On Walden Pond (in My Parents’ Spare Bedroom) (Blog #228)

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Believe it or not, I’ve been awake since 9:30 this morning. Is this what normal people do? Now it’s 1:20, also in the morning, and I’ve had so much coffee that my legs are periodically going into twitching fits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I were having a religious experience, a la big tent revival. I really think I’ve been overdoing it on the caffeine lately, but considering it’s been two weeks since I’ve had a piece of bread and even longer since I’ve heard from Zac Efron, a cup of joe is about the only fun left in my life. Still, I should probably drink some water, maybe say a prayer to help get me off the ceiling and balance things out. But so long as I’m all jittery, I plan to use the extra energy to get me through tonight’s blog.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and during a discussion about personality traits that I might have but not be aware of, my therapist mentioned Johari’s window. Johari’s window is “a therapy thing” that says each of us is divided into four basic sections, which are: 1) the parts we know that others know too, called the arena, 2) the parts we know that others don’t, called the facade, 3) the parts others know that we don’t, called the blind spot, and 4) the parts nobody knows, called the unknown. As I understand it, the arena is where we’re authentic, the facade is where we’re “fake as hell,” and the blind spot and the unknown are where we don’t know our own shit from Shinola. And whereas I guess we all hang out in each quadrant from time to time, I’m assuming the goal is to know and be open about as much as yourself as possible and, therefore, spend most your time in the arena.

After therapy I spent the day at the library. Y’all, I honestly think the library is a sacred space for me. While I was there today, I started and finished a book about forgiveness, but I kept getting up every so often just to roam the aisles and be near the other books. I even explored the children’s section, where I ended up reading two books on the floor with my legs criss-cross, applesauce. Just before I left, I checked out two adult books, so now my pile of “books I’m currently reading” makes me look like a post-graduate student.

One of the books I checked out was called Expect Great Things. Having such clear instructions, I deliberately got my hopes up. Well, the book is about Henry David Thoreau, I’m already fifty pages in, and I honestly think it would have been better to call it Expect Mediocre Things. I mean, it’s well done and I’m enjoying it–don’t get me wrong–I just think the author could have set the bar lower and left more room for being pleasantly surprised. But I guess a book with “mediocre” in the title wouldn’t have exactly flown off the shelf and into my hands.

Honestly, I don’t know that much about Thoreau, so I’m excited to read the rest of the book. I do know that he went to the woods because he wanted to live deliberately and that he said, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer,” and these facts alone make him a hero in my world. I used to have this fantasy that one day I’d do something like going to the woods–pack it all up, live in a log cabin, and spend all day reading. You know, keep away the neighbors by never bathing. Okay, maybe not that last part, but I have always loved the idea of being in nature and getting to know myself, looking through as many of my window panes as possible. But that’s not gonna happen, I’d think. Who has time to read all day?

Maybe you see where this is going.

Sometime between checking out the book on Thoreau and writing tonight’s blog, I realized that in a lot of respects, I’m currently doing what Thoreau was doing. Granted, the spare bedroom at my parents’ house isn’t exactly Walden Pond, but it is the place where I’m learning to live deliberately. Put another way, it’s where I’m learning to live in the arena of authenticity, to be myself. And I guess sometimes I give myself such a hard time about not doing what everyone else is doing the way everyone else is doing it that I forget they hear their drummers and I hear mine. Like, Wait a damn minute–I’m not supposed to do things like other people–because I’m not other people–I’m me.

When we expect great things, we see great things.

As I’ve said before, I worry a lot about what’s going to come next and about earning a living, but my therapist says that when you follow your bliss, it always pays off. Not that I don’t believe her, but I’m curious to see how it worked out for Thoreau, if he had anything to say about the matter. But considering I’m already happier than I ever have been and am currently getting to spend my days as I want to, in sacred spaces with piles of books to read beside me, my sense is that things have already been paying off and I simply haven’t been acknowledging it. Maybe we all do this–wake up every day, go through our routines, and expect the mediocre. We say, Oh, that’s just my life, and we end up taking our Walden Ponds for granted. But I’m reminded tonight that when we expect great things, we see great things–great things that are right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

Ready to Rumble (Blog #223)

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It’s 2:26 in the morning, and I’d rather be reading, which is what I’ve been doing all day. My friend Elisabeth recently told me I “had to read” Rising Strong by Brene Brown, and since Elisabeth was the one who told me about The Artist’s Way, the creativity workbook I wouldn’t shut up about for twelve weeks earlier this year, I bumped Brene’s book to the top of my reading list. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Elisabeth apologized for being bossy (without prompting) when she told me what to do. Anyway, I started Rising Strong today, and I’m currently about two-thirds of the way through it, which I guess means that I’m “reading strong.”

See what I did there?

If you’re familiar with Brene’s work, you know that she talks a lot about shame, vulnerability, authenticity, and boundaries. Well, in this book, she emphasizes the importance of being able to sit with and dig into your uncomfortable feelings and difficult circumstances, which (apparently), does not look like eating chocolate cake and watching pornography until you feel better or things improve. Rather, it involves something she calls “the rumble,” which she compares to the middle of a story or the second act in a three-act play. It’s the point at which the hero has already identified a problem but has yet to identify a solution, the period of time when things get worse before they get better, the dark before the dawn. In other words, the rumble is when the shit hits the fan. The rumble, of course, sucks. In order to avoid it, we’ll shut down, shut off, go out, light up, and overeat. But as I understand it, the rumble is absolutely necessary if a person wants to rise strong.

Think about it this way–you can’t get back up if you don’t get knocked down first.

Personally, I hate this. Having been emotionally knocked down on more than one occasion, I can say that a person’s “time on the ground” can last a while. When I started therapy three and a half years ago, I was in a terrible (horrible, no good, very bad) relationship and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d slapped me in the face. I hadn’t heard of the rumble back then, but I honestly thought I’d be back on my feet after six to eight therapy sessions.

Uh, try a hundred, Marcus.

Don’t bother–go bowling instead.

Actually, my therapist says that I’ve been “out of the woods” for a while now. Most of the major issues have been dealt with, or as she says, “done and dusted.” But for anyone really considering living an authentic lifestyle consisting of vulnerability, honesty, boundaries, and healthy relationships, I’d say, “Don’t bother–go bowling instead.” (Just kidding.) What I mean by this is that those things look really good on paper, but I’d be lying if I told you they were easy. (If it were easy, everyone would do it.) Rather, they’re a lot of hard work, work that takes time, makes you bleed, and turns your world upside down.

In my experience, it’s not just that rumbles–especially big rumbles like the one I went through–are difficult because you feel lonely, sad, or confused. They’re difficult because if you truly hang out with those emotions, you realize they’ve been around for a while and show up in a lot of different situations. Then what are you gonna do? When I broke up with my ex, I got that I didn’t have good boundaries with him, but what I didn’t get was that I didn’t have good boundaries with most people. What’s more, I didn’t get why, that the issue of boundaries ultimately had to do with my sense of self-worth, and that self-worth is a big truck to turn around.

Of course, when your self-esteem and self-confidence change, your entire world changes too. Think about it–it has to. If you let one person walk on you, you let all people walk on you. Likewise, if you decide you’re worth more in one relationship, you automatically have to be worth more in all relationships. This is the big truck I’m talking about. In my case, three and a half years after starting therapy, there’s not a relationship in my life that hasn’t been affected, changed, or even “deleted” as a result of my increase in self-worth and, therefore, desire for healthy boundaries. Ultimately, this is why I think we’re afraid of listening to our emotions–not just because they’re uncomfortable–but also because they have the power to uproot everything familiar in our lives when genuinely responded to.

Does anyone want an Oreo yet?

If you’re not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

I realize this may not sound like an encouragement, and I’m not saying that every difficult emotion or circumstance calls for completely remodeling your interior and exterior worlds. Sometimes all you need to do is change the curtains. (Of course, even this is a big deal–trust a gay man.) But either way, I do believe that if you’re not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied, and your emotions will continually let you know there’s a problem. And that’s the encouraging part. Being in the rumble may suck, but it’s more than worth it because that’s the place where you discover who you actually are. I can’t stand being alone–I’m terrified I’m not good enough–I deserve better than this. Whatever. After all the weeping and gnashing of teeth, there you are on the ground–naked, not faking it for once, finally real, and ready to stand up again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

"

Taking My Mind Back (Blog #221)

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Today I’ve been all over the emotional map–North, South, East, and West–in anything but a straight line. I saw my therapist this afternoon, and that’s almost always a shot in the arm. I mean, she’s hilarious and insightful. As per usual, we tackled “the list” of all the thoughts, problems, and curiosities I couldn’t stop thinking about this last week. Probably half our time was spent on dreams I’ve had lately, which included a hot sex dream and a dream about Hillary Clinton. (To be absolutely perfectly clear, those were two distinct, separate dreams.) I’ll spare you the lengthy analysis, but when it was over, my therapist said, “You really have the best dreams.” Well, not once in my life have I ever thought my subconscious would get such a glowing review, but now that it has, I sort of want to put it on my resume. Marcus Coker–can get shit done even in his sleep.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

In case it needs to be restated–my therapist detests social media. If you’ve looked at what people are posting lately, I’m sure you can figure out way. Anyway, today she had a whole slew of new anti-social-media stickers on her laptop, the biggest of which said, “Social Media Personality Disorder.” I said, “Oh, like, I’m neurotic because someone didn’t like my post or said something negative?”

She said, “Exactly.”

Beneath that sticker was one that said, “Take your mind back.” Tying the two sentiments together, my therapist said, “Don’t hand your mind over to other people. You know who you are.” To me this means that I can’t let a news feed filled with cats and political arguments tell me how to feel every day. What’s more, if I spend the day scrolling, comparing myself to others and looking for outside validation, I’m only going to end up feeling worse about myself. So ultimately, unless I want to be neurotic, I have to be responsible for my thoughts and feelings. This, of course, is the very essence of authenticity.

A couple months ago I started a small remodel project–replacing a door threshold–for my friend Ray. Well, it’s dragged on and on because the threshold had to be special ordered, and I guess the shipping department kept sending the product to a different store location. Not knowing this, the store I was working with kept ordering new ones–a total of three of them, in fact. Anyway, shit happens. I finally picked up the threshold today, was immediately deflated because I realized I didn’t have the proper tools to remove the excess length, then got excited when I went to Ray’s because I discovered it was exactly the right size.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

I guess technically–in this case–I threw myself a bone, since I’m the one who would have specified the length of the threshold when I ordered it. That being said, I’m willing to share the credit with life. Very magnanimous of me, I know.

The project itself went really well, albeit slower than I desired. Since some of the wood in the door frame was rotten, I needed to replace it, and this meant using a saw. Well, the only saw blade I had was dull, and for a while I dicked around hoping I could make it work. Dull blades are useless, of course, so then I tried chiseling the wood and even sanding it in order to make it the right size. This felt like trying to teach a cat how to bark. Well, I finally gave up, gave in, made the long haul back to the hardware store, and bought new blades. Y’all, things went MUCH faster after that. Who’d have thought? Now–after all this time–the project is finished.

Phew.

Feeling rather accomplished, I celebrated by playing with Ray’s new kitten, Leo. I’m really not a cat person, but I love black cats, and Leo was SO CUTE. Not only did he let me hold him in my arms like a baby, he also wore a black-and-white bow tie for the occasion. Talk about a class act. But seriously–a kitten in a bow tie! Could anything be more adorable?

The low point for the evening was checking the mail when I got home. Remember when I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for a skin infection? Well, I got the bill today, and apparently my insurance didn’t pay for anything–not a cent was spent. Talk about a huge bummer, letdown, and disappointment. I tried to stop myself, but I immediately commenced freaking out. I can’t afford this. I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Shit–I want chocolate chip cookies–This is a terrible day to be on a diet. Y’all, if it’s not obvious, it’s really difficult for me to stay calm in these situations. I went through a similar ordeal after I had sinus surgery this year (which turned out fabulously, despite my worrying), and every time the feeling is the same–I just want the whole thing over with.

This is probably something I should bring up in therapy, the way I flip shit whenever I see a piece of paper that says, “Balance due.” It probably has something to do with the fact that I was handed the family checkbook–which didn’t have much money in it, by the way–at the age of fifteen when Dad went to prison. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it has everything to do with that.

Anyway, it took me a while to talk myself down off the ledge. For a while I tried to ignore the issue by reading a book about writing I found at a used bookstore this afternoon. Then I decided I had to move, so I went for a run, even though it was drizzling and cold outside. Considering the fact that I’m just getting over three weeks of being sick, this may not have been the smartest move. Still, I had to do something to burn off my nervous energy, which I guess I had a lot of because I ended up running six miles. Along the way I remembered that 1) what’s done is done, 2) my life could be much, much, worse, and 3) it’s possible this could turn out better than I’m thinking it will. Around mile five, I actually laughed when I thought of one of my favorite comedy sketches.

Last month when I was in Colorado at a spiritual retreat, the teacher said, “Joy is not in the object.” This statement came out of the observation that most of us behave as if joy is in the object. Like, we want a new car, a new house, or a new boyfriend because we think having those things will make us happy. But if happiness resided in those particular things, they’d make everyone happy or they’d make us happy all of the time. Well, when I laughed while running tonight, I realized that just as joy is not in the object, neither is anxiety, nervousness, or stress. In other words, if a hospital bill were truly the source of my worry, I wouldn’t be able to laugh until it were taken care of. The fact that my mood can change, however, shows me that my reaction has very little to do with a sheet of paper and everything to do with me.

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

Personally, I think this is really good news, since I have a better shot at controlling myself than I do controlling the outside world. But the point is that the outside world really can’t control your internal one unless you let it–nothing outside of you can tell you what to think or feel. Granted, part of me is still freaking out about the medical bill, but the adult that’s sitting in this chair knows that I’ll call the hospital tomorrow and start a conversation about what can be done. Like the threshold project, I’ll want everything to be wrapped up as soon as possible, but I’ll remind myself that some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store. In this way, I hope to take my mind back from all the many people, places, and things to which I’ve let it wander, gently coaxing it back home to rest where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

"

The Hot Guy Who Hugged My Aunt and Not Me (Blog #218)

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About six weeks ago, for my birthday, my parents said we could go out to eat, which we finally did today. That being said, Dad told our waitress we were celebrating my birthday, HIS birthday, MY MOM’S birthday, AND MY AUNT’S birthday, so it really just felt like we were–well–eating out on a Friday for no particular reason. Lest I seem ungrateful, I did get to pick the restaurant–Outback–a place I not only love, but also meets my current dietary regimen. This morning I remembered the quote, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Of course, this sounds good if you say it fast, but as my entire family passed around chicken wings and ice cream while I forked my zucchini, I was like, Yeah, right.

A week before my birthday in September, I bought my first pair of stretchy jeans. Y’all, I love them–I wear them practically every day–but they are the worst thing in the world for someone who doesn’t want to gain weight because–well–THEY STRETCH. I mean, they offer absolutely no feedback whatsoever. Not once have they said, “You’re going to have to lie down if you want this zipper to close, buddy. You better watch the burritos.” Nope. Every day it’s been, “Don’t worry about that cheeseburger you inhaled last night–we’ve got room for plenty more.”

Anyway, the thing about owning only one pair of jeans you like is that you eventually have to wash them. So this afternoon before I met my family at Outback, I washed my stretchy jeans and figured I could wear my ex-favorite pair of jeans. After all, I reasoned, I’ve been on a diet for two days; they should fit fine. Wrong–they did not fit fine. Granted, I didn’t have to lie down to zip them, but they were so tight around my thighs that they cut off the circulation of blood to my toes. I was so afraid of ripping them that I spent the entire day taking steps so small they bordered on shuffling. Getting in and out of my car required holding my breath, keeping my thighs no more than eight inches apart, and praying.

God, grant my jeans the serenity to let go wherever possible, the courage to hold on everywhere else, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Determined to see the day when my jeans won’t have to work so hard to keep me inside them, I stayed true to my diet at Outback–even though it was (sort of) my birthday celebration. But then just when I thought life couldn’t get any more interesting than a plain baked sweet potato, some hot guy with perfect teeth and great hair brought my mom a salad. Well, naturally, I perked up, but get this–my seventy-year-old Aunt Tudie perked up too. Even before the guy walked away from our table, she said, “Did you see that?”

“Uh–of course I did,” I said. “It took everything in me to not fall out of my chair.

“Well, I really liked looking at him,” she said.

At this point our meal became infinitely more interesting. My aunt said she guessed he was in his late twenties, but I said he had to be in his early twenties, or I wouldn’t have been attracted to him. Then my mom (my mom!) said, “Marc, what’s your gaydar say about him?” (Gaydar is gay radar.)

“Well, his fingernails were really clean, so it’s definitely possible.”

My sister and I were mortified.

You know how every family has that one person who always goes out of their way to be embarrassing, like, they could do it for a living? Well, for our family, that’s my dad. When my sister and I were teenagers and our family would go out to eat, if my sister said something about our cute waiter, my dad would flag the poor fella down and say, “My daughter thinks you’re sexy. Are you single?” I remember once we were at a gas station, and my sister liked a cute boy’s Razorback t-shirt. So my dad approached him, gave him something like a hundred bucks, and honest-to-god swapped shirts with him right there in front of god and everybody. My sister and I were mortified.

As I think about these stories now, I’m actually grateful I didn’t come out until I was an adult. Can you imagine how my dad would have acted? Excuse me, young man, my daughter AND MY SON think you’re a–what’s the word?–studmuffin. Which of them do you prefer?

Well, Dad hasn’t changed much. After my aunt and I made such a big deal about the hot salad delivery boy at Outback, my Dad told our waitress that it was my aunt’s birthday and “she would love it if that handsome man would come give her a hug.” I thought, Oh my god, this is not happening. But the next thing I knew, the guy was marching over, my aunt stood up and put her arms out, and they were in a full-frontal embrace. She said, “You are SO cute. If I were thirty, well, forty years younger, I’d be chasing after you,” and he smiled and said, “I’d let you!”

I. Was. So. Jealous.

Y’all, it didn’t stop there. My aunt got so twitterpated about this guy that she couldn’t let him get away. Just before we left the restaurant, I thought she was getting up to go to the restroom, but no, I looked up, and she had this guy backed against a wall. Apparently, she’d turned her trip to the toilet into a reconnaissance mission. When she came back, she had his name, age (twenty-two–I was right), and sexual preference (girls–harumph). When my aunt came back to the table, she said, “I asked him if he had a girlfriend, and he said, ‘I can’t manage to keep one for very long.'”

My mom said, “Maybe because he’s gay.” (Thanks, Mom.)

My aunt said, “He said I made his day. I told him he really charged my battery.”

Charged my battery–that’s a direct quote from my retired aunt. I thought, I didn’t know your “battery” needed charging, but I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to talk about it.

My therapist says that if you see someone at a cocktail party and you get that “zing” feeling, run the other way because that’s a sure sign you’re looking at a disaster. Rather, she says, go up and talk to the ho-hum person that’s “just all right.” I guess the theory is that everyone’s subconscious is a shit-show that wants to be figured out. The best way to do this, of course, is hook up with a person who will push all your buttons and bring all your dramas to the forefront–that way you have to deal with them (or start seeing a therapist). That’s what the zing is all about.

As my therapist says, ‘Do you really want to go down THAT road again?’

Personally, I think this theory sucks and is no fun, but so far it’s proven to be true. Looking back, every guy that I was immediately attracted to and ended up dating ended up being a disaster. Perhaps better put, we ended up being a disaster together. That being said, I still feel that zing now and then. Honestly, I felt it at Outback today. I mean, if I had the balls my aunt does, I would have cornered that guy against the wall like she did. But seriously–a twenty-two year old who dates women. As my therapist says, “Do you really want to go down THAT road again?”

Well, when you put it that way, no–no I don’t.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve walked (or ran) down that road or one similar to it. It’s never ended well. And yet there’s always a part of me that thinks it will be different THIS TIME. It’s probably the same part of me that thinks I can eat chocolate cake and Taco Bell and still fit into my ex-favorite pair of jeans. Caroline Myss calls this our saboteur, the part of us that effs everything up when life is going well. But she says when we learn to work with it, our saboteur lets us know where our weak spots are, what roads not to walk down again. In my experience, I still desire chocolate cakes and pretty faces and whatever. But I’m slowly–slowly–coming around to the idea that “zing desire” often ends up looking like tight pants and relationships that land you therapy. The desire to be healthy, on the other hand, is more ho-hum, and it honestly looks more attractive all the time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For I am a universe–large–like you are, and there is room here for all that we contain. An ego, of course, is small, and it is disgusted and humiliated by the smallest of things. But a universe is bigger than that, much too big to judge itself or another, much too big to ever question how bright it is shining.

"

Giving My Own Self Some Damn Grace (Blog #217)

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When I woke up this morning, I felt worse than I did yesterday. Low energy, coughed up some junk. It wasn’t pretty. For a while, I actually thought about going to the doctor, but I’m kind of tired of doctors and all the drugs, so I ate breakfast and took a shower instead. Along the way, I decided to try sinus rinsing again (which I stopped a couple days ago), this time with a garlic infusion. I’ll explain. My chi kung teacher swears the best way to heal your sinuses is by putting a salad up your nose–well, by running sterilized, hot saline water over a clove of garlic, then using that water to rinse out your sinuses. The idea is that garlic is a natural antibiotic and anti-fungal, so no matter what’s causing the problem, it’ll get rid of it.

As a bonus, it’ll also keep vampires out of your nostrils.

Anyway, I tried the garlic-water-up-my-nose thing. Also, I added garlic to my diet because a stranger on the internet said to. Whatever, we’ll see how it goes. I will say that I’ve felt better this afternoon, and I even went for an almost-two-hour walk tonight, something I haven’t felt like doing for the last three weeks. Granted, I’m currently tired and holding my body upright with willpower and ambition, but aren’t we all?

I read recently that scientific studies have shown that vague prayers such as, “Thy will be done,” are more effective in healing than specific ones like, “God, heal Marcus’s sinuses,” or, “God, give Marcus the wisdom to stop putting vegetables and baby shampoo up his nose.” I guess the idea is that vague prayers show concern and compassion but drop any personal agenda that might presume to know what’s best for yourself or someone else. Anyway, I can’t remember the last time I asked someone to pray for me, but if you’d like to say, “Thy will be done” on my behalf, I’d appreciate it.

In other news, this is day two of clean eating. I promise not to become one of those people who post pictures of their organic lunches on the internet, but I am going to talk about them sometimes. (Like now.) Today I ate turkey and vegetables twice and salmon and canned peaches once. This is why I could never be a chief, since I thought that last meal was a good idea. But in my defense, it was easy, and–having done this before–pulling out the skillet three times a day gets old real fast. As I sit here now (sipping on peppermint tea with apple cider vinegar), I feel the same way about the diet as I do about the garlic water nasal rinse–hopeful that it will “work,” fearful that it won’t.

I guess whenever I start a diet like this, I’m always looking for a miracle. Once I ate clean for thirty days and lost sixteen pounds, but that’s never happened since. But it’d be nice if it would, and it’d also be nice if at the end of this month I could fit into all my clothes, my back didn’t hurt, and I had x-ray vision. Le sigh. Some things–most things–take more time than thirty days.

Unrealistic expectations aside, I do feel better when I eat well. If nothing else, I never feel stuffed and bloated. Tonight I met with my friend Bonnie to hang curtains. (She finally found some for our mutual friend. I’ll post pictures after the big reveal.) Anyway, she’s been eating “right” for the last month, and when I told her that after only two days of dieting I already felt like a skinny bitch, she said, “It’s kind of disappointing how good it feels to not eat junk.”

I mean, is she right, or is she right?

While walking tonight, I listened to part five (of seven) in a lecture on trauma and transformation. The speaker, James Finley, is a therapist and said that one of the benefits to a good therapist is that they put the client back in touch with themselves. Like, maybe you have a breakthrough or moment of compassion for yourself, and at first you give the credit to the therapist or even the office space, thinking someone or something else needs to be present in order for that good feeling to happen. But that breakthrough or compassion came from inside you, so it’s available all the time.

I’ve been thinking about this for the last few hours. I brag on my therapist a lot–she deserves it. I know she’s not a blood relative or even a traditional friend, but she treats me just as good if not better than anyone I’ve ever known–she never interrupts, she never tells me what to do, and she never judges me. In short, she respects me. Even when we disagree about something, we talk about it calmly, and she says our relationship can act as a model or ideal for other relationships in my life. Like, if I’m being bossed around or judged, that’s a clue that’s something is off. Anyway, I’m eternally grateful for all of this, but it occurred to me tonight that the way she treats me is the way I could treat myself–I could take that feeling of unconditional acceptance I have in her office with me when I walk out the door because I’m the one that’s feeling it.

To borrow a phrase from Bonnie, this means “giving my own self some damn grace,” not beating myself up for taking time to heal or starting a diet–again. Because that’s how it feels, like, I’ve tried all of this so many times before. But–for crying out loud–I’m just a human, and it’s our nature to struggle and try, to fall down and get back up again, to start over. I guess it’s also our nature to judge ourselves, to think we should be one way when we’re actually another. But I think that part can change, for surely if we can be patient with someone else (and all of us can), we can turn that love around to where it’s most needed.

Surely.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops.

"

If at First You Don’t Succeed, Lower Your Standards (Blog #214)

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This morning while preparing breakfast I mistook my middle finger for a sweet potato and cut it with a serrated knife. This is the kind of shit that happens when you eat vegetables for breakfast. I mean, I didn’t expose any bones or sever anything important, and I can still give people the bird. (So don’t cut me off in traffic.) But I did leave a mark toward the top, not deep enough to hurt, but deep enough to bleed. Now I have two Bandaids wrapped around it, and I’m having trouble typing the letters E, D, and C, and the number 3. But don’t you worry–somehow I’ll survive.

Recently I did an exercise in a self-help book that involved circling statements that seemed true for me, things that held a charge like “I’m shameful” or “I’m not worthy of love.” Personally, the one that stood out the most was “I’m not good enough,” I guess because it always feels like life would be better or Zac Efron would propose if I were smarter, taller, or more-er than I currently am. Anyway, I had therapy this afternoon, so I told my therapist pretty much word-for-word what I just told you.

“Okay, I want evidence. Give me empirical data. How are you not good enough?”

“Uh–well–uh–hum–yeah.”

“That’s right. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

As we continued to talk, my therapist said that “not good enough” really wasn’t a feeling, so we agreed the word “inadequate” was a better description. I often feel–inadequate. But still, she shut down the pity party pretty promptly (tongue-twister!), simply by reminding me that sure, I’ll always have more to learn because I’m an eternal student–but that doesn’t mean I’m not up to whatever the task is in this moment. “You were fine the day you walked in here. You’d had some experiences that lead you to certain circumstances, and you wanted something different. You’ve come a long way. But you were fine then, and you’re fine now.”

Phew. That’s a relief.

After therapy I spent the entire day at the library. I went with intentions of cozying up to one of the several books I’d already started, but I ended up spending time with two new ones instead. For this reason, it felt as if I was having an affair. As I turned the pages of the new books, I hoped the old ones wouldn’t find out. But stories travel fast, especially in a library, so I imagined myself going home to my Kindle and having to apologize. Baby, that cheap library book didn’t mean a thing. It was an accident–I was drunk. You’re the one really love!

Anyway, I didn’t even check out (get it–check out?) the first book, The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. Rather, I just pulled it off the shelf, sat down in a chair, and read it straight through. Only stopped to go to the bathroom three times. I love it when this happens with a book–total immersion. It feels so decadent. And yes–I just used the word “decadent” to describe reading. And no–no, I’m not a virgin.

The second book I loved on today was Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine by Larry Dossey, MD. (I didn’t actually finish it at the library, which means I had to bring “the mistress” home.) Toward the beginning of the book, the author tells a story about a back pain he once had that left him bedridden. Involved in both western medicine and alternative healing practices, he had several friends who came to his side, laid their hands on him, and treated him with crystals and god knows what else. Well, he said he loved it, but it didn’t solve his problem. Eventually he had surgery, reasoning, I’ve given this a good shot, but I’m tired of the pain.

What I loved about this story is that I completely related to it. For twenty years I struggled with chronic sinus infections, and I tried every “natural” remedy under the sun. Because there’s a lot of new age and spiritual material that touts the power of the mind over the body, I not only felt sick, but I also felt bad for being sick. If I knew more, I wouldn’t have a fever. If I were more spiritual, I wouldn’t be hacking up a lung right now. It was like each infection was another reason to beat up on myself–to not feel good enough.

This, of course, sucked. (I finally had surgery earlier this year.)

But the book said sickness happens to plants and animals as well as humans–it’s just part of life, not something we can avoid if we eat enough wheatgrass. We can and should try to be healthy, of course, but at some point, enough is enough. This reminds me of a cartoon bookmark I used to have in elementary school. It said, “If at first you don’t succeed, lower your standards.” Clearly, my standards have been too high for too long–I’ve been asking too much of myself then feeling “not good enough” every time I get sick, get dumped, or don’t get asked to the prom. But as my therapist pointed out, “not good enough” is simply not reality.

In the story of Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin spins straw into gold in exchange for the queen’s firstborn child. When the child is born, Rumpelstiltskin comes to collect his wages, but says that if the queen can guess his name (which she does), she can keep her child. I heard once that one of the takeaways of this story is learning to speak your fears out loud, to name them. If you can do this, they’ll go running. Well, between what I learned from my therapist and the book today, I think an appropriate name for my fear of not being good enough would be–Bullshit. Regardless, I do think there’s power in stating your insecurities and realizing not only that you don’t have any proof to back them up, but also that you’re not the only one who has them. We all feel inadequate from time to time. But the truth is we’re fine right here, right now, and we always have been.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

Courage and Those Who Hold Our Hands (Blog #205)

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When I woke up this morning around nine I coughed up some bloody snot. It looked like what I felt like the time. Now it’s four in the afternoon, and things could be better, things could be worse. Statistically speaking, my brain is functioning about sixty percent–well, considering I can’t figure how to end this sentence, let’s say forty-five. Anyway, I figure it only goes downhill from here, so I’m blogging now. Plus, I’m planning to go out this evening to see An American in Paris, the musical, since that seems like a good gay way to wrap this trip up. Anyway, the show starts in less than four hours, and the clock’s ticking.

Last night I went dancing again with my friend Kaleb, this time at a country-western bar called The Dirty Bourbon. Is that a great name or what? Anyway, The Dirty Bourbon is primarily a straight bar, but I guess they’re accepting. Kaleb and I were the only guys I saw dancing together, but I did see some women dancing together, and–most importantly–nobody got their ass kicked. Actually, I saw several people smiling at us, one guy at the bar complimented our dancing, and a lady in the crowd videotaped us doing the rumba.

Situations like the one last night are always affirming for me in the best way. Typically, if a guy holds my hand–let alone dances with me–in public, I usually feel like jumping out of my skin and running away because I’m afraid of what everyone else will think, say, or do. I know straight people have their problems–everyone has their problems–but I imagine this isn’t one of them, being afraid to publicly show affection for or connection with another person. A while back a guy held my hand on Garrison Avenue in downtown Fort Smith, my hometown. As we got close to our car, a couple dudes were standing outside a rather seedy bar, and I thought, Thank God I know a good plastic surgeon because this is not going to end well. Everything in me wanted to drop my date’s hand, but I didn’t. Then as we passed the dudes, one of them said, “Hey, fellas.”

And that was it.

Granted, I know bullshit happens to gay (and straight) people all the time. Strangers are total assholes, say mean things, commit acts of violence. Sometimes parents even cut ties with their own children when they come out of the closet. That being said, thankfully, my experience has been quite the opposite. Despite the fact that I’ve spent much of my life afraid of rejection and confrontation based on my sexuality, so far the only person to make a big deal about it has been me. Part of me still worries, of course. Last night at the country bar I was very aware that Kaleb and I were the only gay guys dancing together. But why should fear stop you from doing something you not only want to do but also have a right to do? Obviously, it shouldn’t.

This morning my sister and I took Christopher to an acting class. Y’all, it was absolutely adorable. The teachers were animated, patient, and amazing. There were maybe fifteen or twenty kids, and the teachers taught them about stage directions, getting into character, and memorization. Some of the kids were shy and timid. Others like my nephew had no problem projecting or asking questions (that didn’t actually have to do with acting).

For one of the exercises, the kids had to memorize a line from the movie What’s Up, Doc? The line was, “What do you think I am, a piece of ripe fruit that you can squeeze the juice out of and cast aside like an old shoe?” Best quote ever, right? Hell, I should probably use it on a few people, maybe add it to my Tindr profile. (I don’t have a Tindr profile. My therapist said the guys on there have a quality rating of “zero point fucking shit.”) But I digress. In addition to memorizing the line, the kids had to come up with a character, stand on stage, and perform the line as that character. (One girl was a cat.) Anyway, here’s Christopher performing as a robot. My sister and I were super nervous for him, but I don’t think he was nervous at all–and he nailed it.

This afternoon my sister and I took both the boys to a costume-themed birthday party at a local park. Ander dressed as “Captain Hook,” but he really just looked like a pirate. My sister’s husband said, “Don’t say anything.” Isn’t he adorable? (Christopher dressed as Peter Pan and was adorable too, but I forgot to take pictures of him. Since I took so many this morning, I hope he doesn’t end up in therapy due to this one oversight.)

At the party there was a piñata, and if you’ve never seen a bunch of blindfolded toddlers swing a stick at a moving paper-mache cat head, you’ve still got a lot of life to live. It was really more cute than I could handle for one day. Well, even before all the kids got a chance at swinging the stick, the piñata burst open, and every single one of those children went from zero to sixty in 1.2 seconds. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. They were on that candy like white on rice. My head’s still spinning thinking about it.

As I’m sure you know, sugar is the great motivator, so the kids were quickly all over the playground equipment. For a while I looked after Ander, and he kept wanting to go down this one little slide over and over (and over) again. I kept asking if he wanted to try a different one, a longer, taller one, but he kept saying, “No, it’s scary,” so we kept returning to the familiar. Even at that slide, every time he said, “Stand at the end to catch me–closer–no, closer.”

I suppose we are all timid like this now and then. After all, life can be a big, scary place. Of course, there are days we wake up feeling as if we can conquer the world, and these are the days we stand proudly and confidently on the stage of life. Other days–maybe most days–we feel as if we’re swinging a stick blindfolded, just hoping to connect with what we want. These are the days when our brains function below one hundred percent, when we are shy and unsure of our right to be here, to taste and enjoy all the goodness life has to offer. But I’m starting to believe that courage always looks like trying something even when you think you’re not ready, even when you’re afraid. Thankfully, we often have others who are willing to take us by the hand and courageously walk, dance, or slide into the unfamiliar with us. This reminds us, of course, that no one is alone. Also–more often than not–things turn out just fine and the world ends up being a safer place to live than we realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

Time Well Spent (Blog #200)

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9:33 AM

I’ve been awake for an hour or so, and I just finished a continental breakfast here at the glorious Comfort Inn and Suites in Carbondale, Colorado. Check out is in an hour and a half, so I’m about to take a shower, pack up, and hit the road. (It’s been real.) My destination is Albuquerque, where my sister lives, and it should take about eight hours, stops included. Because I’m still feeling yuck, blah, and gross, I imagine it’s going to be a long day. Jesus, take the wheel. Still, at the end of the road will be the ones I love. All things considered, life is good.

If it’s not obvious, I’ll be writing the blog in “installments” today to make my life easier. If you can think of some little something to make your life easier today, do it–you have my full support.

4:12 PM

I think I just set a new personal record. I drove for five and a half hours without a pit stop. I didn’t realize that was possible, so I’m considering nicknaming my bladder Champ. Who knows why the sudden change in behavior? Usually I pee constantly. Maybe my kidneys got enlightened this weekend, or maybe I’m just dehydrated.

The drive so far has been surreal. For whatever reason, my mind is at ease, and my usual sense of nervousness is nowhere to be found. Even when driving along narrow roadways with steep drop-offs, I was like, Whatever. I’ve only taken one picture (at a stoplight in Aspen), but the scenery has been gorgeous–Colorado and New Mexico in the fall are basically God’s backyard. Anyway, I’m in road-warrior mode and ready to see my nephews, so I’ll write more later.

8:08 PM

I got to my sister’s a couple of hours ago. When I arrived, the nephews started bouncing off the walls, and even Ander (the younger one), who usually hides from me, went nuts. They were skipping, jumping, leading me outside then back in. Eventually I sat down for dinner (thanks, Dee-Anne) and visited with my sister and her husband while Ander scooted across the kitchen floor on his back and repeatedly said, “Ow, ow, ow.” My brother-in-law said, “Imagine this non-stop for seven years.” I said, “I can’t.”

Seriously, how do parents do it? Well, how do parents who don’t drink do it?

Before Christopher (the older nephew) went to bed, he put a craft book on the table and asked me to help him make a paper airplane.  Seriously, this kid is great with building and making things, so he probably could have done it himself, but I guess this was an “advanced” model. Y’all, uncle-ing is hard. The instructions had like ten steps–the plane had a tail fin and everything. It was super detailed, complicated actually, and a couple times I thought, I can’t figure this out. But then I did–it finally came together. What’s more, it flew!

That’s right, I’m thirty-seven and can make a paper airplane.

But get this shit. Christopher–that little turd–ran straight to my sister and said, “Mom–I made an airplane!”

(Awkward pause)

“Well, I helped make one.”

9:40 PM

We always have more support than we realize.

For the last hour I’ve been chatting with my sister, but she just went to bed because she’s a mom. Anyway, I really like her. We talked about our family, school, and our individual responses to some of the bullshit we went through as children–specifically the fact that she expressed her emotions back then and I stuffed mine way, way down. (It’s okay, they’ve been working their way back up–like they do.) Since Dee-Anne lives so far away and most of my healing progress has happened the last few years, sometimes I forget that she went through a lot of the same stuff I did. Of course, it’s always good to remember that you’re not alone. We always have more support than we realize.

10:08 PM

A couple hours ago I realized that today’s blog is number 200. That’s 200 days in a row of sitting down, more than once propping my eyelids open with toothpicks, and opening my mind and heart for both me and the world to see. The goal is every day for a year, and I recently hit the halfway mark (183 days), but I note it on the blog every fifty days if I remember. So that’s why we’re talking about it now.

When I started this blog over six months ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Since I’ve been living back at home, I was originally going to call the blog Me and My Parents, then Me, My Parents, and My Therapist. But I thought, Surely I’ll move out again one day, so I dropped my parents altogether (but just from the blog). Anyway, as I’m writing about the blog now, it makes me want to cry. Maybe that’s because I’ve come to think of it as a friend. We have all these memories together. Each night we cuddle up together, I talk about my day, and the blog listens, wraps me up in its arms, and tells me I’m okay.

I’ve said it before, but I can’t overemphasize what a positive journey this has been. I’m out of work, living with my parents, and really have no idea what the rest of my life will hold. On the surface, I don’t have a lot to show. But beneath the surface, where it counts, I’m better than I ever have been. I’m less afraid and more sure than ever before. I’m more self-confident, comfortable in my own skin. I’m not perfect, of course, but I own my shit and am either working on it or okay with saying, “I’m fine the way I am.” The reason I want to cry, of course, is because I realize it’s not the blog that’s been my friend these last 200 days–it’s me–I’m the one who’s been there for me.

10:31 PM

At the spiritual retreat this last weekend, the teacher was joking about how people approach their spiritual lives, like, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a few free hours between errands today, I’ll check out that meditation thing.” This attitude, of course, is ridiculous. After all, he said, what’s more important than your freedom?

Learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing.

I’ve thought about this question off and on today. I know I’ve worried a lot this last year about how I’m going to make a living or what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but when I consider how much freer, happier, and peaceful I am now as compared to six months ago, all that “worldly stuff” pales in comparison. I’m not saying this process has been easy. On the contrary, there have been plenty of days that it’s felt like making a complicated paper airplane and letting someone else take the credit for it. Often the road has been long, and I haven’t felt so great. Still, I’d recommend the journey to anyone. For surely learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing, and making time to be your own friend is time well spent. And here’s what I can promise–at the end of the road will be the ones you love (and that includes you), and things will finally come together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

"

How Wide My Branches (Blog #195)

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Once again, I’m blogging while the sun is up. I hope this doesn’t become a habit. I mean, it’s all right. I woke up early to get ready to go out-of-town. For the last three hours, I’ve packed, showered, and gone to Walmart to get my “subscriptions” filled to deal with my current skin inflammation. I swear, my nipples are so red, it looks as if I’ve been breast-feeding. Anyway, I’ve quite literally packed almost everything I own for this trip. I might as well just throw the rest of my shit in the car and go ahead and move. Maybe I’ll meet Zac Efron in Colorado and that will be that. A girl can dream.

My main stress today has been “getting on the road.” I love a good road trip, but I hate getting ready for them. You know how it goes–all the shit to move around, trip after trip from inside the house to the car. My hair products alone weigh enough to make for a decent Crossfit workout. But I digress. The other big stress has been what to write about. It seems like I just did this last night, and other than spotting a few lesbians at Walmart, not much has happened. I guess we could talk about the yogurt I’m currently eating or the fact that my pharmacist said to not put the antibacterial ointment on my nipples as if it were axle grease.

I wonder if he thought I would enjoy that sort of thing.

Just now a man pulled in our driveway and hopped out of his truck with his two sons. Last week his uncle knocked on our door and asked if he could take some of the Chinese Chestnuts that had fallen from our tree into our front yard. “Sure, take all you want,” I said. Well, I guess our nuts are becoming a town hit, since the guy told his nephew about them, and he later came by and asked if he could bring his kids to get some. I remember being excited about this sort of things when I was younger. My sister and I would put the tops of carrots in little saucers of water, watch them sprout into little forests. Once a man came over and helped plant apple trees in our backyard. I was so excited, like I was going to be Johnny Appleseed or something, spend my summers hanging from the branches. Eventually they died, but before they did, our white-haired neighbor with painted-on eyebrows made a few killer apple cobblers.

As part of getting ready to go out-of-town, I dismantled the Lego set I put together several weeks ago. It’s not for certain, but I’m hoping to see my sister on this road trip, and I’d like to give the Lego set to my nephew. Since he’s seven, I’m assuming he doesn’t read my blog and that it will be a surprise. Anyway, when I put the Lego set on the kitchen table, my dad said, “How old are you?” Well, I put my shoulders back and said, “I’m thirty-seven, thank you.” Tonight I’ll be staying with my friend Megan, and she said she and her son were building a castle this afternoon. Honestly, this excites me. Just because you get older, I don’t think that means you have to lose your childlike sense of wonder. My therapist says that growing up means you don’t act childish, but you can–and should–be curious.

Earlier my friend Kara sent me a text with best wishes for my road trip. I said, “First, thanks! Second, help! I don’t know what I’m going to write about today.” Well, being the dutiful friend and eternal student that she is, Kara sent me a list of suggestions–road-trip snacks, pictures with roadside attractions, etc. My favorite, however, was “How quests have to start with questions.” Until she said it, I hadn’t thought of my trip as a quest, but I guess it is. Ultimately, I’m doing this because I’m looking for something besides Zac Efron–knowledge, self-discovery, more peace of mind. On the surface, the question I’m asking looks like, What’s this all about? Deep down, it looks more like, Who am I and what am I really doing here (like, on the planet)? I don’t expect to have those questions answered in a weekend, but perhaps a piece of the puzzle will come together.

Maybe that’s what I like about it–the mystery of it all. I can pack and plan all I want to, but I really don’t know what’s going to happen. I may stop and see some friends next week who are staying in New Mexico, but they said they may leave early if the weather gets bad. So I’m trying to be up for anything, to remain open and curious. For a planner like me, it’s not easy, and it’s kind of like I’m planning to be spontaneous. This makes even me shake my head. But I do think it’s exciting, not knowing exactly what lies ahead. Like those who plant seeds, my constant hope is to simply remain in fertile soil and tend gently to myself, all the while wondering what will become of this tree and how wide my branches can reach.

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.

"

That Which Rises (Blog #194)

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Well shit. Currently it’s one-thirty in the morning, and I just got back from the emergency room. When I woke up this morning, my right nipple was hurting. Honestly, I just thought it was a pimple, since sometimes that happens. But then this afternoon my other nipple (the left one) started hurting too, so I was like, That’s odd, I feel like I’m going through puberty again, I wonder if I’ll start lactating. Anyway, around midnight I took my shirt off to examine things, and the red bumps had spread to my armpits, so I thought, Houston, we have a problem. Fortunately, I didn’t freak out too much, since something similar happened about six months ago. But since I’m going out-of-town tomorrow, I did want to get it checked out, so thus the emergency room.

Anticipating a long wait, I took my laptop to the hospital and just figured I would blog while waiting. Well, sometimes life throws you a bone, and no one else was there. I mean, the staff was there, but no one was in the waiting room. Y’all, they had me back in a room in under a minute and were taking my vitals before they even asked me my name. They were awesome. The doctor was back in no time, and I quickly got a diagnosis–folliculitis, which is inflammation of the hair follicles, usually due to infection. So he gave me a pill for the night, slapped me on the ass, and sent me back home with prescriptions to fill tomorrow.

He didn’t really slap me on my ass. (That only happens in porn.)

I asked the doctor if it was a hygiene problem, and he said, “You seem like a clean person. It’s probably just bad luck.” But Google said you can get folliculitis from using a hot tub, so that’s probably it. Suffice it to say, I should probably bathe after using hot tubs and stop thinking of the hot tub itself as a bath. Lesson learned.

This afternoon the chiropractor ran ultrasound therapy on the spot in my mid back that’s been giving me shit for a few months now, and I think it’s actually helping, so that feels like a small miracle. Then I had my oil changed, and the hot guy behind the cash register kept calling me sir, so that did not feel like a small miracle. Then I met with the three ladies I’ve been working with lately for their last dance lesson before their performance this weekend. Y’all, I’m so proud of them. Today they showed up for a full dress rehearsal and they looked killer, all decked out in fishnet hose, white tails, and top hats. They’ve come SO far from where we started a few months ago. As a teacher (and just a human), it’s really rewarding to see people work their butts off for something and have it come together.

After the dance lesson, Bonnie fed me and gave me beer. The whole family gathered in the living room for dinner and conversation, and I’m not exactly sure how to describe it. I guess most the time I always have this feeling that no matter what I’m doing, I should be doing something else. My mind is go, go, go nine times out of ten. But there’s something about Bonnie and Todd’s house, whether it’s their living room or front porch, something that says, Sit down, stay a while–you can relax and be yourself. After a while, we all settled into our devices, and I borrowed their high-speed internet to work on another writing project and go ahead and download the photos for tonight’s blog.

Tomorrow I leave for a weekend, spiritual retreat of sorts in Colorado. I’ll be breaking up the drive, and I’ll keep you posted as a I go along. Thursday’s blog may look like, Drove all day, tired, and that’s about it. We’ll see. Anyway, the retreat is basically about–I think–finding that place in yourself that’s always calm and centered. My therapist says I’m “going to get enlightened,” but I’m sure that’s not really something that happens over the course of three days and two nights. (I’m sure she doesn’t think that either.) Whatever happens, I’ll let you know how it goes, but now I’m all nervous and wondering how I’m going to get everything done before I leave and how I’ll have time to blog every day.

I’m taking the nerves as confirmation that I’m still in need of enlightenment, and therefore not wasting my time and money.

For the longest time I used to think that getting sick was some sort of personal failure. Maybe since I was a teenager, it’s always felt like if I ate better, exercised more, and didn’t “sin” so much (whatever that means), I’d be healthier. Consequently, going to the doctor was a problem because not only did I feel sick and vulnerable, I also felt–well–guilty. Thankfully, these thoughts and feelings have seriously subsided over the last few years. I mean, I certainly believe I have a huge role in the health of my body, but I also believe shit happens. Tonight at the emergency room, more than anything, I felt grateful–I walked right in, had wonderful care, and got answers. And people smiled at me.

This, of course, is not a little thing.

It seems to me that healing happens in little pieces. You spend most your life feeling afraid and even cynical, maybe for good reason. Life, after all, can be a real bitch sometimes. But then one day you wake up, and even if your nipples hurt, you still think the world is a good place to live. Or maybe you start at zero with a dance routine, and every time you move your body it feels like a question mark. Week after week you work, then finally things click, and you’re ready to light up the stage. So many times I think that life is some sort of dress rehearsal for something bigger, but the show is clearly right here, right now. (It’s not where we’re going, it’s how we get there.) On this stage you and I are not so different–we smile, we stumble, we get back up again. I’m starting to believe that deep down there’s a part of us that’s always calm and centered, confident in the knowledge that we can relax and be ourselves wherever we go. If we’re lucky, this part rises.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

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