On What You Give to Yourself (Blog #600)

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I spent this afternoon working on my dad’s honey-do list, which I guess makes me “honey” for the day. Anyway, he’s been asking me to fix the dishwasher for weeks. The front’s coming off, a spring is broken. “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?” he said in desperation last night. So this afternoon I brought my lesbian toolbox inside and went to work. But before I could even take the damn dishwasher apart, I had to make two trips to Lowe’s in order to buy the appropriate screwdriver for the job. (The dishwasher is put together with those funny star-shaped screws, and it took two trips because they APPARENTLY make the screws in different sizes, and I guessed wrong the first time.)

It took a total of three hours, but I eventually got the dishwasher all fixed up–took the front off and put it back together with extra screws and some heavy-duty tape (since some of the plastic had broken) and fixed a spring that had popped off. Plus Dad and I vacuumed underneath. Yuck, what a mess. I’m guessing that hadn’t been done since sometime during the Reagan Administration.

Taking advantage of the fact that I was in a fix-it mood, Dad led me from the kitchen to his side of bathroom. “My sink is leaking,” he said, “but it’s just the cold water.” So off I went to Lowe’s again in order to buy a new rubber o-ring, which I assumed would be the answer to the problem based on where the leak was coming from. However, that didn’t work, so I’m going to go BACK TO LOWE’S either later tonight or tomorrow to TRY, TRY AGAIN.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This evening I’ve been babysitting for some friends. You heard that right–me, babysitting!–taking care of two boys. One’s eleven and one’s nine. Honestly, it’s been a fantastic time. First we ate pizza and chicken wings, then we played Oregon Trail (a card came) and I died, then we watched The Sandlot. What a great movie. You’re killing me, Smalls. / You play ball like a girl! / Squints was pervin’ a dish. / For-Ev-Er. This was seriously a walk down memory lane. Not only did I used to play baseball like the boys in the movie (I was about as good as Smalls, which is not that good), but I also got a black eye from a ball like Smalls does in the film.

It really was the perfect way to spend an evening. Well, except for the fact that the boys fast-forwarded through the scene where Smalls and his friends knock the baseball with Babe Ruth’s autograph on it over the fence and into the territory of The Beast, the local dog they’re all afraid of. I don’t know–I guess it made them uncomfortable.

After the movie, the boys and I went through their nighttime routine. First, they brushed their teeth.

“Are you going to wash your faces?” I asked.

“Why would we do that?” they replied.

“Because you got pizza sauce all over them earlier,” I said.

They paused then said, “That’s what napkins are for!”

Next the boys said their prayers, which were absolutely adorable to listen to. They prayed for every single member of their family. “And God bless Mother and Father, and God bless older sister, and God bless me and brother, and God bless Grandma. Amen.” Then the older one turned to me and said, “Just to clarify, Grandma died five years ago.” Talk about priceless. After that, we sang three songs, the last of which was America the Beautiful. Not a single one of us was on key. Then the boys crawled into their respective beds. Then I let their little dog outside, and now the dog and I are piled up on the couch waiting for Mom and Dad to return.

This afternoon while I was repairing the dishwasher, my dad said, “Marcus, your Grandpa Dee would have been so proud of you.” (Grandpa Dee was my dad’s dad, and he was super handy.) Then he added, “I never did anything that he was proud of.” Wow. Even if this wasn’t a literal statement, it certainly was a heart-wrenching one. My grandpa was a good man, but I remember his coming in behind my dad to re-do things my dad had done, and that sucks for any child, that feeling of I’m not good enough.

I know what that feeling is like. My dad’s come in behind to re-do my work plenty of times over the years. However, now that we’re both older, that nonsense has stopped. For one thing, Dad can’t do as much for himself, so he kind of has to accept whatever help he can get. Plus, I can speak up for myself. This afternoon while Dad was peaking over my shoulder, I said, “Shoo. Get out of the kitchen.”

What you give to yourself, you can’t help but give to others.

I know it’s not always comfortable to talk about, the way our grandparents and parents weren’t perfect, the way all of us–myself included–aren’t perfect. We all have parts of our lives we’d like to fast-forward through, especially those times we’ve prioritized The Project over The Person. But having just spent an evening with two precious children, I think it’s important to talk about this, the fact that all of us are worthy of love and approval and few of us ever stop wanting these things from our parents. I don’t mean this as an indictment of my ancestors, since I believe everyone is doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. Plus, I know from personal experience that if you’re hard on others, that means you’re even harder on yourself. So all the more reason to work on yourself and give love and approval to yourself, since what you give to yourself, you can’t help but give to others.

[Tonight’s blog is number 600 (in a row). Much love and appreciation to anyone who’s read anywhere from one to all of them. This continues to be a truly enlightening, powerful, and healing journey, and I’m most grateful for those of you who allow me to travel it in such a public way. Here’s to you.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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Disoriented (Blog #599)

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Last month I blogged about going to court with a friend of mine in the same city where my dad was incarcerated when I was a teenager and about how the experience–um–brought up a lot of stuff for me. Well, that day my friend simply entered a plea–not guilty–with respect to a minor traffic violation, but today was their actual hearing. So this morning my friend and I hopped in their car and headed back toward Forrest City, Arkansas. And whereas my friend was prepared to offer a well-thought-out and reasoned defense, their charges were dropped when the officer who issued their ticket didn’t show up. It was that simple.

We were in and out of the courtroom in less than an hour.

Now I’m back home from the whole affair and ready to go to bed. It’s been a long day. Weird how riding in a car can take it out of you. Still, it’s been a good day. My friend and I had wonderful conversation there and back. I honestly don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. God, that felt good. Plus, we had a delightful lunch–burgers and fries. Yum. The perfect treat to celebrate my friend’s “victory by default,” as they called it.

In addition to road trips being tiring, here’s something else that’s weird–emotions. On our last trip, I was all nervous and jittery. Despite the fact that the situation had nothing to do with me (not my circus, not my monkeys), I was all worked up about the place, the circumstances, and the conflict. I know it’s a result of things that happened in my childhood, but I just don’t do well with authority figures, courtrooms, or the sound of banging gavels. But here’s the weird part–none of that was a problem today. Like, at all. Both on the way down there and while in the courtroom, I kept thinking that I “should be” all a-twitter. Because I always am in these situations. But I wasn’t.

This is something I’ve noticed a few times lately, that things that used to bother me bother me less now or not at all. For example, recently someone I liked blew me off (and not in the good way). And sure it hurt, but it really wasn’t a big deal, not like it usually is. Shortly after that, I got into a conversation about money, a subject that normally makes my butthole pucker, but this time it didn’t; it was just like talking about the weather. Then after that I ran into someone who typically makes my blood boil, but this time my temperature stayed the same. Then there was the thing today–no big reaction.

I’m assuming the fact that my emotions have “down-shifted” is the result of my working through their underlying causes, digging through my childhood and acknowledging feelings I’ve been ignoring for decades. Holy shit, that was overwhelming. That was absolutely terrifying. (My emotions in response: “Thank you for finally admitting it! We’ll be quiet now.”) Plus, there’s a natural confidence that comes when you work to establish good boundaries, speak your truth, own your own shit, and accept all parts of yourself. In my experience, you walk taller. Even when things are at their worst, you think, I can handle this.

Consequently, life gets easier.

All of this is good, of course, not being as afraid and whatever. That being said, it’s also disorienting, and I’d like to be clear that it’s REALLY TEMPTING for me to slip back into familiar emotional habits and patterns. Because it would be much more comfortable, at least much more familiar, for me to worry about money, rant about whomever and whatever, or get nervous in a courtroom. After all, I have vast experience with these things and have come to identify myself with them.

Byron Katie says this is the hardest part about change–we have to give up our identities. It’s the death of the ego, she says, that part of us that constantly identifies, that part of us that thinks, I am the one who’s terrified, I am the one who’s afraid of finances, I am the one who’s nervous in courtrooms. But what if you’re none of those things? What if the real you is something different altogether? That’s the disorienting part about giving up beliefs and response patterns you’ve held for decades, thinking, Well shit, if I’m not the one who’s terrified, then who am I?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

"

On Creating New Things (Blog #598)

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Last night’s dance in Fayetteville was fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. First, I had so many wonderful dances. Second, I saw and got to catch up with an old friend from high school. Third, I met some darling new people. One lady, a fellow dance instructor–hands down–made my entire night. We got into a delightful conversation. “I’m monopolizing your time,” she said. “I’m enjoying it,” I replied. Lastly, when the dance was over, my friend Matt and I went out to eat, and it’s always good to catch up with a friend.

I didn’t get home until 2:30 in the morning.

Almost like I have a life.

This afternoon Matt drove down to Fort Smith, and he and I met at our friend Bonnie’s house to work on dance stuff. We’re performing a routine together in less than two weeks, and we’re just getting started on it. (As the saying goes, there’s nothing like a hanging to focus one’s attention.) So for over six hours today we wracked our brains and bodies while choreographing and rehearsing. Meanwhile, Bonnie and her husband Todd were kind enough to make sure we stayed nourished–Todd made soup AND pumpkin pie. Matt and I each had three pieces. Talk about having a life. This is the kind of life you want to have.

I don’t remember the last time I put together a dance routine. Within the last year I participated in a group number that Matt choreographed for his troupe in Springfield, but it’s been ages since I’ve been part of something from start to finish. Creation to completion. Creation–that’s something Bonnie brought up tonight. “It’s fun to create new things,” she said. And to think that’s what Matt and I did all day.

Created a dance routine, created memories, created soreness in our hips.

Matt and I used plenty of familiar patterns today, but there’s something about figuring out WHERE to use them, making sure they fit the music just so. That’s creating too, like an author finding the right place for the right word. I love this sort of thing. Plus, Matt and I started working on a couple new aerials and polishing up some old ones. This is often a good way to injure yourself; tomorrow we might not be able to get out of bed. But this is also really fun–a challenge!–a fantastic way to push ourselves and improve.

Let’s hear it for challenges.

Here’s a slow-motion video Bonnie took of us doing a traditional frog jump with a “ninja kick” styling. It’s the same move we’re doing in tonight’s featured photo.

Now it’s nearly one in the morning, and I’m done for the day. Done, done, done. At least my body is. My mind is still racing, thinking of what all needs to be done, practiced, and perfected before our performance. But I also need to get to bed. I’ve got to be up early in the morning, and–ugh–I’m not looking forward to it. But this is Thanksgiving week, so I’m focusing on the goodness of last night’s and today’s events, the delightful company of my friends (one of whom I’m getting up early for tomorrow), creating new things, challenges, and–hum, what else?–Tylenol and Ibuprofen.

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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On Our Messy World (Blog #597)

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Currently it’s 3:30 in the afternoon, and I’m sitting in the Verizon Ballroom on the University of Arkansas campus in Fayetteville. My friend Matt is teaching a private dance lesson with a couple several feet away, but otherwise the room is empty. I’m not sure I’m supposed to be in here, but no one’s asked me to leave. Earlier there was a group class for intermediate dancers, but I didn’t get around in time for it. Whatever, I needed to sleep. Moving on. After the lesson, Matt and I are supposed to eat with some friends, then there’s a beginner lesson tonight and a dance with a live band. That’s the part I’m really excited about.

The dance.

Last night, despite being tired, tired, tired, I stayed up til one watching the FX series Pose, which is about transvestites, homosexuals, drug dealers, prostitutes, AIDS, and the “ballroom” world of New York City in the late 1980s. (Not ballroom dancing. “Balls” were a place where the outcasts of society could compete, strut, and “pose” for acceptance, recognition, and prizes.) Anyway, the series is fabulous. My therapist told me about it. When she first brought it up, I said, “Okay, I’ll watch it. You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

In last night’s episode, several of the main characters got tested for HIV/AIDS after one of them had a scare. They had to wait two weeks for their results. Ugh. This kind of anxiety is awful. I’ve experienced it, waiting in the health clinic for your name to be called. It’s so cold and clinical there. Not encouraging at all. Thankfully, I’ve personally always been fine, but once I was convinced I was about to hear the worst news possible, since I could have sworn I saw the word “positive” on the inside of my folder. But then the nurse said, “You’re negative.” It was that quick and easy. Like, bye now, have a good day.

I really didn’t mean to start talking about getting tested for STDs. But having been tested for a number of diseases and physical problems this last year and currently feeling tired, worn out, and simply “off,” I know that the mind–at least my mind–has a STRONG tendency to fantasize, awfulize, and imagine the worst possible outcome. My dick is going to fall off. I’ll never have any energy again. I’m going to die cold, broke, and alone. And I just know what a relief it is to realize that you’ve been blowing a lot of smoke up your own ass. Even in the face of bad news–your cholesterol is high, you have hemorrhoids, whatever–it’s never as bad in reality as it is in your head.

After the Pose episode, I watched an episode of The Power of Myth with Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers. It’s a series of interviews Moyers did with Campbell during the last two years of his life. During last night’s interview, Campbell says that the best thing you can give the world is an example of how to live in it. Because, as Campbell says, the world is a mess, and it’s always been a mess. Not that you can’t work to change it, but that it’s always going to be filled with both wonders and horrors, moments of absolute relief and elation and moments of unspeakable tragedy. So that’s what I’m working on, not rejecting an experience simply because it’s uncomfortable or painful, being open to whatever comes along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sickness and health come and go, just like everything else. It's just the way life is."

More Listening (Blog #596)

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Last night I slept well. Better than great. This morning I had a delightful breakfast, visited with my dad, and worked on organizing old photos. Then I read for maybe thirty minutes and took a nap because I was for whatever reason dog-tired. The nap was wonderful. Amazing really. Still, I woke up exhausted.

Pushing myself a bit, I went for a walk. Let’s move around, I thought. A little fresh air can’t hurt. So that’s what I did. Then I came back home, read a little more, and had dinner. Mom made chicken and rice. Yum.

Now it’s 9:15, and I’m still zapped. I’m not sure what it is. I’m not sick, I just don’t have much oomph. I don’t know, maybe we really are meant to sleep more in the winter. Personally, I’m starting to believe this getting dark early business is the universe’s way of saying, “Turn the lights off, damn it. Go to bed. Sleep.”

Earlier I tried blogging from my laptop, but my internet connection was bad, and I couldn’t upload tonight’s photo or save anything. After ten minutes of this nonsense, I finally gave up. Stop fighting, I thought. Use your phone.

So that’s what I’m doing.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve fought with my laptop and internet connection since starting this blog. The number of times I’ve forced myself to stay awake in order get this done. It’s all been my choice, of course, but it’s been exhausting. Plus, much of it was while I was sick with a chronic sinus infection or the flu. Like, my body’s been through a lot this last year, and on top of everything, I was push, push, pushing it to do more.

So dark at four in the afternoon or not, no wonder my body wants to rest.

I’m trying to do my best to listen. To not push through, to not force myself, and to not freak out and assume something is terribly wrong. I’m dying. I have a disorder. Instead, I’m just trying to listen and not complicate things. My body wants to rest. My body wants to relax. It’s that simple.

In response to this simple information, I’m about to end this and get ready for bed. For me, this will be is a small but powerful act of self-care. Less fighting. Less pushing. More listening to myself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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Flipped Upside Down (Blog #595)

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It’s 7:55 in the evening, and I’m at the local Starbucks. I’m alone, and so far I’ve sat at three different tables. At the first one, I had a video chat with my sister and my nephews. Then, after deciding to stay to blog, I moved to a table with built-in electrical outlets so I could charge my laptop and phone. But the outlets didn’t work. Now I’m at the third and final table, scrunched up in a corner with a giant, not exactly energy-efficient window to my back. So I’m cold. But at least I’m all plugged in and am recharging.

The History of Where I Sat by Marcus Coker.

I’ve felt off for the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday’s therapy session was a lot. I mean, it brought up a lot, mostly around my issues with money and business. Those topics always makes me a little squeamish, although it has gotten better lately, a lot better. (Now I only half-shit myself when discussing money.) Anyway, I came home last night and baked a frozen pizza in order to help me process everything my therapist and I talked about. The only problem was that I left that round piece of cardboard under the pizza when I put it in the oven. (You’re not supposed to do this.) And whereas the cardboard didn’t catch on fire–phew!–it did keep the pizza from cooking properly. This really sucks, when you try to eat your feelings but can’t because you don’t have any kitchen skills.

“You have a lot of talents, Marcus, but cooking clearly isn’t one of them,” my dad said. “You can’t even bake a frozen pizza!”

“Is this you being an encouraging parent?” I replied. “Are we having a father-son moment–is that what’s going on here?”

Today, at least on the outside, has been pretty dandy. This afternoon I had lunch with a friend who made me laugh, laugh, laugh. Then later I had coffee with another friend, and when we discussed my hatred for winter and the fact that my outfit of choice is jeans and a t-shirt, they said, “When you dress appropriately for each season, it’s easier to enjoy them.” So I’m going to work on that, maybe get some thicker socks and a fluffy coat.

I really am trying to take steps to enjoy the colder weather and not be so miserable. Last night before falling asleep I rubbed lotion into my hands and elbows, since they always dry out during this time of year. There’s no reason to add to your suffering, I told myself. A little bit goes a long way. And it’s not like the fall and winter don’t offer up their wonders in exchange for the light and heat they take away. Last night after the pizza incident but before I went to bed, I ran to Walmart to get a new headlight bulb for my car, Tom Collins, since I’d noticed one of them had burned out. Then when I got home, I saw that the sky had cleared (it’s been cloudy at night for weeks), and that the stars were out.

Wow! There was Orion, and next to him Gemini, The Twins. Y’all, it’s been so long since I’ve really gotten to study the sky. All my favorite players from two months ago–Pegasus, Perseus, Triangulum–had all moved from east to west. It was so disorienting–everything that was “right side up” had flipped upside down. (This is the consequence of our earth’s rotation.) My brain didn’t know what to do. Still, all of it was gorgeous, and I actually got excited about what the next few months will gift me in terms of experiences like these, despite the cold package they’ll surely be delivered in.

I came to Starbucks to chat with my sister because I have a meeting online tomorrow and wanted to test out my laptop’s camera and microphone first. Thankfully, my sister agreed to be my guinea pig. And whereas I’d assumed we’d just talk long enough for me to know whether things on my end were working, we ended up talking for twenty-five minutes. There I was in the middle of Starbucks, carrying on a rather loud conversation with my laptop screen and honestly acting a fool, since my sister and I got silly, silly, silly. Anyway, the whole thing put me in the best mood.

It’s weird how you can make such a big damn deal about things in your head. Like, yesterday, I was really worked up about life, and that mood carried over until–sometime–this afternoon. And it’s not like I wasn’t trying to make it go away–I was using every trick I know to stop worrying. But then I quit trying and told myself, Just let it be, Marcus. Just be with the people you care about. Just be here now. Somewhere along the way, my anxiety lifted. Now I’m thinking, What was the big deal about, Marcus? Why all the fuss? It’s weird. Without my trying or even meaning to, me emotions have flipped upside down, like a constellation in the night sky.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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Life Is Full of Gutter Balls (Blog #594)

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It’s six in the evening, and I just finished going to therapy and having coffee with a friend. By coffee, I mean hot tea, I just don’t think tea sounds as cool as coffee. Unless you’re British, of course, which I’m not, and neither is my friend. Anyway, my friend had to leave, so now I’m hanging out by myself at the coffee shop. I mean, there are other people here–about twenty–they’re just not sitting at my table. That would be weird, since I don’t know them. And crowded, since my table only seats four.

I told my therapist that lately I’ve been feeling “blah,” that I hate the cold weather, that my body’s felt “just okay,” and that I haven’t made a dollar in two weeks. “Two weeks?” she said. “That’s not a big deal. Let’s talk when it’s two years. Do you have a roof over your head, food in your belly, and gas in your car?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then relax,” she said. “You need to calm the fuck down.”

So I’m working on that.

Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
Everything is just–what’s the word?–hunky-fucking-dory.

Now it’s six-thirty, and I’ve been sitting in this chair for three solid hours. When I first got here, the place was warm, but someone must have turned on the air conditioner. Never mind the fact that it’s literally freezing cold outside. I don’t know, maybe it’s just because so many people have left. Body heat is like, a thing.

I’m planning to go to a dance in a little while. That should help warm me up. Plus, it’s nice–well, usually nice–to be around people. I’ve been cooped up at home with my parents and Days of Our Lives for the last three days, and whereas I love my parents (and sometimes actually like Days of Our Lives), it’s good to have a change of pace. A little social interaction. A conversation or two.

Everything is fine.

Just before I left therapy, I told my therapist that I recently blogged about commitment versus obligation, two things she and I discussed in our last session. She said it was okay to feel “some obligation” to things, like to this blog. And that’s good, since I definitely feel that at times. Take now, for instance. I’m distracted and ready to get out of here. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately, and I don’t know HOW to calm the fuck down. The last thing I want to do is sit here and sit in my feelings. Seriously, sitting in your feelings every day, every damn day, can get old real quick.

Last night while cleaning my room I found a caricature of me that was drawn in 1994, back when I was a big bowler. My sister and I were actually part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. This was our idea of organized sports. We had handicaps and everything. We even went to several tournaments, collected a few patches. Woo. Anyway, I’m not sure why it’s relevant now. I just remember that Arkansas ball cap. I used to wear it all the time. And I remember how I’d get nervous and my palms would sweat before it was my turn to throw the ball, especially if I needed to hit so many pins in order to progress to the next round. But then I’d hold my hand over the air vent, pick up my ball, and find my spot on the lane. Then I’d take a deep breath and throw the ball.

Sometimes it was a strike, sometimes a gutter. More often, it was something in between.

My therapist says that in life you need to be prepared to fall on your face hundreds of times, sometimes thousands. Believe it or not, this was said as an encouragement. But I get it, not every moment of every day is a strike. Life is full of gutter balls and in-between moments. It’s certainly full of sweaty-palm moments. Full of I-don’t-know-what-to-do moments. So we do the best we can. We tell ourselves, “Everything is fine.” We try to find our place, we take a deep breath, and we try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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.

"

On Today and Becoming Famous (Sort of) (Blog #593)

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Things that happened today–

1. I woke up

Last night I passed out way early but only slept for a couple hours. Then I tossed and turned for a couple hours, then I finally fell back asleep. Then when my bladder woke me up this morning/afternoon, I was in a fog, which I’ve been in ever since. My hips hurt, and–I know this sounds like something an old person would say, but–it’s probably because the weather’s changing. Seriously, I do not thrive when it’s cold outside. Still, as my dad says, “Any day above ground is a good day.”

2. I remembered how much I’ve forgotten

This afternoon I worked more on my photo-sorting project. I’m getting close to done. A few more days like today, and I should have it licked. Anyway, nothing profound came up today, at least nothing that hasn’t come up before. But here’s a photo of me and my friend DeAnna, who taught me how to dance. (She’s the responsible party.) I know it was taken in Biloxi, MS, but I can’t for the life of me remember when. Well wait, I think it was sometime around (either just before or after) Hurricane Katrina, which was in 2005. So that’s a clue. I swear, trying to remember my life is like trying to solve a murder mystery.

3. I faced my fears

For over a year I’ve been meaning to add a “donate” page to the website, but have been putting it off, putting it off because it brings up a lot of issues for me. (Fear of money, fear of rejection, fear of acceptance.) But my therapist and I set a goal to have it done by next week (ish), so tonight I “drafted” the page. And whereas I was initially terrified to sit down and “write something, write anything,” it went fine and wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I imagined it would be. I mean, it was just putting my honest thoughts on the page, and that’s something I do every day. Plus, my therapist and I have done a lot of digging around WHY this is such a big damn deal for me, and as I heard Shakti Gawain* say tonight (and I’m paraphrasing), “When we really look at the root of our fears and acknowledge them, they begin to dissolve.”

*Shakti Gawain was the author of Creative Visualization. She passed away this last week.

4. I became famous

Well, sort of. Recently while I was on a travel writing trip in Tennessee, my friend and fellow journalist Tom Wilmer interviewed me about swing dancing for his podcast, Journeys of Discovery, on NPR. Y’all, I was totally nervous. I’m so used to ASKING questions, not ANSWERING them. But Tom was super, like “this is no big deal,” and put me at ease. Later, Tom combined my interview with another interview he did about belly dancing, and the show went live tonight. Here’s a link to the entire thing. It’s about thirty minutes long, and my part starts at 13:55. Personally, I’m thrilled with how it turned out. Thanks, Tom!

Be sure to check out some of Tom’s other interviews. He gets to meet the coolest people and does a fabulous job sharing their stories with the world.

5. I cleaned my room

While listening to the podcast, I dusted my room. Woowho. Now I won’t have to do that again for another six months.

[One final shout-out to Tom for taking the picture of me at the top of tonight’s blog. It’s from our trip to Tennessee and was taken at Fall Creek Falls State Park.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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On Being Committed (Blog #592)

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It’s 8:00 in the evening, and it’s been dark outside since 4:30. What the actual hell? I feel like it’s midnight. I’m SO TIRED. No kidding, I’m about to pass out hibernation style. Like for the entire winter.

Somebody wake me up when it’s March!

Earlier my parents, my aunt, and I went out for dinner at–get this–3:45 so we could get the senior citizen discount at Furr’s Super Buffet. It’s sexy, I know. Y’all, I “sort of” controlled myself with all the food options, but still managed to scarf down a salad, two full plates of mashed this and cheesy that, and a dessert. My insulin was like, “What do you think I am–a miracle worker?!”

Hum. Insulin. Maybe that’s why I’m so sleepy.

Anyway, this was honestly the highlight of my day. Meatloaf that’s been keep warm under a lightbulb.

Before we went out to eat, I worked more on sorting old photos, and I’m continually amazed that in many cases I can’t put my finger on what year something happened. Today I tried to organize photos of when our old swing dance group, The Big Bad Jittacats, performed on The Dr. Pepper Stage at the fairgrounds. Eventually, I gave up on about twenty-five percent of the photos, since we were out there SO MANY TIMES and everything just blends together like–I don’t know–a casserole does in your mouth.

Maybe from this point forward I should start wearing a different uniform each year. Then when I look back at photos I’ll know–Oh yes, 2018, the year of yellow spandex and red suspenders.

Or whatever.

Currently I’m blogging on my phone because my internet (my hotspot) drags ass during the afternoon and early evening hours. I assume because everyone else is on the network. Last night while I was writing at three in the morning, it wasn’t a problem. Unless you consider going to bed just before sunrise a problem, which I’m starting to. Anyway, so this is a compromise–phone blogging now in exchange for a decent night’s rest later.

Am I at five hundred words yet? That’s my goal for tonight. Then I can get ready for bed and not feel like I “have” to stay up forever.

Just before I passed out last night about 4:45, a friend from overseas messaged me online and said, “Are you awake?!” Then when I said yes because of the blog, they said, “I admire your commitment.” To which I said, “Most days I feel like I should BE committed.”

Like to an institution.

Along these lines, my therapist asked recently if I felt COMMITTED to the blog or OBLIGATED to the blog. After pausing to consider the difference between the two things, I said, “I’m committed.” This was apparently the right answer, since I got a Tootsie Roll when our session was over.

I’m not sure why I bring this up now, other than to say I think it’s a good thing to ponder if you’re thinking of taking on a big project, whether that’s a creative endeavor like writing a blog or a personal one like going to the gym or getting married. Because if you feel obligated to whatever it is, chances are it won’t last. Either that or you won’t (without becoming resentful). But if you feel committed to your idea/goal/person, well that’s a different matter. Not that it’s a guarantee of success, of course, but at least it’s a better starting point.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.

"

A Thousand Wallet-Sized Photos (Blog #591)

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It’s two in the morning, and–I know I say this a lot, but–the day has gotten away from me. I slept in until one this afternoon, and even I thought, For crying out loud, Marcus Anderson Coker, wake up earlier. But for the last week I’ve been tired, tired, tired, like seriously dragging ass, and I haven’t been today. Rather, I woke up–how do I say this?–excited to be alive.

So maybe I just needed some serious Zs.

After an obviously late breakfast, I spent this afternoon digging through my old yearbooks–pre-kindergarten through college–because while going through old photos lately I’ve come across handfuls of unlabeled “wallets” and wanted to figure out what picture was taken when. This project took nearly three hours but definitely helped me organize both my photos and my brain. Oh yes–I had braces from sixth grade to eight grade, then I frosted my hair in high school, then I dyed it red in college, AND THEN I dyed it blue (also in college). The other thing this project did was remind me, sort of all at once, how frickin’ awkward it is to grow up or to generally be alive. I mean, the braces, the haircuts, the zits. Ugh. my senior portraits were airbrushed to hell. Not to mention the fashion.

Personally, I did the baggy shirt thing for WAY too long.

I guess about junior high, maybe a little sooner, is when the awkward thing really started for me. I found one photo taken between sixth and seventh grades from a back-to-school pool party in which I was the only guy wearing a t-shirt in the swimming pool because I didn’t like what puberty did to my nipples. I realize this level of criticism is normal. You hit puberty, and EVERYTHING changes–some things for the better, some things for the worse. At some point, you end up despising your own body. (If this wasn’t your experience with puberty, just wait until your metabolism slows down or your breasts start to sag.) But I never remember thinking ANYTHING was wrong before puberty. NOTHING was too big, too small, too anything. It just was. Now I think most things are–too something, that is. Like, I don’t care for my posture, and when I look back at my junior high photos I think, That’s when I started slouching. So not do I pick on the current me, I also pick on the former me.

And he’s not even here to defend himself.

Not that I want to go back to the age I was in elementary school when everything was all “ain’t life great,” but I would like to go back to that level of self-acceptance and self-kindness.

This evening after dinner I went to Fort Smith to help my aunt with her internet and do a couple odd jobs. Then I went to a friend’s house to help them with a phone/computer thing, and since phone/computer things always take MUCH longer than expected, ended up eating dinner again. “Have you eaten,” my friend said. “Well, yes,” I said, “but I’m ALWAYS hungry.” Anyway, this is where the bulk of my evening was spent, at my friend’s house, working and catching up. We laughed, laughed, laughed. This is so important, I think, since it’s really easy to stay at home, dig through your memories, get stuck in your head, and take both yourself and your life way too seriously.

So that’s my two cents for tonight–if you know someone who makes you laugh, ask them if you can come over. (Tell ’em you’ll fix their phone or computer.)

When I got home from my friend’s, it was nearly midnight, and I’d intended to start blogging right away. But then I decided to crop all the “photos of yearbook photos” I took while going through my annuals this afternoon, AND THEN I thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to have them all lined up neat and orderly, like in a collage? AND THAT turned into a nearly two-hour long project that involved not only learning how to use a new phone app, but also doing my damndest to not demand perfection of myself.

Maybe that photo should be a little bigger and slightly to the left.

This is apparently a lesson I’ve been trying to learn for a while, the not demanding perfection of myself thing. While looking through my college yearbooks (for three of four of which I was the editor), I noticed a “letter from the editor” in which I said, “You’ll find plenty of mistakes here. But like life, this is meant to be fun.”

This is meant to be fun, Marcus.

I don’t know, if I got to someone’s Instagram feed and find nothing but “perfect” photos, like every single frickin’ one is magazine-quality beautiful, I think, Bitch, please. Because that’s not real life; it’s not even close. Real life is awkward smiles, bad haircuts, and zits on your face. It’s crooked teeth, a stain on your (baggy) shirt, and posture that’s never quite “right.” It’s everything you could fit into a thousand wallet-sized photos. At the same time, it’s not that–because real life is REAL life. It’s something that’s lived, not something that’s captured with a camera. It’s whatever time you woke up today, whatever you did this afternoon, and the sound of two friends laughing. It’s whatever is happening right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."