Anything Is Possible (Blog #407)

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Well hell’s bells. It’s four in the morning, and I’m just now sitting down at the kitchen table to write. How did this happen?

With nothing officially on my calendar, I slept in then used today to do everything I didn’t emotionally want to do. I called my insurance company, emailed my doctor’s office, cleaned out my email inbox, left a message for the insurance company of the guy who knocked the ever-loving shit out of me last July while I was simply driving along, minding my business (then out of an orange-colored sky–). (They didn’t answer or call me back, despite their voicemail message that said, “I’m committed to returning you call by the end of the business day.” Committed, my ass.) In other words, I spent the day being an adult, hating every minute of it.

Then I took a nap.

This evening I went to my friend Bonnie’s house to pick up some stuff and ended up staying awhile. She and her husband (Todd) have this gorgeous, wraparound porch where we like to sit and watch the sun go down. It’s the kind of place where the rest of the world disappears. It’s like you sit down in one of the chairs, and it kind of sucks you in. Whatever stressful thing you did earlier in the day simply falls away. You look at the trees in the yard, trees that have been there longer than you’ve been on the planet, trees that have seen it all come and go, and suddenly your problems seem smaller. You think, What was that thing I was so worried about?

Everyone should have such a place.

After hanging out on the porch for a bit, Bonnie and I headed to downtown Fort Smith, on foot, to see a rockabilly band. By the time we got to the venue, the band was almost done with their last set, but we still got a few dances in. Honestly, it was the weirdest thing, this little dive bar with Jimi Hendrix painted on the wall, this band giving it all they’ve got, a dozen people scattered about the room, just two dancers getting with it. In my mind it was the last place you’d find something beautiful, like joy on the dance floor or a turquoise bass being strummed like nobody’s business. But there it was if you could see it.

When the band finished, Bonnie and I left, and I broke all my Autoimmune Paleo rules. “Let’s go down the street and eat a pizza,” I said. So that’s what we did. Y’all, the pizza was delicious. I don’t know why anyone would give up carbs. (Actually I do, but for a night, they were nice.) Walking home, we stopped in front of Fort Smith’s one and only gay bar, Kinkead’s, then went inside.

Y’all, for the longest time, I was in the closet, at least in Fort Smith. At least in my head. But the point is, I’ve intentionally never gone to Kinkead’s. First out of fear, then out of principle. Like, I’ve never been and I’ll never go. But tonight I figured that needed to change. (Everyone should, at some point, break their own rules.) So just as they were closing, Bonnie and I went inside. Ten feet into the door, I saw an old roommate, then an old boyfriend. God, this town is so small, I thought. But it was truly good to see them, and it was good to meet some new faces, which I did. Hell, I even saw two sets of breasts–well, one and a half sets (on drunk females)–so that’s something.

To be perfectly clear, I didn’t ask to see these bare-chested ladies and am rather traumatized that I did. Highly traumatized, actually. (I’m a homosexual.) That being said, it was more entertaining than staying home and watching soap operas with Mom and Dad. (Sorry, Mom and Dad.) At the very least, it’s a better story to tell.

And then she pulled down her shirt in a gay bar. (Wrong audience, honey. Wrong audience.)

Anything is possible.

Now I’m home and ready to pass out. I’ve been thinking, Life is so random. One minute you’re home wrapped up in “adulting,” forcing yourself to take care of business. Then the next you’re out dancing, enjoying yourself in the strangest of places. It really is odd. So much of me has wanted to leave this town for so long. And not that I want to stay, but I’m here now, and I’m finding that you can have fun anywhere. It really is about what you bring to the place, not what the place brings to you. And at least if you’re open to it, perhaps life can surprise you, take your ho-hum day and turn it right around, leave you thinking, Shit, I guess anything–anything–is possible.

But seriously, life, enough with the bare-chested ladies.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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Looking Like a Marcus (Even If I Don’t Feel Like One) (Blog #406)

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I’ve been staring at the screen for thirty minutes. Well, checking Facebook. Regardless, I’ve been avoiding the blog. I’m tired today. I’d rather go to bed than write. It was almost five in the morning when I finished last night’s blog about my issues with money, and I was up early this morning (before noon) to attend a comedy workshop in Fayetteville. The point is, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. But who does, really?

Let’s talk about something else.

The comedy workshop I attended was put on by Theater Squared and the cast of their current play, The Hound of the Baskervilles, which I saw last week. (It was hilarious.) The workshop was hosted at the library, and when I got there and saw that there were only a few people in the class, I thought, Shit, I’m going to have to participate. Y’all, I almost turned right around and drove back home. But then I thought, I came here to learn something, so I stepped outside my comfort zone and into the room.

As a general rule, I like meeting new people. Not that I’m “one of those” who get chatty on airplanes or anything, but I certainly could (given enough scotch). Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone new, to be “nice,” to participate. But as I was sitting in my chair and fiddling with my phone, the older lady next to me broke out in a grin and said, “Hi, I’m Janice. What’s your name?”

Reminding myself to smile, I said, “Marcus.”

Janice gasped audibly. “Of course you are!”

I laughed. “Of course I am?”

“Yes,” she proclaimed. “You LOOK like a Marcus.”

Later Janice said she meant I looked stately (like the Romans who originally coined my name), which no one has ever told me before, but I took as a good thing. I just looked up stately on the internet, and it means, “having a dignified, unhurried, or grand manner.” Talk about a high-octane compliment. My head is getting bigger as we speak. And yet, in that moment earlier today, I’m quite sure I didn’t have “a grand manner.” A nervous manner, for sure. First, I was in a new situation. Second, ten minutes after the workshop started, I noticed a missed call from the insurance company of the guy who rear-ended me last summer. Crap, I thought, they’re gonna want to talk about money. I couldn’t stop worrying about it the entire class. All I could think about was calling them back and getting it over with.

Unhurried my ass.

The workshop itself went great. First we talked generally about how a play is written, then talked about how a play (specifically a comedy) is interpreted. And whereas I mostly paid attention, took notes, and “let” everyone else participate, I did get out of my seat to join in an exercise in which a number of choreographed dance steps were performed. Y’all, it really was a fabulous workshop, and my big takeaway was that even when something on stage looks spontaneous, chances are that it’s not. Rather, every sigh, glance, step, and gesture has likely been planned out and rehearsed over and over again.

Three hours later, when the workshop was finished, I called the insurance company back, but they’d already gone home for the day. Consequently, I’ve spent all evening running scenarios in my head–things going my way, things going almost my way, things not going my way at all. I keep telling myself that whatever happens when we talk, it will just be a conversation, and I’ve had plenty of conversations before. But I really am starting to get fed up with the whole ordeal, which has now dragged on for over ten months. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I already feel as if my health and entire life are also on hiatus. Seriously, if only I could get paid for being a professional foot-tapper and watch-looker-at-er.

What if being patient now will make whatever comes later that much sweeter?

One of the concepts discussed in the workshop today was that not only does a play have a beginning, middle, and end, but almost every part of a play has a beginning, middle, and end, as well. For example, if one actor looks at another, that look has a point at which it starts, is held for a certain amount of time, and is then completed. One of the points to this conversation was–don’t rush from beginning to end–the middle is what MAKES the ending. This was a great reminder for me. So often I feel as if my life is on hold, like I’m just biding my time until I settle this accident claim, find consistent work, or whatever. But what if this is the middle part of my story? What if being patient now will make whatever comes later that much sweeter, that much more satisfying? If that’s the case, then surely this is an opportunity for me to practice being unhurried, even if that’s not my default way of acting. Surely I could rehearse “unhurried” over and over again until it actually were spontaneous for me to live in a stately, dignified, and grand manner–like a man perfectly at ease with the speed of life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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Totally Mixed Up (Blog #405)

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Last year, in the midst of starting this blog, I began walking late at night. It was a good way to get out of the house, clear my head, and organize my thoughts before sitting down to write during the wee hours of the morning. At some point I began jogging, running, something I hadn’t done in forever because of a hip that’s historically given me a lot of grief. I had to start slow, but eventually worked myself up to eight miles. And whereas my hip never fell in love with running, it did tolerate it, especially if I took time to stretch my legs and didn’t pound the pavement every day.

When my immune system went haywire last October, my night-time strolls and midnight marathons took a long vacation. There was just no way. Even if I’d felt like a million bucks, I’m not sure I would have left the house, since it was winter and cold outside, and I hate winter and cold outside. All this to say that despite my aversion to pollen and even though spring is literally in the air right now, last night I went for a jog–one mile. Let’s just see how our body responds, I thought. Well, the jog went great–but get this shit. As I was jogging, it was like my body was remembering every walk or run I’ve ever been on. I took a route I used a lot last year, and all these memories came back of specific podcasts I was listening to along those streets, of particular thoughts and emotions I was sorting out before blogging about them.

That’s weird, right?–the way your memories get tied to distinct locations or activities and can come flooding back at a moment’s notice? It’s like the past and the present get totally mixed up in your head.

Today I saw my therapist, and we talked about money. Y’all, I hate talking about money. First of all, no one ever taught me how. Second of all, growing up, most of my experiences with money were negative. Like, we never had enough of it, or what we did have (in the form of possessions) was taken away (in a house fire), stolen, or repossessed. This is why I write so much about abundance–it’s something I want to believe in, but haven’t always had a lot of proof of. So today when my therapist and I were talking about a couple business situations like the insurance claim regarding my car accident last year, I practically broke into a cold sweat. “You’re all twitchy,” she said. “Yeah,” I replied, “because I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle myself.”

“Then it’s my job to support you emotionally until you do feel like you can handle yourself,” she said.

Since leaving therapy this afternoon, I’ve continued to be a nervous wreck. It’s a little better now because I went for another run earlier–two miles–and that helped burn up some energy. But even as I’m propped up in my childhood bed, I can remember where I was sitting when I was handed the family checkbook as a teenager, how I felt completely inadequate to do what was being asked of me. I can remember exactly where I was sitting at the bank the afternoon I met with our loan officer and told him we could no longer afford our mortgage payments as long as Dad was in prison. I was sixteen. On one side of the desk was this confident man in a suit and tie, three times my age, and on the other side was overwhelmed me in a pair of jeans and maybe a collared shirt, crying, embarrassed. And even though twenty years have elapsed between then and now, when it comes to money, I guess a large part of me still feels like that little kid–all twitchy. It’s like the past and the present are totally mixed up in my head.

How do you fix a problem that’s twenty years old?

Now it’s three in the morning, and I don’t know how I’m going to sort this one out. I guess I don’t have to tonight, but I do want to–get it sorted out–at some point. I simply can’t keep living on this side of the desk, practically paralyzed by the world of business, by–the world. And yet, how do you fix a problem that’s twenty-years old? How do you learn to walk again, let alone run when your legs are trembling with fear? Honestly, I don’t know. But perhaps you start by recognizing that despite your past and your trembling legs, you’re still standing. Perhaps you start by realizing that life even in its most intimidating moment wasn’t able to completely knock you down. Because surely that fact alone would mean that you are strong, much more capable of handling yourself than you were previously giving yourself credit for.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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Suddenly Feeling Warm Again (Blog #404)

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Just shy of a year ago, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. For a couple months I didn’t mention it on the blog, but then I did, in this post. For several months last year, Mom underwent chemotherapy, then had a double mastectomy this past January. As I understand it, at that point she was cancer free, but for the last six weeks she’s been getting radiation five times a week in order to increase her odds of staying in remission. Well, today was her last treatment. Other than taking a pill and (I’m assuming) the occasional checkup, she’s done.

What a year.

At the end of this last February, my dad went to the emergency room for his own set of issues, most of which had to do with his heart. In the hospital for a solid week, he’s been slowly improving ever since, largely due to the fact that my mom has taken over his diet. She counts his carbs, measures his sodium, keeps track of his calories. (Dad calls her The Food Nazi.) Also, Dad’s going to cardiac rehab, getting some exercise. Well, in just over two months, he’s lost 55 pounds. Isn’t that wild? Personally, I never thought I’d see the day. Like, I would have placed bets against it.

I’m just being honest.

As long as I’ve known him, my dad has been a big guy. He had a heart attack when I was in my early twenties, and, by his own admission, it didn’t scare him a bit. However, it did scare me–I started jogging that same day. Then I started going to the gym, and I’ve been off-and-on obsessed with my health ever since. For a while–a long while–I gave my dad a lot a shit about his weight. We’d go out to eat, he’d order a cheesecake, and I’d shoot him “the look.” Sometimes I’d even say, “Are you really going to eat that?”

He’d often reply, “You know, you’re not fun to go out with anymore.”

At some point, I quit trying to convince Dad to eat differently. I mean, I’d tried everything–information, logic, guilt–and nothing worked. Once he said, “You can’t say anything I haven’t thought myself,” and eventually I let that sink in. I thought, It’s his life, not mine. Then I started acting like it. It took some time, but I dropped all the food conversations. I got rid of the look. Slowly, there was less tension between us. Consequently, not only did we get along better, but I also liked him better. He hadn’t changed, but I had.

When Dad saw his primary care physician the week after his hospital stay, he said, “Doc, what I really want to know is–when can I have a cheeseburger?” In the past other doctors have said, “Never, Mr. Coker. You will NEVER eat a cheeseburger again.” (As Dad likes to say, that went over like a fart in church.) But this guy said, “How about you lose fifty pounds, AND THEN you can have a cheeseburger?” This strategy actually worked with Dad. For the last two months, he’s weighed every day, and has often beamed as he’s shared his results. Just a few days ago, he hit his (first) goal weight–he lost fifty pounds.

A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

All this to say that today our family went out for cheeseburgers to celebrate. After Mom’s last radiation, she and Dad met Dad’s two sisters (my aunts) at Freddy’s Steakburgers in Fort Smith, which Dad’s had his eye on ever since they recently opened. (As I’m eating Autoimmune Paleo, I ordered my burger without the bread–but kept the cheese. So sue me.) And whereas we looked like everyone else in the restaurant–just a family eating burgers–it was a big deal–a ritual, really–an acknowledgment that big, scary things can and do turn around. For me it was a reminder that a storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it, that you can spend years in the darkness drenched and shivering, and then one afternoon the sun can break through the clouds. Perhaps this is what hope and healing are, suddenly feeling warm again as you watch the waters that nearly drowned you disappear into thin air.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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A Time I’d Like to Remember (Blog #403)

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Whatever I said yesterday about my body not hurting “that bad” after jumping around on a trampoline this weekend, I take it back. Everything hurts. I’ve been shuffling–shuffling–around the house all day. Like an old man with a walker. They say the second day is always the worst, so maybe it’s downhill from here–or would it be uphill? I guess downhill usually means smooth sailing, but it could also mean that things are getting worse. The English language is so confusing.

Now I have a headache. I really shouldn’t think so hard.

Today I didn’t have a damn thing I had to do–nothing on the calendar at all. Consequently, I’ve been cooped up in the house from the time I got up this afternoon. I haven’t even gone to the mailbox. (Tonight’s selfie, at Starbucks, was taken yesterday.) I did consider taking a walk this afternoon, but thought, My allergies are already acting up. The last thing I’m going to do is step outside during pollen season and intentionally breathe! Instead, I propped myself up in a chair and read several chapters in a how-to book about comedy.

But don’t expect things to all-of-sudden get any funnier around here. (That’s not the way it works.)

Later I tried to take a nap but couldn’t sleep, so I watched two movies. One was about Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis and starred Sean Hayes, and the other was an old Disney movie my sister and I used to watch starring Jodie Foster. I do this occasionally, feel the need to go back decades later and rewatch movies I grew up on. I find it fascinating. Today I remembered several details about the movie–the opening scene and the movie’s ending were quite familiar–but most of the middle was faint, fuzzy, or even fresh, as if I’d never seen it before. It’s weird what your brain decides to hang on to and let go of.

Other than that, I’ve been eating constantly. The body is such a mystery. The only thing I’ve done all day is either sit in a chair or lie in bed, but the way I’ve been raiding the refrigerator, you’d think I were a marathon runner. Maybe I just don’t have anything else to do. Maybe I’m a “bored eater.” Or maybe I’ve just been starving myself to death on the Autoimmune Paleo diet for two weeks (I turned down spaghetti today). Maybe my stomach has finally had enough of grilled chicken and sweet potatoes and that’s why it’s screaming, “Give me some damn corn chips.”

That’s probably it.

I don’t have a big takeaway today but am ready to go to bed. (If I don’t, I’ll eat something else.) My eyes are watering, practically running like Niagara Falls. But I keep thinking about that Disney movie my sister and I used to watch, how seeing it today reminded me of a time when I wasn’t concerned about going outside because of the pollen count or whether or not what I was eating was good for me. This is a time I’d like to remember more often, a time when I didn’t think so hard, a time when the world worked without my worry.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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That Which Is Coming Together (Blog #402)

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Last night my friend Bonnie and I went to a swing dance with live rockabilly music in Fayetteville, and my friend Matt from Springfield drove in to meet us. Y’all, it was a screamin’ good time. We danced our butts off. Personally, I barely sat down. At the end of the band’s first set, I was so drenched in sweat that I could have easily won a wet t-shirt contest. That’s the only downside to a night of hard swing dancing–all the perspiration and consequent body odors. (It’s disgusting.) That being said, you sure do burn a lot of calories, so maybe it all evens out.

After the dance was over and there was room on the floor, Matt and I decided work on some aerials (dance stunts). This was all my idea, since I’ve recently realized what fun it is to be tossed is the air, and Matt’s one of the only leaders I know willing to toss me. (I’m not exactly petite.) I say “toss,” which makes it sound like the follower is a sack of potatoes that the leader simply heaves over his shoulder. But that’s not how aerials work. When done right, both the leader (base) and the follower (flyer) exert equal amounts of effort. Anyway, Matt and I worked until we were both worn out, mostly on a move called The Lamp Post, in which the follower goes up and around the leader’s head.

Here’s a video of our “work in progress.”

One thing I forgot to mention is that last night’s dance was held at a gymnastics studio. So get this shit. After all that jumping around on the dance floor, I got to jump around on some honest-to-god trampolines. Y’all, my sister and I used to have a trampoline when were growing up, and last night I felt like a kid again–flying high into the air, flipping forward, flipping back. I even got to jump into a foam pit! I can’t tell you how much fun it was. That being said, I was sucking air after only a few minutes of jumping, and I’m not quite sure how I used to bounce around like that for hours.

Also, I must have done something to my lower back, as I could barely walk out of the building. It’s better today, but my body has still been “talking to me” nonstop. At one point this afternoon I could have sworn I heard it say, “Who do you think you are jumping around like that–Tinker Bell?! Did you forget that we’re almost forty damn years old?”

“Um, yes–yes, I did,” I replied as I grabbed my hip with one hand and reached for the muscle relaxers with the other. “But thank you for so clearly reminding me of our age.”

Since Matt and Bonnie and I stayed late after the dance AND THEN went to dinner, I didn’t end up going to bed until four in the morning. And whereas I slept in today, I still haven’t quite recovered. Also, my body has been acting weird. This evening I helped my parents set up their television and other living room electronics, since they recently got a new TV stand. Y’all, I was up and down, up and down, just like on the trampoline last night, and I got light-headed. This sometimes happens when I eat a Paleo diet, so I ended up saying, Fuck it–I need more carbs, and eating two hard-shell tacos with cheese for dinner. (They were delicious.)

Here’s a picture of my parents’ new TV stand. Since we hid the electronics inside one of the cabinets, I had the hardest time filling up the shelves in the middle (intended for electronics) with appropriately sized knickknacks. I literally had to beg, borrow, and steal from the rest of the house in order for this to come together. But alas, it finally did.

Now it’s 3:30 in the morning, and my brain is shutting down. Also, my allergies are kicking in. My eyes won’t stop watering. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that cheese. Or maybe God shouldn’t have made the pollen count so high in Arkansas. Either way, I’m about to pop a couple antihistamines, maybe some Ibuprofen, and pass out. Last night when I was dancing I thought, I feel like myself again. But clearly I’m not over the hump. In addition to the allergies, my skin is doing all these crazy things, my energy level is still up and down like an aerial. And yet as frustrated as I am with my health, I’m also beyond thankful for these happy, childlike moments when I find myself dancing or jumping on a trampoline, even soaring over someone’s head. In these moments, I have no complaints. So maybe it all evens out. I fret about what will happen next, but I look at my parents’ TV stand and think, Don’t worry, Marcus. Everything else is coming together too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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Shadow Dancing (Blog #401)

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Well hell. I just spent thirty minutes trying to connect my laptop to the WIFI at a local coffee shop to no avail. I’ve had this problem before–a message that says another device is connected to the network with my IP address–but this is the first time I haven’t been able to resolve it. So now I’m connected to MY hot spot and using MY data, which feels stupid because THE WHOLE POINT of blogging at a coffee shop is to use THEIR free internet. But I CAN’T connect to their free internet, so what am I EVEN doing here?

Oh yeah, I’m drinking coffee.

Yesterday I did my second live video on Facebook. I know this isn’t new technology, but as I’m usually late to the party, it’s new to me. So I’m excited about it. In yesterday’s video, I shared an essay I wrote in September of 2016 that helped initiate all my big life changes–closing the studio, having an estate sale, and–ultimately–starting the blog. Additionally, I read yesterday’s blog–which was #400–out loud. If you missed it and would like to see it, here it is. (It’s about 26 minutes long.) As I continue to hit milestones with the blog, my plan is to share other previously unshared essays and/or short stories.

After last night’s live video, I went dancing with my friend Bonnie. Well, sort of. We went to a swing dance, but the attendance was super-low, so we pretty much walked in then walked right back out. As a former organizer of dances, I kind of hated doing this because I know how much difference every person makes, but as an attendee I thought, This just isn’t going to work for me. We ended up at a local restaurant where a rockabilly band was playing, and since there wasn’t enough room for dancing, we simply listened (and snacked).

Y’all, the place was a bit of a dude bar. You know, pool tables, waitresses in Daisy Dukes, Hells Angels scattered about the room strategically. Mid-evening, when I had to go to the bathroom, I was forced to wade through all of it. Weaving my way around burly guys with pool sticks in their hands, I thought, What have I gotten myself into? Well, I guess I was wearing a look of suspicion on my face when I cautiously opened the door to the men’s room, as one of the guys at the urinals said, “You opened that door like a serial killer, bro.”

Seriously? This gay boy has been called a lot of things over the years, but never bro.

I mean, a serial killer.

Later in the evening, Bonnie and I went Latin dancing in downtown Fayetteville. That’s where we took the above picture, inside some sort of blow-up, light-up, bounce-around tent that I assume was meant to look sophisticated but really just looked tacky. Business owners, before doing something drastic like this, remember the following little poem by yours truly:

When you’re straight,
It’s okay to decorate.
But if your vision
Includes an “inflatables” decision,
Trust a homo–
It’s a no-no.

Getting home late from the dance last night, I slept in this morning. Then this afternoon I taught a couple’s dance routine to a group of teenagers, the group I spoke of yesterday and have been dreading working with for nearly two months now. And yet, after all that worry about them being awkward and me being awkward and us being awkward together, everything went great. We worked for two hours and went from them know pretty much squat to being able to perform the entire minute-and-a-half routine. Throw in a little practice and some nice outfits, and they’ll be golden. And y’all, the experience was actually fun for me, working with “the kids,” seeing them progress. I actually felt–well–proud.

You can speak your truth and stand beside it.

This has been on my mind lately, how something in real life is so often the complete opposite of what I’ve imagined. During the group lesson I missed a call from the insurance agent of the guy who rear-ended me (in the worst way possible) several months ago. So when the kids left, I called them back, and despite all my anxiety over speaking to this person, the conversation went fine. A couple months ago my therapist said, “I bet you’re a better negotiator than you realize. I bet you could actually be tough.” And not that I did any tough negotiating today (I just gave them my email address), I did think, I can say what I want. I can speak my truth and stand beside it. I guess life is funny this way, turning what I thought were monsters into simple shadows on the wall, shadows that quite often turn out to be fun to dance with, shadows that shrink as I step closer to them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In this moment, we are all okay.

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Learning to Navigate (Blog #400)

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Today I don’t feel a hundred percent. You know those days when you think, I should have stayed in bed. I can’t say exactly what’s wrong. I feel anxious, off. I had it in my head that I was going to do two things–two whole things–I didn’t want to do today. First, I was going to call the insurance company of the guy who hit me. I hate adult things like this. Second, I was going to choreograph a dance for a group of teenagers who are taking a lesson tomorrow. I hate choreographing. And not that I hate teenagers, but they’re usually awkward and I’m usually awkward, so when we get together it’s just–well–usually awkward.

However, despite my feelings of impending doom, I called the insurance company earlier today. Just get it over with, I thought, get it the fuck over with. So I did. Before breakfast even. I left a voicemail. Like an adult who’s not afraid of his own shadow or making a damn phone call. As it turns out, sometimes I can pretend. Then after breakfast I actually sat down–well, stood up–to choreograph that dance for the awkward teenagers. Just get it over with, I thought, get it the fuck over with. But I couldn’t because APPARENTLY I threw away the slip of paper with the name of the song on it that the awkward teenagers want to dance to. Something about Cinderella, I remembered. So I started looking online.

Do you know how many freaking Cinderella songs there are!?

And not one of them rang a bell.

Well shit, I thought. Immediately I started shallow breathing and breaking out in a heavy sweat, as if the wheels were coming off. It’s okay, Marcus, I tried to tell myself. But lately it’s felt like so many things are going “wrong,” that my baseline of pressure is so high, that any little thing can send me right over the edge. A small dip in energy, another bill in the mail–any sort of disappointment–and there I go, tumbling down.

You’d better drop it like a hot potato.

Last week after writing about improv comedy, it occurred to me that my “life strategy” of getting butthurt when things don’t go my way would never work on the stage. There you might have it in your mind that a scene is going to go one way, like that you’re going to be an elephant. But if the other guy on stage opens his mouth first and refers to you as his pet monkey, well, you’d better start waving your arms over your head or pretending to eat a banana. Because in that moment it doesn’t matter what you’d intended, that elephant plan is over, and you’d better drop it like a hot potato, mister, if you don’t want to be left behind.

Changing directions at a moment’s notice is really easy to do on statge. But I’m finding it harder to do in real life. Today when I couldn’t find that song I was looking for, I just kept looking, sometimes blankly staring at the screen in astonishment. I can’t believe this is my fricking life, I thought. Eventually, I snapped myself out of it and thought, I’ll do something else. So I decided to clean out my voicemails. Y’all, as much as I bitch about the importance of good customer service, I’m terrible at calling people back. (I’m working on it.) Today I called one girl back who left me a message two weeks ago wanting dance lessons for her wedding, and when we spoke, she said, “Oh–the wedding’s tomorrow.”

Well, shit.

Now I’m trying not to self-flagellate, beat myself up for not calling her back sooner or not remembering the name of that song. I keep telling myself, You’ve had a lot going on, Marcus. It’s not like your life has been a cake walk lately (God knows). I really am doing the best I can to not hang on to my elephants, those things in the past that are over, those ideas about how life should have been or how I should have acted. Because–shit–they weigh a lot, and I’m reminding myself that when you’re in a storm you’ve got to throw everything overboard that weighs you down. That’s the only way you and your ship can survive, by getting light and dealing with what’s happening now–not what you wanted to happen now.

As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

So that’s why I’m currently writing. This blog is number #400 (in a row!), and despite my plan that I was going to choreograph AND THEN write, that’s not what’s happening. Rather, I’m writing, and then “we’ll see.” Looking back over the last 400 days, I’m reminded that I’ve made it through rough ones before, days when nothing went my way or at least not as planned. If I’m being completely honest, which is the point here, no day ever goes completely as I plan it. That’s simply not how sailing works. No, the ocean of life is unpredictable, and as it changes, we must to. One day the wind will fill our sails and carry us along, another it will nearly turn us over. So we buckle down our hatches and adjust course when necessary. From one day to the next, we somehow learn to navigate.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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Every Dip and Turn (Blog #399)

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Last night after dinner in Fayetteville I had coffee for the first time in ten days–two cups. It was delicious. When I got home my stomach was a little upset, and then I couldn’t fall asleep until four in the morning. (BZZZ!) But once I did pass out, I was out solid–I didn’t wake up until two this afternoon. Talk about glorious. What’s more, Mom and Dad were gone, so I had the house to myself! I realize this is something a teenager would normally say while simultaneously making plans to have a keg delivered. But I, being the responsible thirty-seven-year-old that I am, simply enjoyed reading a book in peace and quiet.

Other than reading, the biggest thing that happened today was that I went to the grocery store to stock up on Autoimmune Paleo supplies (broccoli!), and a cute guy said hello to me. There I am standing next to the canned fruits with my headphones in, and this total stranger starts talking to me. Well, it’s not like we had a conversation. He said, “How are you?” and I said, “Good, how are you?” I was so startled by the interaction, I didn’t even register his response. The next thing I knew, he was strolling toward the avocados. Thinking he DID look familiar, I almost chased him down to ask his name, but then convinced myself that he was a store employee.

You know, because the only men to ever engage me in random conversation are the ones that are paid to do so.

“Would you prefer paper or plastic, Sir?”

I often think this question sounds a lot like, “May I have your number?” Perhaps this is why I’m in therapy.

But I digress.

Later, after scoping out several shelf-stockers and item-checkers, I decided the guy wasn’t an employee, that we probably knew each other from “somewhere.” I also decided he was straight, since most people are. This is a thought I have a lot, that the whole world is straight and that if I’m ever going to meet someone, it will “just happen” and I won’t have to put myself out there.

We see how well this strategy has worked so far.

I think about this shit a lot, how much to leave up to the universe, how much to be proactive about. Not just with my (non) dating life, but with everything. Today I’ve been “blah,” and I think it’s because I’ve been worried about my body and my future. Stuck at home with nothing better to do and tired of not having the answers I want, I’ve obsessed over every little thing in my life that continues to be–in my opinion–broken. I don’t recommend this behavior to anyone else, but I did it still.

Patience is a worn-out old broad with three chins.

Looking back at my life, every major “thing” has either “just happened” or been so easy that it might as well have. Learning to dance, teaching dance, opening my studio–all of it just fell in my lap. Not that I didn’t have to put work into each of those endeavors–I did–but everything lined up; it wasn’t forced. And every time I’ve pushed to meet some guy or tried too hard? Disasters. Should-have-been-in-therapy-years-ago disasters. So I really am trying to strike a balance, to do what I can and then let go. In all things personal and health and job-related, I really am trying to be patient with the speed of life. But whereas I’ve always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I’m coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know–sturdy–someone who’s been through the ringer and lived to tell about it. This is the kind of person I want to be (at least on the inside), someone who’s firmly committed to the roller coaster of life, someone who trusts every dip and turn.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

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Remembering (Blog #398)

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This afternoon I saw my therapist and told her about my meeting Del Shores on Sunday. I shared this bit of news as if I were a junior high cheerleader at a slumber party, and she responded in kind. (I love it when people rejoice with me appropriately.) Then I told her about receiving good news about my medical bills last week and ended the conversation by groaning, “So maybe the universe isn’t such a bad place to live after all.” My therapist raised her hand as if she were about to offer a benediction. “It has its moments,” she said, then bowed her head slightly. “It has its moments.”

After therapy and a quick trip to the library, I met my friend CJ for an evening in Fayetteville. For dinner, we went to Herman’s, a steak and rib joint that’s been around for decades, but it was our first time there. Y’all, it was pretty great. We both had steak, and they were super big, super juicy. Good stuff. And I was so proud of myself for staying mostly on Autoimmune Paleo. (I ate hash browns, but NO tomatoes, peppers, or bread!) That being said, when CJ suggested dessert, I did think, Oh, fuck it and started fantasizing about the possibilities. But thankfully (I guess), I didn’t have to exercise my willpower or decide to further break my rules for the evening because Herman’s doesn’t have a dessert menu. What they do have, however, is a basket of (free) multi-flavored Tootsie Pops.

Insert my eyes rolling here.

I can’t tell you how unimpressed I was. When the waitress brought the basket to our table, I felt like I was a toddler at a dentist’s office. Granted, it worked out for my diet, but come on–a sucker for dessert? (I politely declined.) I can only assume a straight person came up with this idea. (No offense, straight people, but a gay man would NEVER propose an idea like this.) I asked the waitress, “Do people actually get excited about this basket of suckers you’ve laid before me?” With a completely serious face, she replied, “Some people do.”

A sucker at a steakhouse. I’m still not over it. (Some things are really hard for me to let go of.) However–for both your sake and mine–I’m going to try to move on with my life. (Here I go.)

After dinner CJ and I went to see a play at Theater Squared. Well, we did stop in a local sex store first, but since we did that last year, it wasn’t exactly a novel or notable experience. If you’ve seen one dildo, you’ve seen them all. That being said, if you haven’t seen a seventeen-inch dildo or a rainbow-colored “pride” dildo like I did tonight, then, yeah, maybe you should get out more often. And I guess the glass dildos were notable, what with their different shapes and colors. Some of them were quite pretty–stunning, actually. Had it been winter and had they not been in the penis-shaped vibrator section, I could have easily mistaken them for Christmas tree ornaments.

Just imagine. Presents under the tree AND on the tree.

But back to the play we went to see, The Hound of the Baskervilles, or as my mother misheard when I told her about it a couple days ago, The Hound of the Basketball Pills. It’s a Sherlock Holmes story, of course, but this version has been adapted as a comedy, and y’all, it was hilarious. Three extremely talented actors played twenty (20!) characters in two acts, and I was completely in stitches. They never missed a beat. It was the perfect way to get out of the house and remind myself, once again, that the universe “has its moments.”

But seriously, I highly recommend the show. Go see it. (It’s playing until May 27.)

Then I stand a little taller.

Something I often notice when I go to therapy or see a wonderful show like I saw tonight is that even if I’ve spent the week worrying, fretting, or even bitching about my problems (my often very real and in-my-face problems), all of that falls away. If only for an hour or two, I forget about the past and am strongly reconnected to the present and the idea that life is good. I love these moments when I forget about myself, these moments when my worries simply vanish into thin air. Then I stand a little taller, without all that weight on my shoulders. Then I move about the earth as a star moves about the heavens–confidently. Remembering that I belong here, that this is my home, I continue steadily along my path.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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