Talk about a Serious Gain (Blog #362)

It’s two in the morning, it’s been a long but good day, and I don’t know what to write about. Tonight’s blog is number 362, the first of “the final four” that will complete “year one,” so it feels like it should be profound. But–chances are–it won’t be. Still, at least I’m here writing. Barring something catastrophic, I’ll soon be celebrating having written every day for a year, at which point it won’t matter which posts were profound and which weren’t. At that point what will matter is that each post, just like each piece of a puzzle, has contributed to the entirety or the wholeness of this project.

Today my therapist and I celebrated the anniversary of our first session together, which was technically four years ago this last Saturday. (My friend Bonnie refers to this date as my “psycho-versary.”) Granted, the “party” wasn’t a huge deal–like, Zac Efron didn’t jump out of a cake or anything. We didn’t even have streamers. But we did take a few moments to acknowledge all the progress I’ve made and all the work that both of us have done these last several years. This is something I hope to do more often–stop and recognize how far I’ve come, rather than simply thinking, But I have so much further to go.

Tonight I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house, and this afternoon she sent me a message that said, “If you show up early, the boys (her young sons) would like to show you the Legos they put together over spring break.” Y’all, these kids are adorable. For maybe twenty minutes they showed me their all the toys and gadgets they’ve put together recently. And despite the fact that most the toys were recommended for children below the age of ten, I was fascinated. I used to play with similar toys when I was their age, and I still love figuring out how one thing connects to another.

As the boys were showing me their treasures, they kept using a phrase I’ve never heard children use before. They’d say, “One new thing we gained is this robot” or “One other thing we gained is this dinosaur.” That word–gained–is something I’ve been chewing on tonight. First, I’ve been thinking about the fact that gain implies something positive and worthwhile, something you’re proud to have. Like, I’d never say, “I gained another sinus infection.” But I’ve also been thinking that in order to gain something, you have to lose something else. In order to gain something, you have to pay a price. The boys, for example, may not have had to purchase their toys, but somebody did, and the boys at least had to spend their time putting the toys together.

As I think about it now, I realize that how a person spends their time and resources is a dead giveaway as to what they value. Like, I can look at the boys’ room and tell they LOVE building things, creating things, and learning. Personally, I love these things too. Also, I love and value writing, which is why I write this blog every day (every damn day). Granted, I lose or give up plenty in order to do so–hours of my time, hundreds of my dollars (for web hosting and design), and missed opportunities (time with friends, etc.). Sometimes, I’m sure I have bitched about these losses. Just tonight I told my friend Bonnie that I was “still” living with my parents. But I’m reminded that for every thing I’ve (willingly) given up in order to write this blog and practice my craft, I’ve GAINED so much more in return.

For one thing, I love, like, and accept myself a hell of a lot more than I used to.

Big gains come at a high price.

Naturally, this same line of thinking could be applied to my time in therapy. Today I told my therapist that of all the good things that have come out of four years of therapy, the very best–like, above and beyond all the others–has been reconnecting with my authentic self, my truth. Talk about a serious gain. The more authentic I am (the more I share myself “warts and all”), the more comfortable I am in my skin and in the world around me and the less anxiety, stress, and nervousness I feel. Sounds great, right? Well, it is. But big gains, naturally, come at a high price. In my case, I’ve spent countless hours and dollars on therapy, books, and other personal growth material. I’ve shed a lot of tears and had a lot of hard conversations.

Still, every minute, every cent, and every challenging thing has been worth it because I’ve gained me. (Now I think, What a terrible thing, to live without yourself.) In this sense, just like I think every blog post is important because each is a link in an unbroken chain, I’m starting to think that every good, bad, and ugly thing in my life is important, perhaps even necessary, because each has somehow brought me to where I am now, this place where I’m meeting myself. I’m always saying that I don’t recommend this inward journey (because it’s hard), but that’s not true. It is hard, but I absolutely recommend this inward journey because in my experience it’s the only way to really put the pieces of your life together, to see how one thing connects to another, to finally become whole.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

"

The Most Important Lesson (Blog #359)

Currently it’s just after midnight, and I’m in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve stayed here, sometimes in the spare bedroom upstairs, sometimes on the couch downstairs. (I’ll be on the couch tonight.) When I was in my twenties and traveling to various dance events, I used to pit-stop here a lot. At some point my aunt just gave me a key, like, come and go as you please. You know how it is when you’re part of the furniture. You walk in, throw your keys on the table, and immediately relax. No matter what kind of day you’ve had, it’s okay because–well–you’re home.

Y’all, I’ve had the best day. Spring is in the air, the weather is glorious, and Tom Collins (my car) and I had a great drive into town this morning. Right off the bat, my friend Frank and I had coffee. Frank and I met each other through our Reiki group and keep up by email. Plus, Frank reads the blog and regularly sends me encouraging messages, like, You’re not alone–I feel that way too. Well, we had a delightful chat, and get this shit. As we left the diner where we met, Frank said, “I was cleaning my closets out recently and–I don’t even know where I got it–but I found something I don’t think you can live without.” Naturally intrigued, I said, “I can’t WAIT to see it.”

Y’all–it was a 2009 High School Musical (Zac Efron!) wall calendar! Talk about the perfect gift. I seriously couldn’t stop smiling.

I can’t wait to hang it up.

And yes, I’m a 37-year-old man.

Well, as if that weren’t enough, I then met my friends Kara and Amber for dinner. We were supposed to meet recently in Fayetteville (we all live in different cities), but I got stuck in a bad traffic jam and couldn’t make it, so we rescheduled for today. And whereas the company was amazing–like, it really was great, and I love, love, love our talks–what I’d really like to discuss now is the desserts. We split this chocolate cake and gelato thing that was UH-MAZING, as well as a gooey blueberry cake situation that was better than any one-night stand or long-term relationship I’ve ever had. I’m not even a big fruity cake fan, but this thing knocked my socks off. I mean, it was a huge FO.

FO (pronounced eff-oh) stands for Food Orgasm, Mom.

After dinner I attended a local swing dance. I didn’t tell any of my Tulsa dancer friends that I was coming, so I got to surprise a few of them. Plus, some of my Arkansas dancer friends were in town, so it felt like a little reunion. Y’all, I had some great dances. By the time the night was over, my shirt was dripping wet. Plus, it turned out to be my friend Marina’s birthday. No kidding, she turned 96 today. 96, and this woman was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Where’s the WIFI at?” Talk about an inspiration.

For me, there’s something about dancing in Tulsa. When I was cutting my teeth as a young swing dancer, my friends and I used to drive to Tulsa to learn how to Lindy Hop. (When it comes to dancing, Oklahoma is “slightly” more progressive than Arkansas.) Anyway, that’s how I met my friends Gregg and Rita (whom I’ve traveled with over the years), and that’s how I (eventually) met Marina. And no kidding–as much fun as dancing can be with a stranger, it’s even better with your friends. Really, there’s nothing like it, moving to the music while you’re holding hands with someone who’s known you and loved you through all of life’s peaks and valleys.

Tonight’s blog is number 359, which means that I only have seven more posts to go (including this one) in order to reach a solid year of daily writing. Just thinking about this fact, about crossing the one-year finish line, makes me emotional. A year ago this was just an idea. I remember exactly where I was standing and what was going on when it came to me. And whereas I was excited about this blog, I had no clue (none) how it would change me for the better. Closing in on “year one,” I can honestly say this is both the most difficult and simultaneously most rewarding project I have ever undertaken.

No exceptions.

In the beginning of this project, there was a part of me that imagined my life would look different by now, that I’d either have more readers or a book deal, or that I’d be living in a different city. Now I think it’s safe to say that none of those fantasies will materialize within the next week. But honestly, that’s okay. You see, the universe likes to play tricks on people. A year ago I thought I was starting this blog in order to get something, like a ticket to a better life. Perhaps I wouldn’t have started it any other way. But somewhere along this journey, I realized that a deeper, wiser part of me actually started this blog in oder to BECOME something.

In almost a year, I’ve written over 350,000 words, each one as honest as I could make it. Some of you–God bless your hearts–have been there for every frickin’ one. And yet despite all these honest words, this is where words fail me, since I can’t find a way to properly describe what a beneficial thing this strange trip has been (and is). I can try (I have tried and will continue to try), but I really believe that if you want to know, you have to take the trip for yourself. You have to go where your spirit calls you.

When I talk about “becoming something,” what I really mean is “becoming someone,” specifically–yourself. And that’s the weird thing–a year ago I wouldn’t have said that I wasn’t me. And yet there were so many places in my life where I was intimidated or afraid, places where I felt “less than.” Likewise, there were so many times that I’d bite my tongue or people please, hide my truth or shut myself down in some way. And all of that is different now. I can’t say exactly when it happened, but I can say exactly where it happened–right here at this laptop. This is where I’ve sat down 359 times in order to–often unknowingly–discover and meet myself, to get honest about what I want, what I feel, and what’s happening inside.

Of all the lessons I’ve learned, perhaps this is the most important…

But back to words failing. When I walk into my aunt’s house, I know I’m part of the furniture. Likewise, when I sit down to dinner with my friends Kara and Amber, I know I can let my hair down. It’s the same when I’m on the dance floor with my friends Greg, Rita, and Marina. In these moments, these fleeting moments, I’m home. But after this strange trip, now it’s like I’m home all the time. Somehow I got a ticket to a better life, but it’s not an external one–it’s an internal one. Now no matter where I am or whom I’m with, not only am I less intimidated and less afraid, I’m also more comfortable in my skin. Less and less do I feel “less than.” More importantly, I know that no matter what happens, I’ll always have one person on my side, one person who will be there for me and love me unconditionally. This one person, of course, is me. Of all the lessons I’ve learned in the last year, perhaps this is the most important–this one person is enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

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Tough Stuff (Blog #341)

To borrow a phrase from my sister, I feel like a bag of ass. My head hurts. My body is weak. My sinuses are a snot factory. My temperature is elevated, 99.9. Not technically “fever level.” Still, I don’t feel cute at all. If Zac Efron asked me to go out this evening, I’d be forced to tell him to come back another day. That’s how bad this is.

When will this–whatever it is–be over?

I’ve spent most of the last twenty hours in bed. Now I’m propped up in a chair, where I just ate a meal and am currently blogging. With any luck, I’ll be back in bed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. If anyone has any medication that would knock me about for, oh, seven solid days, please leave it on my doorstep.

In other news, Dad has his heart catheterization this morning. From what I’ve been told, it took a while but went well. They put three stints in. With any luck, he’ll be home tomorrow or the next day.

I’m currently at just under two hundred words–that’s about all I have to offer at the moment. I wish I could tell you that I’m hanging in and holding strong, but I’m not. At the same time, I haven’t completely lost heart. Mostly I’m in shock. Like, This again? You’ve got to be kidding! And yet, no, life is not kidding. Sometimes it’s tough stuff. Sometimes it takes all the strength you have. Which, I hate to admit, is more than you realize.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

"

Lord Voldemort, Zac Efron, and My Fingernail (Blog #266)

Welcome to my daily health report. Things don’t look good today; they’re definitely worse than yesterday. I’ve been up for about an hour, and so far I’ve coughed up, blown out, or otherwise ejected enough snot from my body to fill a mason jar. It’s fun to talk about, I know. I’m assuming this is a cold or sinus infection. If it is a sinus infection, it’s especially frustrating, since I thought I was making serious headway in that department. (Get it–headway?) Regardless, I’m think I’m going to start referring to this crud as Lord Voldemort, since it’s most certainly of the dark lord and is apparently going to take a wizard to stop it.

Expecto mucoso!

Last night my friend Bonnie and I went to the opening night of The Greatest Showman, the new Hugh Jackman and Zac Efron (Zac Efron!) movie about PT Barnum. Thinking it would be sold out, we snagged tickets yesterday afternoon and showed up early. Well, apparently everyone was watching Star Wars, since the only people in our theater were me, Bonnie, two little boys and their mother, and a dozen high school cheerleaders. A musical, the film is beautifully shot, sung, and choreographed and tells the story of how PT Barnum started his famous circus and consequently provided a home for society’s outcasts–little people, bearded ladies, etc. Based on the previews, I was really expecting–and wanting–to cry, but I didn’t. This, I think, had to do with the writing–I never fully identified or cared about any of the main characters. Still, it was the perfect way to get out of the house and see Zac Efron on the big screen. As one of the high school girls proclaimed when the audio suddenly got quiet, “God, he’s pretty!”

I hollered back–“Right?”

Currently I’m in a mad dash to get this blog done. I’m going out with a friend this evening, and I expect it to take every bit of energy I possess. That’s fine, since I can take it easy this weekend, but I don’t want to get home tonight and have any of my “have tos” undone. So I need to finish blogging, practice chi kung, and definitely take a shower–I’m sure my friend would appreciate that.

Every day that I don’t feel well, I tell myself I’m going to take it easy and write a short blog–fuck writing–but I haven’t figured out how to do that yet. But now I’m under 500 words and hoping this will be the last paragraph, so maybe I’m making progress. Earlier I sliced into my fingernail with a knife while cutting a sweet potato. My fingernail is only a couple millimeters thick, but it stopped me from slicing into my finger. Perhaps this is what hope is, something little that makes a big difference, something that says tomorrow will be different than today, something that says, “That was a close call, but you’re going to be just fine.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

Coming Out of the Desert (Blog #237)

Last night I went grocery shopping at Walmart, and there were so many people, I wanted to throw my bag of organic lemons at everyone who crossed my path. On the canned fruit aisle, I did my best to be patient as a little old lady argued with her granddaughter about whether to put oranges or pineapples in the fruit salad. Oh my god, I thought, would you please make a decision? You’re blocking the sliced pears! Well, next thing I knew, the lady started talking to me–“You’re here for a reason!”

You’re damn right I am, I thought as I smiled, and it’s on the other side of your cart.

But then she said, “Would you be so kind as to reach up on that top shelf and hand me a jar of cherries?”

Well I felt like an ass. “I’d be glad to.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” she said as she headed down the aisle.

I reached for the sliced pears. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

At the risk of being presumptuous, I think my sinus infection is getting better. Last night I started a new YouTube home remedy (I’ll spare you the details), and whether it’s that or the antibiotics kicking in, I’ve been breathing better and coughing less all day. Plus, I’ve had more energy and felt like drinking coffee (that’s usually a good sign). More than anything, I’ve actually had positive thoughts today. Life isn’t so bad. My body can get over this. There’s still time to meet Zac Efron. This, of course, is a big improvement over all the moaning, groaning, ain’t-it-awful thoughts that have been hanging around the stage door of my mind for quite a while now. I mean, this evening I went back to Walmart to pick up a couple things I forgot last night, and despite the fact that the whole town of Plymouth Rock was there, I didn’t want to throw fruit at a single person.

Talk about a holiday miracle.

This afternoon I spent some time reading at Sweet Bay Coffee Shop. At one point an elderly man wearing a Korean War ball cap came over and said, “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re reading. I think that’s great! You never see young people reading anymore.” So we had a nice chat about books versus the internet, but the whole time all I could think was, Oh my god, he thinks I’m young!

And I don’t even moisturize.

Another thing I did this afternoon was go the library. Y’all, I’ve said it before, but did you know those books are FREE? Seriously, what a great place. Anyway, I picked up a book by Robert S. Ivker called Sinus Survival: The Holistic Medical Treatment for Allergies, Asthma, Bronchitis, Colds, and Sinusitis. I saw a copy of it in a bookstore last week, and it was mentioned in the YouTube video I watched last night, so I figured I needed to read it. Apparently the author is a doctor who used to have chronic sinus infections but successfully healed himself and has since helped thousands of his patients do the same. As of now I’m fifty pages into the book, and I’ve already learned more about sinus infections than I have from twenty years of having them. So we’ll see how it goes.

But I’m hopeful, and that’s a start.

I think what’s comforting about a book like this is knowing that I’m not alone. The author says that sinus infections are actually one of the top health problems in the world and qualify as an epidemic. He tells the story of one lady who had fourteen sinus surgeries before she came to his clinic. I mean, I’ve had a lot of problems over the years, but I can’t even imagine. Anyway, regardless of what happens in the future, it’s nice to realize that the universe hasn’t been singling me out all these years. We all have our challenges.

Tomorrow marks forty days of my being sick, so I’m choosing to look at it symbolically, as if it were the forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness or the forty years God’s children spent in the desert. (Seriously, who gave Moses the map?) This number, of course, more than being literal, symbolizes a period of testing or tribulation. I suppose all sorts of good things can come out of difficult times like these–patience, inner strength, and compassion, to name a few. Who knows what something is ultimately for? I mean, I thought I went to Walmart last night for sliced pears, but that little old lady thought I was there to help her with a jar of cherries. And who’s to say I wasn’t? Likewise, who’s to say the guy who wrote the book I’m reading wasn’t sick so he could help others? Perhaps that’s the case with me. At the very least, this problem has brought me closer to myself, and that’s certainly enough.

If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

But what I’m currently most thankful for is the idea that our times of tribulation eventually come to an end. That’s what I’m starting to believe–that’s the hope I talked about last night and mentioned earlier. For years I’ve run around to medical and naturopathic doctors, health food stores, and spiritual retreats trying to heal my sinuses and “get better.” The surgery earlier this year was a huge improvement, but over and over again it’s felt like everything was hopeless and nothing would work. But I really am coming around to the idea that if life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer, that we’re not meant to suffer forever. For surely the wilderness was meant for crossing, just as the desert was meant for coming out of.

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. 

"

Mystics Aren’t Picky as Shit (Blog #233)

After a long day here in Springfield, it’s three in the morning, and one of Anne and Andy’s black cats is staring at me from across the room. I’m guessing she’s wondering what I’m going to blog about tonight, like I know. I swear, sometimes writing is so frustrating. Ninety percent of your time is spent staring at the wall, as if good ideas live in the sheetrock and come out when given “the look.” It honestly feels like waiting on Zac Efron to call. Like, what are the chances? But as a writer, you just keep staring at the wall, trusting that a good idea will eventually present itself, then you can spend the other ten percent of your time actually writing.

Of course, by writing I mean hitting the backspace button.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I noticed was that god had not left a miracle of healing under my pillow. Rather, I still felt anything but fabulous, and to top it all off, the weather outside had turned cold and wet. I honestly don’t know how our ancestors survived before things like medication, central heat and air, and indoor plumbing. That being said, I used to live in an old house with gas heaters, only one of which I kept on all the time. So for months I’d come home and see my breath in the living room or trek down the hallway in the middle of the night to use the bathroom only to be welcomed by a cold toilet seat.

As if that were any way to treat a loyal customer.

Still, even though this isn’t my favorite time of year, I try to suck it up and do the best I can. This morning I threw on an extra shirt, trudged through the rain to my car, and headed out for a session with my ninja massage therapist, Rod. Well, anytime I’ve seen Rod before, he’s worked pretty deep, but today he didn’t–everything was nice and easy. I mentioned the difference when the massage was over, and he said, “I didn’t have to work deep today. Whatever you’re doing–living at home with your parents, I guess–it’s working. Your body likes it.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “I’m always picky as shit when it comes to my body, so maybe I focus too much on what’s wrong.”

“I mean, there’s always stuff to work on,” he said, “but from my perspective you’re doing great.”

For lunch my friend Matt and I went to a tea room across from Anne and Andy’s dance studio. Y’all, everything was flowers, chandeliers, and pink dishes. I’ve never felt so pretty in all my life. If you’re ever on Commercial Street in Springfield, you should look for this place–there’s an actual Mad Hatter’s tea party table that’s been turned upside down and attached to the ceiling! Additionally, the food’s great. Matt had a monte cristo with mushroom soup, and I had a tuna salad stuffed tomato with mushroom soup.

Since I’m on a diet, I was really proud of myself for not eating the bread that came with my meal. You know how it is when you’re on a diet, the way you get all high and mighty. You spend thirty years eating whatever the hell you want, then all of a sudden you find yourself turning your nose up at club cracker, like, I would never. Well, I guess our waitress realized I was exercising my willpower because she brought over a dessert tray that was big enough to park your car on and waved it in front of my nose. Y’all, it was filled with cakes, cookies, and macaroons of every shape and size. I swear, even eating one item would have been enough to turn Jack LaLanne into a diabetic on the spot.

It looked delicious.

Naturally, I thought about ordering half the tray, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “No thank you, I don’t want anything.” I don’t want anything? Y,all, I was just as surprised as you are. I spent the summer eating food truck tacos and drinking better, and now tuna salad without crackers is more than enough to satisfy me? What has happened? I mean, it’s practically winter, I’m freezing over here, and this is no time to be losing valuable body fat, and yet I’m on a diet. Where was all this willpower six months ago during swimsuit season?

After lunch Matt and I worked on Lindy Hop for a couple hours, then I took a long nap. When I woke up I felt like a new man–not perfect, but so much better than this morning. It’s amazing what sleep can do. Tonight the lot of us cleaned up the ballroom downstairs, which was used this evening for a wedding. Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m blogging on the futon, covered up with a blanket and wearing my sock cap to stay warm. My eyes are itchy from the junk or allergies (I guess), and I really, really think we were meant to hibernate at this time of year and not deal with all these irritations.

Seriously, who thought winter sinus infections would be a good addition to life?

Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

For all the time I’ve spent poking around in the spiritual section of bookstores and attending yoga classes, I haven’t had many experiences that you could call mystical, moments of utter bliss and serenity. But I did have one such experience in that old house a couple years ago during the winter–in the middle of the night on a cold toilet seat no less. So there I was, shivering, hating it–then I just stopped. It felt like someone wrapped a thick blanket around my entire body. It’s hard to explain, but my sense was that the cold air itself was alive and holding me, not just in that moment, but in every moment of my entire life. Anyway, it seems now as if I spend a lot of my time waiting–waiting for ideas to show up, waiting on my body to look or feel better, waiting on winter to go away. Like most people, I simply assume life will be better and I’ll be happier when whatever it is happens. But clearly life doesn’t need me to boss it around. Rather, perhaps it’s waiting on me to stop being picky as shit, recognize that more things are going right than are going wrong, and remember that even during my most uncomfortable moments, I’m supported in ways I can’t even imagine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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

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)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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

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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Things are only important because we think they are.

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Cheering Each Other On (Blog #169)

Currently it’s before midnight. Mom and Dad are watching television, I’m doing laundry, and the most interesting thing we’ve talked about all day is how much dog hair the vacuum cleaner sucked up earlier this week. I mean, I saw the evidence in the yard this morning–it looked like a toupee. Anyway, it’s not exactly a Friday night to be envied, but I’m planning on getting up early tomorrow, and that’s why I’m writing now and not watching Netflix with my imaginary boyfriend.

Speaking of which.

For my birthday two different friends sent me a GIF of Zac Efron blowing a kiss and winking at the same time. One of them posted it on Facebook, which–I often forget–my mom is a member of. So the next day my mom referenced the GIF and said (and I quote), “I bet you could look at that all day.” (Take all the time you need to stop laughing.) I said, “Aren’t you cute?”

See what I missed out on by staying in the closet so long?

I’m planning to get up earlier than normal tomorrow in order to do yard word for a friend. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, mostly because I’m used to getting up about the time the sun is going down, and it’s pretty difficult to weed eat a lawn by the light of the crescent moon. Plus, yard work is hard work. The older I get, the more drugs it requires. Most importantly, I don’t really have the clothes for it. When I had my estate sale last year, I got rid of all my yard work and painting clothes, said, “Fuck this shit,” and haven’t looked back since.

Until today.

Leave it to a homosexual to get hired for yard work and wonder what he’s going to wear. I actually thought about going to Walmart tonight to buy some crappy clothes that I wouldn’t have to worry about messing up. But then I remembered I have a pair of shorts that are falling apart and a four-dollar v-neck t-shirt I’m really not in love with. I thought, Okay, but what am I going to do for shoes? Well, my dad’s feet are smaller than mine, but–on a long shot–I asked if he had any old shoes that would fit me, and he did. Turns out it’s handy to have an aunt who works at a hotel where she periodically gets to raid the lost and found.

So, to the–I’m assuming–elderly gentleman with slightly wide feet who left your velcro shoes in Van Buren, thank you. My fashion standards have officially be lowered. As for you dear reader, if you happen to see me in said velcro shoes this weekend, please pretend you don’t know me.

Tonight I taught a dance lesson to a student who can be pretty tough on themselves. I mean, as a dance instructor, it’s pretty common to hear someone say, “I’ll never get this.” In response, part of me is always cheerleading at work, saying, “You can do it,” so it usually feels like I’m one pom-pom away from sleeping with the quarterback. (Wouldn’t that be nice?) Sometimes people think all my encouragement is bullshit, just an act to earn a dollar, but it’s not. Almost without fail, people exceed their own expectations (and I get to be right). Often less than fifteen minutes after doubting themselves, they’re doing the thing they just said they couldn’t.

I say, “See, you did it!” (Raw raw sis boom bah!)

“Yeah, but I won’t be able to do it again.” (GOOOOOOOO team.)

As a teacher, self-talk like this is hard to hear. Having worked with hundreds and thousands of students, I absolutely know that anyone can learn to dance. At least they can learn to dance better. In over fifteen years of teaching, only once have I thought, How did you walk up the stairs? Here’s your money back. Use it to go bowling. But even that couple, who only came to one class, could have improved. It would have just been a matter of desire, practice, and time. And really, it hurts to see capable, talented, intelligent students put themselves down and not believe in themselves.

So.

A couple days ago one of my friends sent me an email. In short, he said that after reading several of my blogs, he walked away with the crazy notion that sometimes I don’t think I’m good enough or good-looking enough. He said, “If I’ve misjudged that, I apologize.” Uh, no, you read that right. My friend then shared something a friend of his once shared. He said, “If you could only see yourself like I see you, like many other people see you, you’d never think another negative thought about yourself again.” Then he added, “You are more than your body.”

I haven’t written my friend back yet, but his email has been such a beautiful reminder to be kind to myself. Just today I’ve felt not good enough, not good-looking enough, and overwhelmed because–I don’t know–pick a reason. Some days, some years, you’re single, living with your parents, carrying a few extra pounds.

I don’t know why it’s easier to see beauty and potential in someone else than it is to see it in yourself. I have friends that I could easily forward that email to, people I think the world of and love without condition, and I can Hip Hip Hooray all day long for my dance students. But sometimes it’s difficult to extend that unconditional love and can-do spirit to myself. Still, it’s getting better, and I’m grateful we’re in this together, holding each other up, cheering each other on, and blowing each other kisses–whatever it takes to remember how beautiful we all are–even in velcro shoes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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Ripped from a Page (Blog #138)

This afternoon I went to physical therapy, something I’ve been doing on an almost weekly basis since someone slammed into the back of my car a month and a half ago and turned me into a real-life bobblehead doll. Honestly, physical therapy itself been going great. A couple of weeks ago I got moved from twice a week to once a week, and today I got moved to “almost done,” which means I only need to go back if I feel like it during the next month. That being said, when I walked in today, the therapist said that my posture was “almost perfect,” that my left shoulder was “a bit” high and my head was turned “slightly” to the right.

Well, shit.

Of course, part of me is thrilled with the progress (or whatever), but a bigger part of me is “a bit” stressed out and “slightly” terrified that I’m not–well–perfect. Maybe that’s my perfectionist talking. It’s difficult to say.

Yesterday I started making a dream board, also known as a vision board. It’s one of my 101 creativity assignments, and it involves collecting pictures and phrases from magazines that represent dreams I’d like to come true. (If anyone has a teeny bopper magazine filled with Zac Efron photos, please drop it in the mail to my address.) So this afternoon I went to the library, and while upstairs streaming an episode of Will (the new TV series about young–and hot, let’s not forget hot–William Shakespeare), I searched for dream board additions in some of the free magazines I found downstairs.

When I was in junior high, I worked my ass off on an insect collection–you know the kind where you stick a pin through a dragonfly (that you caught with the lid of your parent’s barbecue grill) and another pin through a tiny piece of paper that says “dragonfly” along with the scientific name. Well, it really was great, since I’ve always been a rule follower and extremely anal retentive. HOWEVER, I got marked off four points (for a total of 96 percent) because the edges of my paper weren’t completely straight, since I’d creased the paper on the side of a table and torn it rather than using scissors. At the time, I was devastated. Looking back, I wish I’d known enough to look my teacher right in the eye and say, “Bitch please.”

Obviously, the event stuck with me. I mean, that was over twenty years ago, and I still can’t help but wonder if my life would have turned out differently if I’d gotten those four extra points. Now that I think about it, I’ve wasted a lot of time on perfectionism, which my therapist says is just another name for fear (fear of not good enough, fear of rejection). This is something I’ve been working on–letting go of being perfect–so when the instructions for the dream board said to tear (literally tear) out whatever I wanted to add to my board, it honestly felt great to rip, rip, rip the magazine pages apart and see all those jagged edges. Fuck you, 100 percent.

After gawking at young–and hot, let’s not forget hot–William Shakespeare and working on the dream board, I ran into one of my former students with whom I always have fabulous conversations. When I talked about the blog (as I tend to do), my friend referred to my daily self-reflection as “encountering yourself,” which I think is the perfect (there’s that word again) phrase and something everyone should make an effort to do before they die.

Encounter yourself.

Before I left the library I signed up for the online course I mentioned yesterday about healing your emotional wounds. I’ll let you know how it goes, but one of the ideas presented in the lesson today was that the two natural responses to having a wound are shielding (for protection) and soothing (for healing). The guy teaching the course, Artie Wu, says that shields can show up as anger, people pleasing, and–get this–perfectionism. Soothing can show up as drugs and alcohol, food, or working or using media too much. (I wonder if binge watching hot Shakespeare counts.) None of these responses are bad in and of themselves, but the question to ask is whether the behavior hurts more than it helps. In my case, if I’m going to get real about it, the idea is that perfectionism is a way to avoid criticism (you’re not good enough) and engender praise (you’re the best boy ever). And whereas there’s nothing wrong with that strategy, it does come with a lot of baggage, like the inability to relax with crooked pictures on the wall or walk out the fucking door without every hair on my head just so.

This evening I went to hear my friend Donny play at Core Brewing Company in Fort Smith. He and some of his friends have a band called The Wren Boys, and they’re currently playing every Tuesday night. (Come join the fun.) Here’s a video from their set tonight.

While the band played, Donny’s wife, Vicki, and I discussed the idea of being playful, and as I’ve thought more about it, being playful–curious–seems to be the opposite of perfectionism. Just watching Donny and his friends, it’s the most laid back thing–off the cuff, unrehearsed–fun. And isn’t that the point–to life? I mean, where does it say that all your edges have to be straight (or even that you do)? Maybe this means that one of my shoulders will always be “a bit” higher than the other, my gaze may always be “slightly” off, but clearly I’m the only one taking points away from myself for having “almost perfect” posture. But that’s changing. Honestly, the more I encounter myself, the more I realize that all my edges are torn–almost as if something bigger than myself had ripped me from a page and dreamed that I’d come true.

[Seriously, if you have any old magazines (with or without Zac Efron) you’d like to get rid of, I’d love to have them.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And whereas it's just a single step, it's a really important one.

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