On Being Less Attached (Blog #895)

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Last night I spilled hot tea on my phone and two of the buttons stopped working. So after I blogged, I shut my phone down, removed the battery, and sealed my phone in a Ziploc bag full of rice. According to the internet and some (but not all) of my smart friends, the rice is supposed to suck the moisture out of the phone and–voila!–return it to normal working condition. (I’ve had moderate success with this method before. It’s worked for my phone but not for my laptop. And yes, I spill hot tea on my electronics a lot. Always after I’ve stopped carrying insurance on them, I should add.) Anyway, being without my phone has been a bit like being without my penis, I’m sad to say. That is, we’re pretty attached.

When I was in my early twenties and all my friends had cell phones, I refused to get one. “I don’t need one,” I said. Instead, I used my parents’ landline. I memorized everyone’s numbers. (Remember when that was a thing?) But when I turned twenty-five, I caved and got a flip phone. And me and my phone have been married ever since. Like almost everyone else in America, I’m rarely without my device. Not that I’m proud of this, but facts are facts.

Since I usually use my phone for my alarm clock, last night I used an honest-to-god alarm clock instead. Consequently, I didn’t sleep well. I wasn’t sure it would go off. I set it for eight this morning and–on my own–woke up at six-forty-five. Well, I never went back to sleep. But here’s the great part. Instead of picking up my phone and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and Instagram, I meditated and contemplated. Not like I closed my eyes and chanted, but last night I talked about my phone’s “death” as an opportunity for me to unplug and even get my nose out of other people’s business, so for over an hour this morning I considered these things. What’s really important to me? I thought.

When I finally rolled out of bed, I pulled my phone out of the rice, put the battery back in, and–with hope–pushed the power button. Thankfully, it worked. Everything operated as if nothing had happened. Except that I’d “lost” my contacts because I’d purposefully disconnected my accounts so they wouldn’t be exposed in the event I had to take my phone to a repair shop. But anyway, back to the good news. No serious problems. Still, I decided to turn my phone off and put it back in rice just to be on the safe side. Would it be the worst thing in the world to disconnect for a day? I thought.

No, no it wouldn’t, I thought back.

After eating breakfast and showering, I went to therapy, and my therapist told me I had really big balls (“elephantiasis” was her word) when I told her about my confronting someone recently. “I don’t know how you’re sitting there with your legs crossed,” she said. “Your nuts seriously must be cantaloupe-sized.”

“It’s just because I’ve been hanging out with you for five years,” I said.

Recently I’ve talked a lot about changing patterns and behaviors, and I use this story as an illustration of the idea that when you’re wanting to change or transform, it’s important to have a role model. This is why people in Alcoholics Anonymous have sponsors. You need someone who acts as an example of what you want to be. For me that example has mostly been my therapist. However, I also often think about Doc Holiday as portrayed by Val Kilmer in the movie Tombstone. The guy’s an absolute badass. He says what he wants and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Granted, he’s the sharpest shooter in the wild west and can back up his words with a his bullets, but still, the point remains. In order to reach our potential, we need mentors, people who say (by either their words or actions), “This is possible. Look what you can become.” Indeed, I don’t think it’s an accident that Tombstone has been one of my top-five favorite movies since it came out. It’s like a part of me knew–There’s something here to aspire to.

Now it’s nine at night, and my phone is still shut off. I’m thinking I’ll let it continue to dry out until tomorrow afternoon. And whereas I’ve had a couple twitchy, compulsive moments (like reaching for my phone after therapy or whenever I’ve put my car in park), it really has been the best thing. For one thing, I’ve been more intentional. Instead of letting someone else decide what I should think about, I decided what I should think about it. This morning I read the preface for a book after breakfast. This afternoon I paid bills. Tonight I had dinner with some dear friends and was absolutely present (when I wasn’t staring at the hot waiter). I can’t imagine I missed out on anything on social media. Also, I never once felt bad because some friend or stranger was bitching or talking about politics. Or because I was comparing my life to someone else’s. Rather, I was simply living–less attached.

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.

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Outside Your Comfort Zone (Blog #800)

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A few weeks ago my friend Shelli asked me if I wanted to play a character in a western-themed murder mystery for a local fundraiser. And whereas I’ve been telling people that she roped me into doing it (get it, western, roped?), the fact is I simply agreed. Still, I hesitated at first because staying at home sounded better and dressing up and acting aren’t always within my comfort zone. But then I thought, Come on, Marcus, live a little, and said yes. As the grandma in the movie Arthur says, “What the hell? We live once.”

The murder mystery was tonight, and my friend Kim let me borrow some of her husband’s cowboy clothes for my costume–boots, jeans, and a fancy shirt with roses on it. She even loaned me a pair of genuine chaps. And yes, they were ass-less. (All chaps are, I think.) Literally topping things off with my own cowboy hat, I headed to the party, which was held at a fancy private residence and included dinner, drinks, and desserts.

And to think I considered staying at home on the couch.

The setup was that I was the bad guy, Wavy Will, the outlaw in the town of Gravestone. (The whole thing was a spoof on the movie Tombstone, in which “my” character was Curly Bill. Get it, Curly Bill, Wavy Will? ) They had wanted posters with my mug on them plastered all over the place. Wanted Alive–Wavy Will Bronchus–$1,000.

Now come on, I think I’m worth more than that.

As guests arrived at the affair (supposedly held in a saloon), the other characters and I interacted and dropped clues about our relationships. For example, Wylie Arp (Wyatt Earp) had just moved to Gravestone, and several of the other characters wanted him to run for sheriff so he could arrest me and my band of outlaws, The Ranchers (The Cowboys). After two rounds of interaction, I turned up dead. This was a surprise to me and everybody else, although the whole point was that SOMEBODY was going to die. From this point on, I had a halo on and could walk around and make (ghostly) faces but couldn’t talk.

Dead men tell no tales.

Here’s a picture from the end of the game when each character got their final say. The girl beside me was the only guest to figure out who shot me three times in the chest. It was Abby Oakley (Annie Oakley), pictured above and below in red, whom I’d insulted earlier in the evening. “You couldn’t hit the backside of a barn,” I yelled. “Girls can’t shoot guns.”

Obviously, I was wrong.

Y’all, I’m thrilled I agreed to do this thing. I had so much fun getting into character and playing and visiting with my friends. (I ended up knowing several cast members in addition to Shelli.) Some of them had done a murder mystery before and/or acted in the theater and were absolutely inspiring to watch and work with. Since leaving the party, I’ve been thinking about how I could improve my character if ever given the chance to do it again.

One of the things I thought about tonight was how it can often feel strange to “try on” a new personality trait–assertiveness, for example–but how it can actually be fun. This has been my experience since starting therapy. I used to think of myself as shy and timid–a people pleaser. But that was just a character I was playing, and I’ve since learned to play a different one, one I like better. Dustin Hoffman says that this is what acting is, tweaking your personality the way you tweak your wardrobe when you’re trying to pick something out to wear for dinner. You grab a shirt and think, No, that’s not right, so you grab another.

Likewise, you can do this with you personality in your day-to-day life. If you have a discussion with your boss or friend and it doesn’t go well, you can try again. You can adjust your tone, be more assertive, be more receiving, whatever it takes. You can keep trying until it feels right, until you think, Yeah, that’s it. That feels more honest. That feels more like me.

Tonight’s blog is number 800 (in a row). And whereas I wish I had something profound to say to commemorate this fact, I don’t. Instead, I’m ready to call it a night. Still, it occurs to me that most of us don’t know ourselves. We grow up thinking that we’re shy or timid or not one to speak up, talk about ourselves, or share personal details. I used to think these things. But from day one of the blog I’ve purposed to be honest, to not play a character but–as much as is possible–play myself. Tonight my friend Shelli said, “There were women at the party who thought you were so cute.” I said, “Do they have brothers?!” Oh my gosh, y’all, I never would have said this five years ago. I was too worried about what other people thought. But tonight it just came flying out–because I’m in the habit of being honest, of being myself. Lately I’ve been cursing more in dance lessons. I don’t apologize. This is who I am.

Sometimes I say four-letter words.

Everything worth having is outside your comfort zone.

My point in sharing these examples is not to say that being out or cursing when you feel like it are the measures of authenticity. They aren’t. If you’d told me five years ago I’d be doing these things, I would have told you to go play in traffic. In other words, the me of the past is absolutely shocked by the behavior of the me of the present (as are plenty of people who’ve known me for years, I’ve been told). My point is that you really don’t know what you’re capable of until you try. Part of you will always think you can’t be assertive or honest or strong or independent or even affectionate if you’ve never been these things because that’s all you’ve ever known. But if you try a different way and succeed, you prove to that part of yourself that you’re more than what you thought you were. Is this scary? Yes, as hell. But it’s worth it. This is what 800 days of being honest has taught me–that just as you can’t have new experiences and enjoy the world around you by staying home on your couch, you can’t discover your hidden strengths, talents, and abilities by staying within your comfort zone. Indeed, everything worth having is OUTSIDE your comfort zone.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them. 

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On Making a Living (Blog #750)

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Currently it’s two in the morning, and I’m out-of-town, at a hotel. I’m exhausted. I drove ten hours today, total, in order to attend a funeral. For a friend’s father-in-law. It was good, but I’m tired. And stuffed. After I checked into my hotel, I walked to a local diner and ate chicken and waffles. And two beers. Oh my gosh, it was so much food. (But that didn’t stop me from eating it.) The waiter said, “I’m not sure what part of the chicken that is.” I said, “I think it’s the whole chicken.” Seriously, my insulin is working overtime.

Tonight’s blog is number 750 (in a row), and next to the chicken and waffles, there’s only one thing I want to talk about. I’ll explain. At the funeral, a few friends asked me what I was up to these days. “Writing,” I said. One friend asked–out of curiosity–if that could be a full-time gig. “For some people it can be,” I answered. “And I hope that’s the case for me. Regardless, I’m willing to give it a shot and see what happens.”

Later I was introduced to a stranger, a man in a nice suit. After he shook my hand and got my name, his first question was, “What do YOU do?” And whereas I realize this is a common question, it set me on edge, since it felt like it was said not out of curiosity, but as a way to size me up. Well, wait. I trust my gut. It WAS said as a way to size me up. Anyway, I didn’t even mention writing because I didn’t think he could handle it. “I’m a dance teacher,” I said.

“You can make a living at that?” he said.

Feeling threatened, I stiffened my bottom lip, lowered my voice, and slowly said, “You sure can–believe it or not.” Then I just sat there. Later one of my friends said I handled it graciously, but I wish I’d said, “I JUST SAID I did it for a living, asshole, and I’m CLEARLY sitting here–still living.”

Of course, the guy was asking if I made any money, if I could pay my bills. I grant that we’re all curious about these sorts of things. I also grant I’m hypersensitive to the topic because I haven’t been working or getting paid as much as I used to, when I owned the dance studio. But this evening while eating my chicken and waffles, I pulled out the program from today’s funeral and thought about how simple it was–the name of the deceased, when they were born, when they died, where they were buried, who sang and played the music today, and Psalm 23. A man lived over sixty years on the earth, and that was it. Anyway, I thought about what emphasis that one guy put on “making a living” and then thought about how I’d feel if that phrase were etched on my tombstone.

Marcus Coker–He made a living.

Again, I know we all have to put bread on the table, but the older I get, the more important it is for me to make a life rather than a living. Said another way, since I’m already alive (we all are) and an expression of life itself, my goal–more and more–is to fully express my soul, spirit, or life. Whatever you want to call it. I told one of my friends today that there’s part of me that KNOWS I’m meant to be writing. I’m not saying I’m meant to make a million dollars writing, but I know that if I get to the end of my life and haven’t pursued this to the best of my ability, I’ll feel regret. I can’t say that about dance. I love it, but I don’t think it’s “why I’m here.” At the same time, it does bring me joy, just like writing does. And this is becoming my gold standard–to only do things I love. Not that I’ll never do something just for money, but I won’t get stuck there again. I won’t sell out again. Being poor sucks, but not being true to yourself sucks worse.

Making a living. What a ridiculous concept. I am living. You are living. We’re all living. The question is, “Are we living joyfully? That is, are we doing what brings us joy? (Are we living out of our hearts?) Or are you just paying our bills?”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

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The Re-Oriental (Blog #605)

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There’s a theory in psychology that you can tell a lot about a person if you know what their three most favorite movies are–because it tells you what’s going on in their subconscious. And whereas it’s not my intent to discuss my three most favorite movies in this post, I would like to discuss my FOURTH most favorite movie–Tombstone. Hum, why do I like this movie–psychologically, that is? It’s about the wild west and a band of outlaws called The Cowboys, and Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday (and their friends) absolutely clean their clocks. I guess that’s it. Their such badasses; they don’t take any shit from anybody else. They stand up for themselves. Their simply not–what’s the word?–afraid to face their demons.

There’s this scene toward the beginning of the movie–Wyatt Earp has just rolled into Tombstone (the town) and enters a saloon called The Oriental. Well, the place is real fancy, like nicer than your mom’s living room, but there’s hardly anyone in the place because their card dealer is a total jerk, a real blowhard. Wyatt asks the owner, “Why don’t you get rid of this guy?” The owner says, “I’m too scared.” So Wyatt says, “I’ll do it.” And just like that Wyatt calls the guy’s bluff and tosses him out on his ear.

So get this shit. Last night I had a dream about The Oriental. However, instead of it being a saloon, it was a hotel–a huge, grand hotel. This is like a theme for me; I can’t tell you the number of hotel dreams I’ve had. The last time I brought up a huge, grand hotel dream to my therapist, she said, “That’s you–big and grand.” Considering the fact that I also have A LOT of construction dreams about building houses, an activity which I think correlates to my building a new life (both internally and externally), I personally see hotels as representing that which is temporary, as well as the need to rest.

But back to last night’s dream. I’m in a swimming pool (water dreams are pretty much non-stop for me) and say, “I’m going to change [my bathing suit.]” The problem is that I can’t find my room, Number 364. Two people give me directions, but the room isn’t where it’s “supposed” to be. So I’m running all over the place–upstairs, downstairs, you name it. Finally I find the right room number, but on the inside is a sweet shop, a restaurant. And then I woke up. Looking at the clock, I noticed it was one in the afternoon.

I’d slept for eleven hours and was still tired.

This afternoon my friend Matt and I rehearsed for our upcoming dance routine at our friend Bonnie’s house. I mean, we rehearsed at her house; the performance is in Northwest Arkansas. Anyway, we worked for several hours. And whereas we got a lot done–the routine is really coming together–my body hurt pretty much the entire time. I have this issue with my right hip, and I guess one of the new moves we’ve been learning irritates the hell out of it. Or at least my doing the move wrong irritates the hell out of it. That’s the thing with aerials–the moves themselves aren’t that bad if you do them right, it’s just figuring out HOW to do them right that hurts.

I don’t have any pictures from our dance rehearsal, but here’s a picture of me with Bonnie’s new boots, which I think are absolutely fabulous. Check out that dollar sign!

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m icing my hip with a bag of frozen blueberries in an effort to minimize the damage from earlier. Hopefully that, the drugs I just took, and a good night’s rest will do the trick. We’ll see. I may have to go to the chiropractor this week. They do this ultrasound thing that really helps with inflammation. I mean, whatever it takes.

But back to last night’s dream and a couple things that fascinate me. First, The Oriental. The obvious connection is to the movie Tombstone, in which case it would be a reference to finding my voice and learning to stand up for and take care of myself. But I think there’s also a wordplay in the name of the hotel–The Oriental–that refers to my current quest to “orient to” or follow my own path in life. (I guess you could call what I’m doing The Re-Oriental.) Second, the room I was looking for, Number 364. The obvious connection here is that 364 is one day shy of a full year (and is the exact number of days one book I recently read about the sun and moon suggested using if you wanted to make your own calendar), so that would be a reference to time. But for me it’s also a reference to my birthday (9/13), since 364 can also be written as 9/4 (because 3 plus 6 is 9), and so can my birthday (because 1 plus 3 is 4).

I realize the birthday/math part is potentially confusing, but I’m always doing this, adding numbers together to see if they match, and it’s the first place my mind went when I woke up this afternoon. Anyway, my birthday would still be a reference to time, and that would make sense because in the dream I couldn’t find my room, and in my real life it feels like I “can’t find the time” or don’t have enough of it. That’s what they say about dream interpretation. WHAT in your waking life FEELS this way?

When I consider the fact that in the beginning of the dream I said, “I’m going to change” and then ended up in a sweet shop/restaurant, the time thing makes sense. That is, I see sweet shops and restaurants as places to kick back, relax, and recharge. And yet I’m always in such a damn hurry to change–running from here to there, thinking I need to move into that new construction–that I rarely remember to slow down, rest, and take better care of myself. Even when my body hurts and WANTS to rest. So the sweet shop is a reminder that there’s TIME to chill out, that this is WHAT time is for–for changing, for re-orienting, for–what’s the word?–healing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

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