The Way Life Progresses (Blog #134)

1 Comment August 11, 2017 CoCo

Okay, I just paid my credit card bills for the month, and my blood pressure is still within normal limits. Phew. Glad that’s over. Now it’s 3:23 in the morning, and I’m in downtown Springfield. The television in the living room is still on. My friends Anne and Andy are asleep. Their three cats are God-knows-where. Most importantly, their books are organized.

I’ll explain.

My job today was to “feng shui” Anne and Andy’s bookshelf. Like me, they love books, and most of them have been piled-up in no particular order, along with several knick knacks and such, on the bookshelf in their hallway–and it’s been that way for years. Anne said, “Please help,” so I said, “Sure.” Here’s what we started with.

Okay, I thought, this might take a while. (I was right.)

The whole project took even longer than expected because I moved books and knick knacks from the living room to use in the hallway, which meant I had to redecorate the living room too. More than once I thought, I don’t know what to do, but I just took it one step at a time. First I found a bunch of colored glass bottles in the desk in the living room, pulled them out, and decided they needed to go on top of the desk so they could be seen. Then I added the glass bottles from the top of the bookshelf, and a theme became apparent–blues, greens, and browns. I didn’t take a before picture, but here’s the after. I just love it–it kind of makes me want to own things again just so I can arrange them.

The furniture in the living room is neutral–grays, wood, glass, and metal–so I kept the color on the shelves to a minimum. A little red, a little green. I placed the heavier objects (books) toward the bottom of the shelves and the “lighter” objects up top, since I didn’t want the shelves to feel like they were going to topple over. Also, I added some larger books to the coffee table because I think every coffee table needs large books. Again, no before picture, but here’s where we ended up. I didn’t put the cat on the couch, but I do think she complements everything quite nicely.

Finally I went back to the bookshelf–the original project. Shit, I thought, I just used up all the good books in the living room. What am I going to do now? So I started digging around in the guest room (my room when I’m here) and found some Raggedy Anne and Andy dolls, which I paired front and center with a Raggedy Anne book I found on the bookshelf. Then I grouped the non-fiction books together (yoga, martial arts, home decor), the fiction books together, and the vintage (old) books together. When it was all said and done, after four hours of work, here’s what happened (from a different angle because you can see better).

I don’t know if anyone else gets excited about this sort of thing, but I sure as shit do. It’s almost orgasmic to me to make everything pretty, get stuff “right where it belongs.” I mean, being anal-retentive and hyper-organized can really drive you crazy, but if there’s a benefit to being so fucking picky, this is it–you can have nice bookshelves!

This evening I helped Anne and Andy and their staff tear down from today’s wedding and set up for tomorrow’s. We swept and mopped the floor, rearranged tables and chairs, added tablecloths, and restocked the bar. (Can you imagine actually living above a fully stocked bar?) When we finished, we ate leftover cake from today’s wedding. Who knew you could get the best part of a wedding without having to attend one?

Just because it’s pretty, here’s what the cake looked like before.

Here’s what it looked like after. And no, I did not eat every piece of cake in the photo–but I did eat two of them.

This afternoon Anne said she thought it would take us four hours to tear down and set up the ballroom. Well, most everyone helping had worked plenty of times before, so I guess they had it down to a science. All the tables and chairs got moved to one side, then the floors were cleaned, then everything was moved back. One table at a time, two chairs at a time. All the while, Anne and Andy played music. I whistled. Then all of a sudden, we were done–in about two hours instead of four.

Tomorrow the couple getting married and their friends and family will take over. One by one they’ll pour into the ballroom and decorate it. One by one they’ll come back after the ceremony, eat food, drink beer, and celebrate. Before midnight, maybe two hundred people will leave the ballroom the same way they came in–one step at a time.

I suppose our entire lives are lived this way–one step at a time. We brush our teeth, we make the difficult phone call, we go the funeral, we eat two pieces of cake. (Well, some of us do.) So often I start projects like redecorating a bookshelf or writing a blog, and then I get overwhelmed and think, I don’t know what to do next. But without fail, something happens, I do something, even if it’s just scratch my head, move one blue book from here to there, or write one word. There, that’s one word that wasn’t there before.

Byron Katie teaches that most of our suffering or stress (but only all of it, she says) is caused by our believing thoughts that aren’t true. Something terrible happens–maybe someone dies–and we think, I don’t know what to do. (She asks, “Does this thought bring peace or stress to your life?” My answer: stress.) But then we cry, or eat a casserole, or get up and go to the bathroom. So the reason the thought “I don’t know what to do” is untrue is because, in the moment, you do know what to do–you’re doing it.

There’s a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace.

It seems that this is the way life progresses–moment by moment. Projects go undone for years, then one day they get finished. You live your whole life single, then one day you’re married and there’s leftover cake. We get so worked up, so stressed out about the little things, the big things in our lives. We think, I don’t know what to do. We think, I can’t wait. And yet there’s a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace. I suppose we forget that we too are like the planets, part of a larger universe that is always proceeding one step at time, never in the wrong place, everything always right where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

Not Everyone’s Cup of Tea (Blog #133)

1 Comment August 10, 2017 CoCo

Sometimes, at 330 in the morning while the rest of the western hemisphere is sleeping, I feel like sleeping too. More accurately, I feel like quitting. I mean, I love writing, but every damn day is a lot. Surely I could be happy as an underachiever, or hell–just an achiever. Anything but the balls-to-the-wall overachiever that I am. Currently I’m in Springfield, Missouri, staying with some friends, and there’s a remote control and Netflix within spitting distance of this futon, and don’t think I haven’t thought about closing this laptop and going for it.

But here I am–once again–writing. UGH.

This morning, before I’d even been awake for half an hour, I got an email that a piece of writing I submitted for a statewide contest had been rejected. (“Not accepted” was the actual phrase they used.) Well, I don’t mind saying that reading that email sucked. It still sucks. Granted, I get that it’s only one contest and blah, blah, blah, but “not acceptance” always blows in the worst way. I mean–as long as I’m being honest, since that’s what I do here (ICK)–I kind of had my heart set on that contest. A friend of mine is a past-winner, and they said I was a shoe-in. I’d already mentally spent the prize money, thought about how I would thank my parents in my acceptance speech.

I heard recently that a good percentage of our mental activity and time is spent on daydreaming–thinking Well, if this happens I’ll do this. If that happens I’ll do that. If he happens I’ll do him. So I guess all the fantasizing is very “normal,” but it still sucks.

Damn daydreams.

Just after the email came through, I had an appointment with my massage therapist, Gina, and we started talking about which of my leg muscles felt tight. I said my quads felt tighter than my hamstrings, and Gina said, “Hum, let me think.” Then she had a “lightbulb moment,” started working on my quads, and explained that they were pulling the front of my hips down. (Think of a bowl with muscles attached to the front and back. If the front is pulled down, the back will tilt up.) Gina said, “The quads are strong enough to cause your hips to tilt. They have the power to do that.”

Within minutes, I felt my quads release. Gina said, “We may have hit pay dirt.” Later when I got off the table, I could tell my hips were more level, less tilted. My butt didn’t stick out as far. (Sorry, ladies.) My hips weren’t rocked back like usual. Wow, I thought, My body is actually changing. Part of me thought this would never happen, but–it’s happening.

Later I tried to call my therapist and left a message. Then–because it’s part of my creativity homework to spend time in a sacred space–I went to sit in a church. Just walked in and sat down. No one else was there–just me and God. I felt like I was in a movie–that is until the janitor started moving around and making noise. Still, I was this big ball of emotions–disappointed about the contest, excited about my hips, wondering what to do next, whether or not I should throw in the towel, settle. Then I noticed a candle burning near the altar, and I thought about how it continued to burn–day in, day out–no matter whether or not anyone was there to see it. Just a candle burning with no need for praise or recognition.

Can I be like that candle?

As I left the church, I noticed I’d missed a call from my therapist, so I called her back and caught her in between clients. I said, “I get that dreams don’t always come true the way you think they’re going to, even if they do come true. And I’m just trying to not go into a downward spiral over this contest.”

“Contests are so subjective,” she said. “You don’t know if it was a tie and someone said, ‘Just pick one.’ Or maybe the judge had a fight with their spouse that day. Plus you have to remember–people are fucking stupid.”

So then I started laughing.

“You know, there are people who meet me for an intake and say it’s not going to work for them,” she said. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t want to be everyone’s cup of tea. I work REALLY HARD TO NOT BE everyone’s cup of tea.”

Yeah, I like that. I don’t want to be everyone’s cup of tea either.

A couple of weeks ago my friend Vicki introduced to Ana Maria, one of the artists who’s participated in The Unexpected (artist/mural festival in Fort Smith) for the last three years. She currently has a pop-up gallery in downtown to showcase her work, so today she met me for a private viewing. How cool is that? How cool is that octopus mural at the top of the blog?

Way cool.

Here’s a painting Ana Maria did of two foxes. It’s called Grief.

Next to Grief hung a painting she did of an octopus and some flowers. It’s called Jubilo, which is Spanish for joy.

I said, “That’s interesting–grief and joy–right beside each other.”

This evening I drove to Springfield to attend a dance and help my friends Anne and Andy at their wedding venue because one of their regular staff members (my friend Matt) is out of town. During the drive I kept thinking about how many muscles connect to the hips, how hard it is to keep them balanced. If one set of muscles starts pulling, the others have to overwork to compensate. I kept thinking how Gina referred to the quads’ ability to cause imbalance.

They have the power to do that.

At the dance tonight, there were several times that I got completely lost in the moment, having fun, laughing. My friend Andy led me in both two-step and Lindy Hop, and it was a thrill-a-minute because I didn’t have to be in charge for once. (Ironic, I know, that I’ve been upset because things didn’t work out my way.) He even dipped me back. Yippee! Then a couple times I thought, Oh yeah, I lost that contest. I guess I’m still sad about it. But I’m having fun now. And my hips are getting better.

I suppose Ana Maria had it right–putting grief and joy beside each other. Perhaps they’re the same thing–expectations disappointed, expectations fulfilled. This is the way life goes. But when I think about someone I don’t even know judging my writing–one of probably hundreds of entries–I know that person, that situation can disappoint me, but neither has the ability to affect my balance for very long. No, I’ve decided. They don’t have the power to do that. I’ve worked too hard to not be everyone’s cup of tea. What’s more, my joy comes from within, and–at least for now–sitting at this laptop every night is what I’m called to do, what my soul demands.

So I guess I’ll write another day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Beating yourself up is a far cry from self-respect."

Meeting the Universe (Blog #132)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Love stands at the front door and says, “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself to come inside.”

Hoping Something Will Work (Blog #131)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

The “Enough Is Enough” Button (Blog #130)

1 Comment August 7, 2017 CoCo

Last night I went to Walmart in Van Buren to buy the ingredients for dirt dessert, which are basically sugar, sugar, dairy, and Oreos. One of my creativity assignments this week was to “bake something,” so I figured I didn’t need to complicate the matter and settled on something easy. Anyway, while I was shopping, I noticed some light-up block letters used for decorating, so I rearranged the top row to spell SICK. (The only other option was TITS, and that’s not really my thing. Plus, it’s Van Buren.) Notice the letter I is actually a bottle of beer. It was the only “vowel” available, and I actually enjoyed the implication.

Been there, done that.

As it turns out, there’s a reason I’m not a cook. I screwed up the dirt dessert. Basically I thought I had to make the vanilla pudding first (with 4 cups of milk) AND THEN add an additional 3 cups of milk along with the other ingredients. Well, I was mistaken. I needed 3 cups total, not 7. So things turned out–uh–runny, more like a milkshake. That being said, the concoction did firm up a bit overnight, and it’s pretty tasty.

All day–all day–today, I’ve had a headache. Maybe I slept wrong. Maybe my body doesn’t like a month’s worth of sugar in one night. It’s difficult to say what causes these things. But it hasn’t been fun, this sort-of dull pain that just sits at the back of my head the way a vacuum cleaner salesman might sit in your living room and refuse to leave. So far I think I’ve taken Ibuprofen or Tylenol three or four times today. I lost count. Currently I have a heated rice bag around my neck and have peppermint oil slathered everywhere above my shoulders. It’s supposed to help, but I smell like a candy cane.

It’s not cute.

This evening I went out to eat with one of my favorite people, who likes to remain nameless. I mean, she has a name, uses it often, seems to enjoy it, but likes to remain nameless–on this blog. Anyway, more than once she said I was perky. (Perky–that was her exact word. I’m quoting.) I mean, I just looked up the definition. I guess perky is all right–jolly, lively, cheerful, bouncy, effervescent–that’s totally me.

At your service.

Okay, I might as well just say it. I’m starting a new project (in addition to this one because I apparently want to sleep less). The name of the project and website (which isn’t up yet) is called I Want the World to Know. I just started a Facebook page tonight (go like it when you’re done here). It’s seriously in the beginning stages, but the idea is that I’m going to start asking people, “What do you want the world to know?” or “What’s your best advice?” Then I’ll share the answers, with maybe a picture of the person, online. In my mind, the answers will cover a range of topics–self-help, relationships, automobile care, cooking (don’t use too much milk for dirt dessert!). You know, any little thing that might change your life for the better.

So far I’ve only gotten answers from a couple of people. But I asked my friend tonight, and she said she just got back from a trip to Iceland. She said the people there all lived about the same, meaning that both teachers and doctors lived in houses that were similar sizes–no one was too extravagant. What’s more, she said they seemed content with what they had. They weren’t saying, “More, more, more.” So she said that she would tell the world, “Find your ‘enough is enough’ button and be happy. Just because something is good doesn’t mean more will be better.”

Well, I guess to prove the point, she suggested that we SPLIT dessert. (Yeah, sure, I can do that. Considering all the sugar I had last night, that would probably be a good thing.)

Isn’t that adorable?

Since I got home tonight I’ve been thinking about the “enough is enough” button, and I think it has a lot of applications. Obviously, it could apply to anything we buy and collect, as well as food we eat (sugar!), and beer we drink (SICK!). But I think there are a lot of other situations where this wisdom could apply. I know that more than once I’ve reached the point in life where enough was enough. It’s like everything was “fine” until one day when it wasn’t. Maybe that meant I ended a relationship, quit a job, or finally had that difficult conversation because not having it was tearing me apart.

I guess we all have our limits. At some point we take a pain pill, go to the doctor, go the gym. I’ve said before that it was a bad, bad, really bad relationship that got me to go to therapy. But honestly, that was just my “enough is enough” button. I needed to go anyway. Not because I’m any more fucked up than you are, but because I needed some professional help in processing life. I needed boundaries because most people don’t have them. I needed to stop judging myself so much. I needed to believe in myself more. I mean, who doesn’t need all that?

I’m not suggesting you should go to therapy, but I am suggesting therapy is one way to make your life better.

It seems we all have a tendency to overindulge–in material possessions, in addictions, in bad relationships. The upside to this, I suppose, is that it shows us where our “enough is enough” button is, lets us know how much we’re willing and not willing to put up with. (We’re talking about boundaries here.) In my experience, having less–less stuff, less sugar (ugh), less bad behavior–is almost always better. Finding that “enough is enough” button, of course, can take time. But if you know where it is and you haven’t already–for crying out loud–push the damn thing.

[I would love to hear what you want the world to know, what your best advice is. Please message me on Facebook or at me (at) meandmytherapist (dot) com with your story. Or hell, let’s SPLIT a dessert and talk about it in person.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Healing is never a straight line.

The Butterfly Effect (Blog #129)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

Searching for Abundance (Blog #128)

2 Comments August 5, 2017 CoCo

For at least ten years there’s been a candlestick knitted out of yarn that’s hung on the doorknob in our kitchen. Green and white, it’s meant to be holiday decor and stand upright when you put a cardboard toilet paper roll inside it.

Doesn’t that sound cute? (And by cute I mean something a straight person would think of?)

Well, this morning my aunt Donna Kay (my dad’s sister) dropped by the house and noticed the knitted candlestick for the first time, I guess because it was off the door handle and on the kitchen table. Holding it up, she said, “What’s this?”

“It’s a penis warmer,” I said.

Then my aunt started laughing and said, “Wow. I’ve never seen one that big before.”

Welcome to my family.

Dad told my aunt that my grandma–their mother–had made the knitted candle/penis warmer, that she must have given it to us as a gift before she died. My aunt said, “Why?”

Good question.

As I recall, Grandma was a terrible gift-giver. Maybe I’ve just forgotten the good ones. But I remember once when I was in high school (high school!) having a birthday and getting a Nike t-shirt from her. I realize that actually sounds pretty cool for a grandma, but I’m pretty sure it was a knock-off that came from a second-hand store. Even before I put it on, the seams were unraveling. But Grandma was so proud because it had been a bargain. There I was reaching into the sack, sifting through the tissue paper, and she was saying, “Marcus, I paid five dollars for that.”

Uh, thanks, Grandma.

I think that was the same year I also got a pair of tennis shoes from her. They were cheap, thinner than cardboard, solid white except for the fact they had a hint of green in them. It’s hard to explain, but they had–a patina. They almost glowed. Oh, and another thing–they had velcro straps–the kind used for toddlers and old people. And here’s the kicker–she’s actually bought the shoes (out of a magazine, I think) for my grandpa, EXCEPT HE DIDN’T WANT THEM.

So she gave them to me, her grandson.

Well I guess I could mow the lawn in them. What could it hurt? I’m already a virgin. I might as well stay one.

Maybe it sounds critical, but it’s not meant that way. This is just who Grandma was. Constantly ill, she rarely wore anything other than her nightgown and only used her bra and teeth for special occasions. She passed away when I was in college, and this is the stuff I remember about her. She couldn’t keep a secret–no way. Every Christmas one of us family members would be mid-way through getting a package open, and she’d say, “That’s a pair of underwear. Incase they don’t fit, I put the receipt in the box–they cost eight dollars.” Then she’d add–

“Save that bow, I can reuse it.”

Honestly, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say my issues with scarcity and abundance go back a LONG way. I mean, couldn’t we afford new bows, shoes without velcro straps?

This afternoon, as part of my creativity and abundance homework, I had to find five interesting rocks (I’m not kidding), so I went to Creekmore Park. Well, I discovered pretty quickly that rocks are EVERYWHERE, which I guess was the point of the exercise. There is natural abundance all around us.

The first interesting rock I found was in a dried-up creek bed, hiding amongst the mosquitoes. (Nice try, rock.) It was shaped basically like the state of Arkansas and because it was painted red and said “Go Hogs,” I assumed it had been both tampered with and placed there by human hands. For a moment I thought I should leave the rock where I found it, as it was probably part of some geocaching game (hide something and leave clues online as to where its hidden). But having just spent thirty minutes trying to find ONE INTERESTING ROCK, I decided the universe had left it there specifically for me, so I snatched it right up.

Finding the other four rocks took about an hour and was harder than I thought because–to quote my therapist–I’m picky as a motherfucker. (This should come as no surprise.) Considering this fact, I could definitely cut Grandma some slack. I mean, she didn’t know that I was a budding homosexual with high standards. That being said, I’m sure there were clues–this photo, for example.

How I didn’t come out sooner, I don’t exactly know.

This evening I filled my car up with gas and was all “crap, that’s a lot” when I saw the total. This is pretty much my reaction to buying anything lately, since my income arrives in fits and starts. Honestly, I don’t like that reaction, but I know it’s been there on some level for quite a long time. What? You paid more than five dollars for a t-shirt? You think you’re BETTER THAN ME because your shoes have LACES? So I appreciate the exercise of really seeing ALL the rocks in nature, coming around to the idea of abundance bit by bit. Even though I only took home five rocks, there were SO MANY. They were everywhere, and I’d just never really recognized them before.

Now as I remember Grandma, I don’t think the best gifts she gave us were physical objects. No, definitely not physical objects. Rather, I think her best gifts were the endless stories we now have to share, the things we’re still bitching and laughing about all these years later (penis warmer!). This fact reminds me that abundance truly does comes in many forms–in rocks, in stories, in a family’s laughter–all of which, like a good Christmas bow, can be saved for later and used over and over again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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.

Cicadas Were Meant for Flying (Blog #127)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

The Truth Will Set You Free (Sort of) (Blog #126)

1 Comment August 3, 2017 CoCo

Some days I drown myself in self-help wisdom, like oh heck, I’m up to my neck in self-reflection and transformation. Honestly, I love it–drowning that is–it’s great. You should try it. Then again, it’s exhausting–change, change, change! Sometimes I think, God, Marcus, give it a rest. Do something stupid for once–binge watch Beavis and Butthead, sniff glue, whatever.

Today I read two-thirds of a book called I Hope I Screw This Up by Kyle Cease. I found out about Kyle, a former comedian who now talks about personal transformation, through an ad on Facebook. It used to bother me that Facebook knew I would like something like this. I mean, it’s weird, right? Once there was an ad in my feed for a t-shirt that said, “I’m the Gay Uncle,” and I thought, Shit–they know. But now I think of it like having a personal shopper, someone who really gets me. (Here’s a homosexual who wants to help himself!) Anyway, I’ve wanted to read Kyle’s book for over a month now, so I finally pulled the trigger this afternoon and downloaded it from Amazon.

So far the book is a gem, and I’m highlighting a lot of passages. I’ll spare you every single quote I like, but one of my favorites is, “Sharing my deepest truth, no matter how scary it is in the moment, is freedom. My only pain would come from repressing that truth.” I guess I like it so much because I’ve found it to be true. Time and time again in relationships with others and also on this blog, it’s been the truth that’s set me free. When I started the blog, I subtitled it, “The truth will set you free (sort of).” I added the “sort of” because so far the truth has set me free from a number of friends and lovers, most of my worldly possessions, and a good deal of money.

Let’s face it. The truth can be a real bastard.

That’s the part they don’t tell you. It’s said like–the truth will set you free (yippee!)–as if the truth were a carnival ride. And whereas maybe a child would be dumb enough to not think twice about a roller coaster called “getting honest with yourself and others,” an adult knows better. You don’t ride a ride like that without losing your lunch. The truth has the power to change you, turn your life upside down. That’s the reason we run from it–eat fried chicken, smoke cigarettes, sniff glue, whatever.

Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

This evening I went to see the musical The Secret Garden at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Several of my friends are in it, and my friend George is the musical director. (It’s great, check it out.) Before the show started, while I was in the men’s room, a man who used to take dance lessons from me at Mercy Fitness Center struck up a conversation. At one point he said, “You look good–are you still working out?” Well, rather than simply saying, “Thank you,” I immediately said, “I could do better.” My grandma used to do shit like that, and it always drove me nuts. I’d say, “I love the mashed potatoes, Grandma,” and she’d say, “Well, they’re cold. I just bought a new oven.”

Crap. Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

At intermission a friend of mine asked me about my still living in town (everyone thinks I moved to Austin already) and said, “How are you earning a living?” Then the strangest thing happened. I laughed and said, “I’m not–it’s great.” What’s strange, I guess, is that I actually meant it. I’ve told a lot of people lately–I have fewer things and less money now than I ever have, and I’m happier than I ever have been. This fact, I assume, is in no small part due to my work in therapy and my insistence on honesty and vulnerability when blogging (every day, every damn day). So maybe the truth really does set you free (maybe).

After the musical tonight, I went to eat with my friend George. Inevitably, we always end up talking about self-help, spirituality, and how to “live well,” and tonight was no exception. (So much self-help today!) When I told George about the compliment I brushed off in the bathroom, he said, “The correct response is, ‘Thank you.’ There’s no humility in aggrandizing or degrading yourself.”

Chew on that.

I wonder what that is–we spend so much time wanting recognition and praise (or is that just me?), and then when we get it, we act as if we aren’t worthy of it. (Me, looking good? No. I ate fried chicken last night.) Or maybe sometimes we try to take more than is given. (I’m the best worker-outer ever–no one works out better than me!) My guess is that we all walk around with mental images–versions–of ourselves that are anything but true, anything but kind. Byron Katie says, “If you realized how beautiful you were, you’d fall at your own feet.” I love this quote because it reminds me that “God doesn’t make junk.” And yet it seems that a part of me, a part of most of us, is used to being small, to not accepting compliments and acknowledging (graciously) someone else’s generous opinion. (You look nice.)

The truth is that I’m often uncomfortable with compliments because part of me doesn’t feel good enough to receive them. (Please say that again after I have abs.) But–go figure–just by admitting that, I feel better. I guess the thing about the truth that sets you free is that it puts you in touch with who you really are in the moment. (I’m tired, I’m insecure.) In my case, I’ve found out I’m not the guy with all the stuff or all the jobs. I’m not the guy who never gets upset, and I’m certainly not the guy without a sexuality, even though I pretended to be all those things for years. I’m not even my body weight. Rather, I’m something beyond all of that. I can’t say what exactly, but it feels like a carnival ride might feel to a kid with a strong stomach–wild, unpredictable, and free.