Changing Your Socks, Changing Your World (Blog #258)

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It’s almost officially winter, and my parents’ house is sixty-seven degrees. I’m freezing. In an effort to keep heat in, this morning I put on thick, wool socks and a knitted cap. Granted, I’m wearing a t-shirt, but I really, really hate “bulk.” People talk about their love of sweaters and scarves–and, oh my god, mittens!–but it’s simply not me. I much prefer shorts and a tank top, soaking up the sun on a warm beach. But back to the temperature inside this house–it’s my dad’s fault. He’s always hot, breaks a sweat at the drop of a hat, so he’s constantly inching the thermostat down, gradually turning our home into a seventeen-thousand-foot meat locker.

My mom and I fight for degrees. “Ron, would it be okay to turn the thermostat up to sixty-eight, just until we all go to bed?” my mom will say. Honestly, I don’t even bother. Granted, one degree is one degree, but ten would be better. Even now my toes are crowding against each other, huddled up trying desperately to produce heat. I’ve heard this happens when a person is dying–all the blood rushes away from your extremities and heads straight for your vital organs in an effort to preserve as much life as possible. For me this feels like those movies where sailors throw cargo off a ship to keep it from sinking. Every winter my body says, “Screw the toes, screw the feet–toss ’em overboard–who needs ’em?”

Oh sure, they only take us everywhere we go!

Okay, fine, I give up. I just put on a sweatshirt. I’m holding a cup of hot coffee like it’s a personal hand warmer. Because my butt never gets warm in the winter either, I’m thinking about sitting on a heating pad for the rest of the day. As for my feet, maybe I could put them in the microwave. Shit. Here I am considering nuking my own body, and ten feet away my dad is watching The People’s Court in a t-shirt, shorts, and bare feet, smiling, probably thinking how nice it’d be to have a fan on. I guess we all have our own standards of perfection.

Perfection is ever-elusive.

The last time I saw my therapist, she asked, “Marcus, do you still believe in the idea of perfection?” I said, “Well, it sounds great, but I can’t find any evidence for it.” What I meant is that I’ve yet to discover something that couldn’t be better. No matter what the temperature is, I’d like to adjust the thermostat. No matter how good of a dancer or writer I am, I’d like to improve. Perfection, it seems, is ever-elusive. It’s a fantasy we think about that never materializes. It’s whatever we don’t have until we have it, then it’s something else.

Once I went to a workshop in Austin with Byron Katie. One of her teachings is that when we argue with reality, we lose. For example, if my feet are cold and I think they should be warm in this moment, I’m going to suffer (and write a blog about it). But what’s the truth? (They’re cold.) Anyway, at this workshop, Katie said that if we died and went to heaven with our current way of thinking, we wouldn’t be there any more. In other words, our minds would tell us, “It’s too windy–the gold streets are hard to walk on–I don’t like harp music–I wish John were here.” Or whatever–we all have our list of complaints we take everywhere we go.

I don’t use this line with anyone else, but whenever I leave the house and say goodbye to my parents, I say, “I’m off to change the world.” Mostly I consider this statement cute and ironic, since I spend the average day somewhere between a coffee shop and Walmart, picking my nose at traffic lights. Anyway, a couple days ago I was at my friend Bonnie’s house, and she had a funny napkin that said, “What did you do to change the world today?” Well, the guy on the napkin’s answer was, “I changed my socks! That counts!”

If you want to find a problem, you will.

Believing that you can find wisdom almost anywhere, I’ve been meditating on that napkin since I saw it. For one thing, I think changing the world is easier than we think. Like, I could start wearing wool socks, and that really could make a difference. I could be warmer, happier, easier to get along with. In this sense, it’s the little things. But for another thing, I don’t think we can really change the world. Sure, we can make a difference, and we should. But the world is a mess–it always has been and always will be. It’s too cold for one person, too hot for another. Maybe you think there’s too much violence or too much pollution, but the point is the same–if you want to find a problem, you will. So rather than trying to change the world, perhaps our time is better spent trying to change ourselves, working on the way we see the world, and realizing that life is perfect just the way it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The more honest you are about what's actually happening inside of you, the happier you are.

"

 

 

I’ll Take the Slow Grind (Blog #256)

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Last night I listened to an interview with Bob Walter, the man who runs the Joseph Campbell Foundation. (You know I’m a big Joseph Campbell fan.) Well, apparently at one point Bob and Joe started a publishing company to get Joe’s message out, and Bob had to be a little pushy. “No one is interested in this stuff,” Joe said.

“You mean you get discouraged?” Bob said.

“Of course I get discouraged,” Joe said. “I’m human.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and the collection of stickers on her laptop continues to grow. Since I last saw her, she’s added a “no texting” sticker, as well as one of a skeleton sitting at a computer that says, “The Internet–Please enjoy everybody’s opinion.” Also, she had two new rings on her fingers, both of which were serious bling and could easily anchor a medium-sized boat in the middle of a hurricane. Naturally, I was jealous. To be clear, I’m not talking about diamonds–this was straight up costume jewelry. “Absolutely fabulous,” I said.

“You know, I’m trying some new things,” she said.

Most of our time today was spent talking about personal change, about how it’s not as easy as everyone, all the people who write books, make it out to be. This is one of my pet peeves lately, that self-help material, vitamin shops, and online yoga classes aren’t more up front about the fact that while helpful, they’re not a panacea. Rather–and I get that everyone’s trying to make a dollar–they make it sound like if you buy their product, you’ll be eternally happy, find the perfect sex-hungry partner, and have wrinkle-free skin. I can’t tell you how long I bought into this crap. I still struggle with it. Who doesn’t want a magic bullet?

“You’re not the only one who’s been given that impression,” my therapist said. “But transformation is real fucking hard. It’s the slow grind. There’s no other way.”

The–slow–grind. No kidding. That’s been my experience. I’ve spent more time in the self-help, psychology, philosophy, and spirituality aisles in the bookstore than anyone else I know–I have a rockstar therapist I’ve seen consistently for over three years–these are just facts. And if there’s something I could pass on from all my time and effort, it’d be this–a better life is completely possible, but it’s a long, tough ride to get there. (Saddle up, partner.) I realize this isn’t what people want to hear–I don’t want to hear it–but it’s the truth. “It just takes patience,” my therapist says. “And patience is a bitch.”

After therapy I had lunch with my friend Ray. I haven’t seen him in maybe a month, and it was truly a shot in the arm. We laughed, then laughed some more. For a while Ray and I talked about getting discouraged, the slow grind, and being patient as change occurs. Ray said he thought a big element of success was simply continuing to show up–to therapy, a support group, even a dance class. Again, I guess this is the idea that change and transformation come in little pieces. Rarely is something a “one and done.”

Being authentic isn’t for sissies.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this–little pieces, being patient, all of it. I wish transformation were easier, and, like Joe, I often get discouraged with this path. Being authentic isn’t for sissies. I get on the internet, read everybody’s opinion, and it’s easy to feel as if I’m doing something wrong. People comment online and send me private messages, tell me I’d be better off if I did something different with my hair, wore other clothes, didn’t cuss so much, or smiled more. I mention this because it’s something else most teachers don’t talk about. They tell you to be authentic–wear gaudy jewelry if you want to!–but they don’t tell you that the more true to yourself you are, the more pushback you get, often from people you care about.

I don’t mind saying this sucks.

I realize this take on the long, tough ride of transformation and the challenges of being authentic isn’t exactly encouraging. It wouldn’t sound great on an infomercial. But wait, there’s more–it gets worse before it gets better! But I wouldn’t be sharing these opinions if they weren’t my honest experience and if I didn’t absolutely believe that all the hard work and all the continuing to show up were worth it. Because I do. Sure, there are days when I get discouraged and feel like I’m going nowhere. I’m human too. But I’ll take my worst day now over my best day five years ago because now I’m being real. I’m closer to myself every day. And if the slow grind is what it takes to get me closer to myself, I’ll take the slow grind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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A Little Disruption, Please (Blog #254)

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Y’all aren’t going to believe this. It’s 9:30 in the morning, and not only am I awake, I’m blogging. Jesus, keep me close to the cross. I’ve actually been awake and mostly functional for an hour and a half. Yesterday evening I got super tired, maybe because of all the antihistamines I’m taking, maybe because God didn’t intend for us to be awake during winter. Either way, I was in bed by midnight. Still, despite the fact that my body said go to bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. What the frick, body–haven’t you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?

Anyway, I think I finally drifted off around three.

I’m up early today because I’m going out-of-town to see some friends. I’ll report more later, but I really need to be on the road in a couple hours. Considering I still have to eat breakfast, shower, and pack, this blog really needs to be quick. I love it and everything, but I honestly don’t want to pick it up again until tomorrow. But aside from the pressure of writing–believe it or not–I’m enjoying being up so early. Y’all, the sun is shining. It’s quiet. I can hear myself think–or at least I could if I were awake enough to do so. Earlier I practiced chi kung. My teacher is always saying, “Relax more. Now–relax more.” Well, for someone like me, this is a lot of pressure, but this morning it actually worked. Apparently relaxing is easier to do when your brain is still sleeping.

A couple years ago I had a yoga teacher tell me, “Your new favorite pose is rabbit.” Well, since I hadn’t done rabbit pose before, I pretty much forgot about it. Maybe I tried it once or twice. But for whatever reason, I thought about it this morning. I’ve had this pain in my shoulders that won’t go away, and I thought, Let’s give that a whirl. Oh my gosh–first–it’s the most awkward thing ever. You have to sit on your knees, grab your heels, put the top of you head on the floor, try to keep your forehead by your knees, then lift your hips. (Right.) All that being said–wow–it exactly stretches the muscles that have been a problem for the last six months. Finally.

My therapist told me recently that she thought it was funny that my blog was called Me and My Therapist, since she doesn’t introduce herself as a therapist. “I think of myself as a disrupter,” she said. “I disrupt the untrue. I challenge maladaptive behaviors and people’s erroneous perceptions of the world.” Having gone through this process, I now think of therapy like rabbit pose–it sucks. I mean, at the very least, it’s often uncomfortable as hell. Change is hard for a reason. Of course, whether it’s a pain in your shoulders, a bad relationship, or whatever, that’s uncomfortable too. (Maybe sucks is a better word for your particular situation.) So if a different type of discomfort is the way out of the original problem, then it’s certainly worth the effort. In this sense, perhaps we could all use a little more disruption in our lives.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Stop buying your own bullshit.

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What Hope Says to Me (Blog #252)

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It’s three in the afternoon, and I’ve been overwhelmed since yesterday. Once I read that was the go-to emotion for Virgos–the feeling of overwhelm. Regardless, I know it’s mine. On the outside I can have things together, but on the inside, it’s like I’m trying to roll a boulder up a mountain, looking at the circumstances of my life like, Well, this is intimidating. For whatever reason, my allergies won’t calm down. It’s as if I have a leaky faucet–in my head. (Does anyone know a good plumber?) Last night I watched a YouTube video by a guy who once had a sinus infection for eight months, so I’m telling myself that 1) I’m not THAT bad off, and 2) I’m not alone. But that doesn’t really help. After all, a boulder on your shoulder is a boulder on your shoulder.

Yesterday I had to choose an insurance plan for next year. That was stressful. What if I picked the wrong one? Also, anything that has to do with money stresses me out, since I’m really not making any right now. This, of course, is mostly my choice. I guess on some level I’ve decided that what I’m learning and doing now are more important than spending the day, I don’t know, making Subway sandwiches and earning a few dollars. Still, I put a lot of pressure on myself. My therapist asked me recently, “How are yo doing with the whole ‘I’m a white man who needs to be productive and earning money constantly’ thing?”

“Yeah, about where I was before,” I said. “So there’s plenty of room for improvement, but look at it this way–that’s job security for you.”

I don’t suppose any one of these problems–allergies, money, what things may come–is that big of a deal in and of itself. Perhaps it’s like picking up a rock and putting it your pocket–one’s not a problem, but if decide to pick up more rocks and start a damn collection, they’re gonna weigh you down. However, now I’m writing, and although some days I think of this blog as a rock in my pocket, I do find that it helps take the weight off, get other things out of my pocket and on to the page. Also, I’m listening to Eva Cassidy, a woman whose voice never fails to make me believe that the world is a possible place to live in. Time is a healer–all hearts that break are put back together again.

Yesterday I got my hair cut–a lot. Honestly, I don’t love short hair in the winter, since I need all the help I can get staying warm. But I dyed my hair a few months ago, and it’s been rather dry and unmanageable lately. My friend and hairdresser, Bekah, said she always knows I’m about to call and schedule a haircut whenever I post a lot of pictures of me wearing a hat. And whereas I hate being so predictable, it is really nice to have people in your life who know you so well. Thinking about all my hair clumped together on Bekah’s floor, I’m reminded that things can change in an instant. One minute you’ve got this problem that’s been driving you crazy forever, and the next it’s being swept away with the flick of a wrist, tossed out with yesterday’s newspapers.

Perhaps this is what hope is, the belief that three months of long hair or even an eight-month sinus infection can quickly come to an end, the belief that your particular allergy can calm down and you’ll breathe easy again one day. To me hope says, “Empty your pockets. Let go of your boulder. Mountains are hard enough to climb without things that overwhelm and weigh you down. Let me overwhelm you instead, let me heal all that is broken inside you, let me so fill you with the belief that life is good that you can’t help but rise to the top.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Confidence takes what you have and amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy.

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Letting Go of the Last Three Pounds (Blog #251)

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Well here we are again, writing during the day. Last night I took my therapist-assigned nap, then I couldn’t fall asleep until four in the morning. More than the napping, I think the reason I couldn’t sleep is because my body hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re doing things differently now, that there’s a new sheriff in town. This morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, partly because I’m tired, partly because I noticed last night that the body odor that I worked so hard to get rid of has returned. I’m assuming this is because of the medications I was on recently for my sinus infection, but I’m not a biologist. Either way, part of me thinks that I got this figured out once before and can do it again, and another part of me thinks, Oh, for fuck’s sake, I quit.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ring-ring-ringing and the microwave beep-beep-beeping. As if that weren’t annoying enough, my parents’ phone actually announces, rather loudly, the number that’s calling. You have a call from 479-867-5309. Maybe it would be better if the announcer had an Australian accent. Better yet, I’d be more than happy to wake up to the sound of Morgan Freeman’s voice. He could read the phone book to me any day. As it is, today I woke up to the voice of a robot. (Not sexy.) Anyway, now the sun is shining, I’m drinking coffee, and Dad and I are talking about the hot gay guys on Days of Our Lives. (They’re weaving a tangled web.) Additionally, as I’m writing, the soundtrack to the musical Kinky Boots is playing in my ears. So I’m slowly–slowly–working my way out of my bad mood.

Life, it would appear, doesn’t completely suck.

Last week my therapist suggested I watch the television series The Deuce, starring the oh-so-handsome and sexually flexible James Franco, so last night I watched the first two episodes. To be clear, I don’t think my therapist recommended the show for mental health reasons, but rather for entertainment, relaxation, and visual stimulation (James Franco). For all these reasons, I thank her. Y’all, I was completely engrossed. The show is set in New York City in the seventies, and James plays a bartender who works with the mob and serves up a number of colorful hookers. Also, he plays his twin brother, a former baseball star who’s up to his neck in gambling debts. I can’t tell you how delightful this is. Honestly, it reminds me a lot of Hayley Mills in the The Parent Trap or Patty Duke in The Patty Duke Show. You know, except with pimps and prostitutes.

Recently I’ve been toying with the idea of lowing my standards of perfection. For example, for the last twenty years I’ve had it in my head that my ideal weight is 175. Never mind the fact that the only time I weigh that much is after a week-long stomach flu. Honestly, 180 is a better goal. Well, in the last month I’ve gone from 190 to a consistent 183. Since this isn’t my first diet and exercise rodeo, I know I could spend the next three months working on those three pounds, like really putting myself through hell. But as things stand, I’m thirty-seven years old, my stomach is flat, and I wear the same sized jeans I did when I was in high school, so why am I making such a big damn deal about this and everything like it?

You can quit trying so hard and still get there.

Clearly I spend a lot of time working on “just a little bit more,” reaching for that thing that’s slightly out of reach. I’m not saying that I couldn’t lose another three pounds (I could), or that I can’t continue to write a thousand words a day (I can). But what would my life be like if I didn’t try so hard, if I recognized that I’ve already come a long way and that things are pretty great at 183 pounds and six-hundred words a day, give or take? Just the thought of that, of taking my foot off the throttle, is a relief. Phew, I can quit trying so hard and still get there, still be happy. I’m not saying I’m going to completely let myself go and start eating cheesecake for breakfast, but I am going to stop pushing so much and try to let life work itself out. It seems it always does, after all. Given enough time, answers come, healings happen, and even bad moods go away.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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Socks and Days That Don’t Match (Blog #250)

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Yesterday I wore the socks Bonnie knitted me for my birthday. They don’t match–intentionally, she said, since life isn’t “perfect.” When I got home from therapy yesterday, I followed my therapist’s suggestion–I took a nap. Then I spent the evening watching two movies. The first, The Pursuit of Happyness, starred Will Smith and told the true story of a man who went from living on the streets to becoming a millionaire stock broker. Everything about this story made my heart sing. The second movie, The Words, was about a writer who wrote a story about a writer who found another writer’s manuscript (about his true love and their child who died), published it as his own, and became famous. If you’re confused, you should be. The movie had its moments–wonderful acting–but it was like playing with a set of Russian nesting doll–stories inside of stories.

The fact that my friend Justin recommended The Words should come as no surprise. (Justin is notorious for recommending “meh” movies.) “Justin, that vampire movie you told me to watch was terrible. I just can’t trust your cinema wisdom after that experience,” I said last week. “No, this movie will be different,” he said.

“Trust me,” he said.

Last night I was in bed at the time I usually start writing. I think I slept for eleven or twelve hours. And whereas I don’t feel like a daisy today–I have a headache–I do feel better. As much as getting some sleep, I think it has to do with finishing the blog earlier than normal. I guess it was creating a certain amount of stress, especially on days that were full of activities. It’d be three in the morning, I’d be worn out, and I’d think, Oh yeah, I still have that to do. Now it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I plan to be done with today’s blog by three-thirty. Earlier today I unsubscribed from a number of email lists, and I’m looking at that action the same way I’m looking at knocking the blog out while the sun’s still shining–a little action I can take to alleviate stress and relieve tension.

I mean, it all adds up.

Another thing I’m doing is changing the music I’m listening to while blogging. Normally I listen to instrumental music. Always the same, it’s something a friend gave me once–spiritual music. There are supposed to be seven tracks–one for each chakra–but one of the files is missing. Shit, that’s probably why I’ve felt so out of balance lately–I don’t have the heart chakra file. Anyway, today I’m listening to James Brown, and I’m finding that he’s just as spiritual. Yesterday I told my therapist that I feel stuck, what with living at home and having been sick for so long. She said, “Marcus, everything changes. You won’t be there forever. You won’t be here in this office forever.”

One day a change will come.

Today’s blog is number 250. That’s 250 days in a row of straight blogging. The goal is a year, and whether or not I make it, I do realize that one day I’ll leave my laptop shut, not write a word for the world to see. Maybe I’ll be sick in the hospital, or maybe I’ll be drinking a cup of coffee and watching Days of Our Lives with my dad, but it’ll be that simple. One day a change will come, if for no other reason than that’s the way life works. Like a pair of mismatched socks, one day doesn’t mirror the one next to. Life isn’t “perfect,” at least if you think perfect is having two socks or days that match.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

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The Moon and My Therapist (Blog #249)

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Last night was the supermoon. Personally, I slept for shit and think that’s why. Of course, I can’t prove that’s the reason, but if the moon can move the tides, surely it can move me, since I’m mostly water. Anyway, despite the fact that currently the moon is full and bright, in two short weeks its light will disappear completely. I just finished lunch, and I’m thinking about doing the same thing, at least for a bit. A couple hours ago I saw my therapist, and we talked about how exhausted I’ve been lately. She said she could feel it coming off my body, this deep tiredness. She also said she thought I was starting to resent the blog, and I know that part of me is. Every day I come here and process, sit down and pour myself out, honestly more than I’m being poured into. I’m getting something out of this, of course, but often it’s just a warm, fuzzy feeling, and that doesn’t always get me through the next day.

When I told my therapist I was writing a thousand words a day (and have been for the last 248 days in a row), she almost fell out of her chair. I act like it’s nothing, but it’s obviously not, and it takes a lot out of me. My therapist said she wouldn’t tell me what to do, but she suggested I take a nap for “at least five” out of the next eight days. She said, “Stop, just stop. Be lazy. It’s okay.” She also suggested that for one day–just one day–I log into the blog and post, like, two sentences. I’m authentically worn out. Later, bitches, or something along those lines. Honestly, these are rather difficult suggestions for me to take to heart because 1) I’m really committed to writing every day for a year, and 2) I have a tough time giving myself a break.

Something’s gotta give, or I’m gonna.

That being said, I’m going to give it a try, at least the napping. I’d originally planned to read a hundred and fifty pages in a book today that’s due back at the library, but I’ve decided I’ll just check it back out instead. So that will give me time to nap, then maybe I could just watch a movie–something stupid–drink a beer, eat some ice cream. Maybe all of the above. Shit, something’s gotta give, or I’m gonna. As for writing a two-sentence blog, that’s obviously not going to happen today. I’m not sure if I can actually let myself go there. But I am about to wrap this up in less than 500 words ( and less than thirty minutes), and that’s pretty good for me. More than a decent compromise, I think. Now it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I can’t tell you how good this feels, to be done for now. And it’s okay, Marcus. Even the moon doesn’t shine every day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

All That Is Best and Broken (Blog #246)

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After eight months of solid blogging, I haven’t quite figured out how to “blog early.” (Perhaps this is not a surprise.) This morning I woke up at 11:30 and completed all my other daily routines (morning pages, chi kung, half a pot of coffee), and Bonnie and I have been shopping in Fayetteville ever since. My energy level is slightly better than yesterday, but now it’s 7:45, we’re at a dance in Northwest Arkansas that hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already worn out. Since the dance lasts for a while and then there’s the drive home, I’m trying to blog now while my brain is somewhat–somewhat–functional. I just can’t stay up late again to blog, at least until I feel better. I just can’t.

Great, that’s 125 words.

Oh wow, there’s a live band tonight–the Prairie Grove Jazz Band–and they just started warming up. It sounds like a bunch of toddlers who found the pots and pans. (I’m sure it will be much better when they’re actually playing a song.) Anyway, I wonder if I’ll be able to concentrate, keep a coherent train of thought going in between all the noise and the dances. Oh well–hang on–this could be a bumpy ride. AND the band just started. Much better, but loud. (YOU’LL HAVE TO TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.)

Oh my god, I just danced and am dying. Where did all the air go? Talk amongst yourselves.

The shopping objective today was to replace holiday decorations that Bonnie recently lost in a house flood. Anyway, we went to several stores and ended up with dozens of oversized tree ornaments, a holiday kitchen towel, and a Santa Claus that looks like St. Francis of Assisi that we’re calling St. Nicolaus of Assisi. Oh–and how could I forget?–we found two little statues–an owl and a squirrel–in fancy circus clothes and top hats! Who thinks of this stuff! Anyway, Bonnie’s gonna stick those suckers next to a little artificial pine tree, and it’s going to be so adorable you won’t be able to stand yourself.

Woodland critters in top hats for Christmas!

I told Bonnie that the best thing about today has been that not only have I gotten out of the house, but I’ve also gotten out of my head. I mean, if it hasn’t been obvious, I’ve spent a lot of time lately worrying about the state of my physical body. Why am I so tired? Am I ever going to feel well again? Maybe I should go ahead and pick out my headstone. This sort of thinking, of course, is exhausting (not to mention dramatic). Still, it’s hard to avoid when I have almost every minute of every day to myself with little else to do or think about. So whereas I think I need to take it easy, I’m reminding myself that I need to get out and be around other people–other people who will let me whine for about five minutes then shut me up with a margarita.

For lunch Bonnie shut me up with a margarita. Y’all, both of us have been on really healthy diets lately, Bonnie for nine weeks, me for four. But today we broke all the rules and had Mexican food. Wow, it was like reuniting with an old friend. I seriously felt like I owed the cheese an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t called lately–I’ve been cheating on you with spinach–I won’t let it happen again. Everything was so delicious; I probably gained five pounds from the chips alone. Of course, it feels like all my hard work just went straight down the drain, just like the flour tortillas went straight to my hips, but I realize that one meal is only one meal. Even even if it weren’t–it was totally worth it.

When we sat down at the restaurant, Bonnie surprised me with a birthday present. Granted, my birthday was over two months ago, but Bonnie made my present by hand, so it took her some time. Y’all, Bonnie knitted me some multi-colored wool socks–just in time for winter! I realize this is totally an old person thing to do, getting excited about socks. But these are homemade socks, and since my feet are always cold this time of year, warm socks really are the perfect thing. Plus, Bonnie designed the socks with a path down each side, sort of like a road, but it’s intentionally crooked and bumpy because Bonnie said that’s how life is.

Having lived for twenty-seven years now, I’d have to agree.

The card Bonnie gave me tonight had a quote by Oscar Wilde on it that said, “Be yourself–everyone else is taken.” Bonnie didn’t know it, but that quote is also used in the musical Kinky Boots–one of my favorites. So again, it was the perfect thing. Anyway, the quote makes me think about the importance of authenticity. I know we all wear masks and play different roles. Some of this, of course, is necessary in a polite society. You can’t tell everyone everything. But having spent plenty of time over the years trying to be someone I wasn’t (for example–straight, interested, or completely fine with bad behavior), I realize now I was mostly trying to be someone who didn’t even exist. Newsflash–there is no straight Marcus. There is no Marcus who’s okay when he’s cheated on. There is, however, a gay Marcus who sometimes falls apart and sometimes gets mad as hell.

Circuitous routes are where the healing happens.

Naturally, the road to authenticity is a crooked, bumpy path, just like recovering from an illness is a crooked, bumpy path. Being yourself, taking care of yourself, takes work. As my therapist says, it’s exhausting to always be the person setting boundaries and speaking your truth. So sometimes you wander as you figure things out. I think that’s okay. Nobody shows up to this life with a map in their hand, and even if we had one, I’m not sure we’d want to travel in a straight line. No, circuitous routes are better and more interesting. Circuitous routes are where the healing happens, since they let you double back and pick up the pieces of yourself you dropped along the way. This is what authenticity looks like, I think, the willingness to gather together all that is best and broken inside you and share it with someone else without apology, to face the world and say, “This is my winding road–this is MY winding road–and this is who I am.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

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When You Feel Like Giving Up (Blog #242)

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After forty-three straight days of having a life-draining, soul-sucking sinus infection, today I’ve felt like a new man. Last night I rubbed kimchi juice in my nostrils, and I’m assuming that’s what’s done the trick. It’s gotta be that or the hundred and one vitamins I’m taking. Currently I’m still having some allergy issues, still coughing, but despite the fact that I didn’t sleep much last night, my energy today has been off the charts. I’ve spent the last six weeks absolutely wiped out, tired behind the eyes all day long, but today I was awake for ten hours before I even thought the word “tired,” and then it was while walking up a broken escalator. (Talk about a tease.) So things aren’t “perfect,” but the difference between yesterday and today has been astounding. More than the physical improvements, I’ve been happy all day, walking around with my chest stuck out like a damn superhero just because I’ve felt close to normal. Y’all, it’s not something to take for granted.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and whereas I’d planned to talk about how I was tired of being strong, how being sick for six weeks had almost completely drained me of hope, I ended up talking about how I put fermented food up my nose and woke up twelve hours later with the energy of Rainbow Brite. My therapist said she didn’t think it was an accident that I’d been spending so much time searching the internet and finally came across something that worked. She said, “I think you needed a win, and the universe gave you one.” Then she added that when you feel like giving up, that’s when you have to keep going, since help is probably just around the corner.

Personally, I think this is a shit deal and don’t know why life is set up this way. Don’t get me wrong–I’m thrilled and grateful beyond measure for the bacterial miracle I’m currently experiencing. This could seriously be a game-changer. Still, I’d like go on record as saying that I think it sucks when the universe drops you to your knees then turns right around and asks you to push a little harder. Just keep going, help is right around the corner. Like, couldn’t help move half a block and make my life easier? Not that anybody in charge asked for my opinion. As Byron Katie says, “You don’t get a vote.” So I guess we’re back to that idea–acceptance. I could wake up tomorrow and feel like a million bucks or I could be sicker than ever. Either way, what am I gonna do about that?

After therapy I spent most of the day reading. Then I went to the mall and looked around because my therapist said–when we were talking about pride–that I should wear a shirt with a single gold star on it, the implication being that I’m a gold-star gay. (A gold-star gay is a homosexual who’s never slept with a woman, Mom. A double-gold or platinum-star gay is a homosexual who was born by c-section, thus making him someone who’s never (ever) touched a vagina.) Anyway, the only shirt I could find with a star on it was red with a yellow star. But since I’m wanting to look like a homosexual and not a hot dog, I didn’t buy it.

I’m sure there’s some joke that could be made about “wiener” at this point, but I’m too tired to think of it. Plus, my mom reads this.

Tonight I decided to back off some of the vitamins I’m taking. First, I didn’t sleep well last night, and that’s unusual. Along the same lines, I’ve felt rather “hyped up” today. Second, my stomach has been a skosh upset. Well, the problem is that I’m taking ten different vitamins, so it’s hard to know what’s causing what or if they’re even a factor in what’s going on. Still, I’m not usually one to sit still on such matters, so I Googled the side effects for every single one of the vitamins. And whereas practically all of them can cause an upset stomach, only one of them can cause insomnia (echinacea). So I cut out echinacea for this evening, as well as vitamin c, since I was hitting that pretty hard and it’s the most famous for causing stomach problems if you go overboard.

As always, figuring this out feels like trying to ski down a mountain backwards and blindfolded.

Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds.

I guess we all do the best we can. As the old hymn says, “One day at a time, sweet Jesus.” But even though I’m not a hundred percent better, I’ve been thinking, Oh well, I’ll get over this soon enough. I mean, if a six-week sinus infection can start to turn itself around in less than a day, anything really is possible. My therapist and I talked about this today and how it could apply to other aspects of life–like, say, blogging for free when you don’t have a job–the idea that you can grind it out day after day, then suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears–the storm is over. This, I think, is really good news. My personal squabbles with how everything is set up notwithstanding, life obviously doesn’t intend for anyone to stay down forever. Just when you’re ready to let go of hope, hope refuses to let go of you. Gripping you tightly it says, “All I ask is one more day.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance is a lot like gravity--it's everywhere.

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Normal People Don’t Walk on Water (Blog #231)

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Okay, screw technology. I’m ready to go to bed, and the internet is slow. All I want to do is post tonight’s selfie, get in a thousand words, and call it a day–now. I swear, sometimes patience is more difficult to come by than others. Maybe I should consider becoming one of those people who honk in traffic. (You know who you are.) I never honk in traffic, perhaps because I can still picture my college psychology teacher saying, “Road rage starts at home.” But maybe honking would be a slightly more respectable way to blow off some steam than punching pillows. Either way, I’m taking my upset over one picture’s failure to load quickly as a sign that I need to calm down, perhaps get back to yoga.

It’d probably help if I didn’t drink a pot of coffee every day. At the very least, I could throw some more water down my throat. Earlier tonight in improv class, I was literally shaking from too much caffeine. I’m surprised my eyes didn’t pop out of my head–AH-OOH-GAH! Still, despite the fact that my body was about to vibrate across the room, I couldn’t string two thoughts together. My brain was like, “Nope–try again next time.” Whenever I lose my car keys, I keep looking for them in the same spot I usually put them. I always think they’ll magically appear because they’re supposed to be there! Anyway, my brain was that spot I kept going back to tonight in my search for ideas. But alas, it was empty every time.

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

I’m quite sure the problem with both my mood and my mind is the fact that my body is worn out. I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for a month now, and I didn’t sleep much last night because I went to the doctor early this morning. Thus all the coffee to prop me up. (The nurse at the doctor’s office said, “Your blood pressure is a little high. Have you had an energy drink?”) Anyway, considering the fact that my body has been waving the white flag for a week or two now, seeing my ear, nose, and throat doctor was the right decision. That being said, I really think our bodies should come equipped with computer screens, at least a scrolling marquee to send us messages. I get that our bodies are talking to us all the time, but I for one lost my decoder ring a long time ago and would be thrilled with even a dot-matrix printout of daily instructions like, Hello, anybody home? We could use some help here! Go to the damn doctor already.

Y’all, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a sinus doctor before, but in order to open you up and see what’s going on, they spray jet fuel up your nose. This isn’t so bad, but the jet fuel is also a numbing agent, and when it runs down the back of your throat, you can’t swallow for thirty minutes. Not that they bother to give you cup to spit in or anything. Thank god I’ve been so many times that I felt comfortable enough to take one off the supply table. I mean, what was I gonna do–spit in my hand–asphyxiate?

But I digress.

The doctor listened to all my questions and concerns about taking medication and said, “Thank you for being honest.” When I told him I was embarrassed by all the things I’ve been squirting up my nose in an effort to find an effective home remedy, he said, “Don’t be embarrassed, although there is some evidence that some of those things can be more irritating that helpful.” Afterwards, he shoved a scope up my nostrils, took a look around, and said that post-surgery, things looked fabulous. No polyps, no scar tissue–just an obvious infection that was probably eighty percent over. Still, he suggested I take some drugs to get me over the hump and back to baseline.

“It’s your call,” he said.

“Let’s do it. I’m tired of feeling bad.”

Then he said the best thing ever–and I’ve been waiting all day to put it in writing on the internet. He said, “You just caught something like any other person would. If it keeps happening, come back and we’ll discuss options, but a lot of people get sinus infections in the spring and fall that last six weeks on average. [Here comes the good part.] So don’t worry–you’re normal.”

Phew. I’m normal. My doctor said so.

This afternoon I went to a couple bookstores, picked up my drugs, then came home and took a nap before improv class. Off and on I’ve been considering this idea of being normal. It’s something my therapist has proposed on more than one occasion, to which I typically reply, “I’m not so sure about that.” As I think about it now, I guess for the longest time it’s felt like I needed to fix something because I wasn’t okay the way I was. Maybe it was chronic sinus infections, maybe it was a relationship (even if that relationship was with me). Either way, this idea that something needed to change–specifically, me–is what’s been pushing me toward all the self-help and alternative healing material over the years. And whereas I’m grateful for everything I’ve learned and don’t regret my path, it does–sometimes–occur to me to wonder, How much progress do I really need to make here? Just how perfect do I need to be?

(Just the right amount to walk on water, I suppose.)

Normal people don’t walk on water.

My mom says, “You don’t have to be exceptional every minute of every day.” To me this means that it’s okay to get sick, it’s okay to try to get better on your own, it’s okay to fail, and it’s okay to ask for help. (My mom also says, “We’re all in this together.”) What’s more, not having to be exceptional every minute of every day means I don’t have to try so hard, and I don’t have to take it as a personal shortcoming whenever I get sick. Hell, being sick is hard enough without the “I did something wrong” record on repeat. So going forward, I hope to remind myself that normal people don’t walk on water. Rather, we roll in and out like the tide. Getting sick and getting better, losing our keys (and our minds) and finding them, expecting too much of ourselves and giving ourselves a break–these are things that normal people do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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