The last twenty-four hours have been fabulous. Last night my friend CJ and I took her kayaks out on Beaver Lake, which has temporarily been renamed OmaHog Lake until the end of the college world series–I think–I don’t know–it’s a sports thing–I’m gay. Anyway, I left my phone in the CJ’s truck (no one called, anyway), forgot about everything else, and we paddled around for a couple hours and watched the sun go down. Then, like Michael, we rowed our boats ashore (to an island). There, under the light of the full moon, we ate fried chicken and I drank beer.

After eating, we paddled the kayaks back across the lake, me going backwards so I could watch the stars and identify constellations. Back at CJ’s farm, where I slept over last night, we sat on her porch and ate ice cream. Far from the city and artificial lights, with my eyes fixed on The North Star (Polaris), I was finally able to spot Cepheus, The King, which rotates around Polaris and is just counterclockwise to and above Cassiopeia, The Queen.

CJ said, “Why do men always have to be on top?”

Since the constellations are like a clock that runs backwards, the good news is that this situation is reversed in the middle of the day. The Queen is on top of The King. Of course, because the sun is shining, no one can see it.

This morning I slept in, took my time getting around. After making a light breakfast and a cup of coffee, I scrubbed down the kayaks, per CJ’s request. Then I read a book, put the kayaks away, sun-bathed, took a shower. Now I’m blogging, trying to keep things short because I’m growing weary of long posts and don’t want this day to be anything but easy and relaxing. Plus, I’m going to a dance later this evening, so I need to point my car in that direction.

Last night I dreamed that my therapist asked me, “Do you hate yourself?” The question was so jarring that I woke up. I remember lying in bed, maybe at five this morning, thinking, NO, why would you even ask that? Still–obviously–inquiring minds want to know. Specifically, my mind, or it wouldn’t be asking the question (in the form of a dream). So I’ve thought about it today. As I sun-bathed and picked my body apart–this is too big, that’s had too much fried chicken–I asked myself, Do you hate yourself?

No, the answer is no.

Then stop beating yourself up, Marcus.

Fresh off yesterday’s post, I realize that life isn’t black or white. You don’t fully love yourself or fully hate yourself. There’s room for gray, that place where you love your hair (I love my hair) and hate–hate’s a strong word–dislike your waistline.  And yet, how would my moment-to-moment experience change if I were to fully embrace–to love and not just tolerate–all parts of my body and my experience? Surely it would make life easier–better–something akin to spending an evening on a lake under the stars, something akin to forgetting all your made-up problems and enjoying this present moment.