better–long meals and good friends who look you in the eye, wish you well, and don’t require that you be anything other than who you are–tired, weak brain, and all.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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