Starting on the Right Foot (Blog #641)

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[Photo credit: Tom Wilmer]

It’s 9:36 PM on New Year’s Eve, there are fireworks going off outside, and I’m celebrating alone. This is somewhat by choice, somewhat just the way the cookie crumbled. This morning I had an offer to join some friends tonight, but the party was out-of-town, and attending would have required more in terms of time and effort than I could have given considering my present condition. (I had knee surgery last week.) So instead I’m here, alone, in front of my laptop, listening to Eva Cassidy. Eva’s always my go-to choice whenever I’m feeling sad/lonely/thoughtful/hopeful.

I guess today has been all right. Honestly, I hate the fact that there’s all this pressure to make holidays special. Because if you spend the day binge watching your latest favorite television series and eating pizza any other day of the year, well, that’s kind of fabulous. But do those things alone on a night when practically the entire world is out getting turnt, and–hum–that kind of sucks.

Oh well.

Of course, the big thing lately that has me down is my jacked-up knee. Tonight’s main photo came in on my email earlier from my friend and fellow travel writer Tom and was taken a couple months ago in Tennessee, back when I could bend both knees and didn’t think anything about it. Now I couldn’t squat like that to save my life. Hopefully no one puts a gun to my head and says, “CROUCH, asshole!” anytime soon. Anyway, today I noticed that my left knee (the one that was operated on) is quite bruised both above and below my kneecap. I don’t know, maybe the bruise is just coming to the surface. Or maybe today was the first time I got away from the yellow-tinted bulbs in my room and stood close enough to a sunlit window to notice it. Either way, it’s gross.

And it’s still difficult to stand up.

I know this will be the case for a while. This afternoon I went through my physical rehab exercises twice, and they’re quickly becoming part of my routine. (Who am I kidding? I don’t have a routine.) Anyway, I really don’t intend this blog to become The All About My Knee Report, but this is still fresh and has a lot of my emotional attention.

Like, all of it.

Earlier after finishing the Amazon Prime series Sneaky Pete (Season 2), I started to take a shower and do my final set of exercises. But then I figured that would put me blogging as the new year begins, and for whatever reason, I’d rather be doing something else. Granted, I do enjoy this–writing, blogging–most the time. But today marks one year and nine months of daily blogging (I started March 31, 2017), so I’m not even going to pretend that this isn’t work, sitting down every day, every damn day, and hacking away at the keyboard, soul-searching.

Come out, come out, wherever I am.

Since it’s been one year and nine months since I started this thing, today does indeed feel like a milestone worthy of fireworks. This project is something I’m profoundly proud of. Mostly because of how it’s changed me. Seriously, I could do without all the “first day of the new year” fanfare, but the fact that today is three months shy of two years of straight (well, continuous) blogging, that’s a big deal for me. In this light, I’m reminded that the things in our lives that impact us the most rarely happen at the stroke of midnight. Rather, they are the things we show up to and sit with day after day after day. So whether it’s this blog or my knee rehab, I’m telling myself that all I have to do is keep showing up in order to get the results I want.

Somehow, The Mystery will work its magic.

Now it’s 10:33 PM, and chances are if I finish this up and get right to the shower, I’ll either be doing my rehab exercises or brushing my teeth as 2018 comes to a close. And whereas I know I just said I don’t make a big deal out of these moments, clearly a part of me does. A part of me wishes I were at some lovely party, holding hands with my dear one. But that’s simply not the case this year, and I don’t have a dear one anyway. The last time I did on new year’s, we were at home hanging tile and–as I recall–fighting. We were always fighting, so surely we were that night too. Anyway, I’ll take rehab exercises or my toothbrush over that hell any day.

Everything’s relative.

As The Final Hour closes in, I’m glad that I’m alone. If this project has taught me anything, it’s that–at least most the time–I’m my own best company. I mean, I’m pretty funny. But seriously, I’ve learned that even when my feelings aren’t comfortable, I can sit with them, I can listen to them, and we can figure things out. Plus, I’m hoping for some wonderful things this coming year, so good that I have this time to reflect on what those things are and what my “next steps” could be. What are those things that I want to start or keep showing up to? What are those things I need to STOP showing up to? Yes, I’m starting this year on the right foot. I have to.

My left one doesn’t work anyway.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

"

On Looking for Silver Linings (Blog #640)

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It’s day four after knee surgery, and–believe it or not–I’m walking. Well, sort of. Sometimes it looks like walking, sometimes it looks like lurching. Still, for the most part, I’m not using a walker or crutches. The doctor said I could get around without them after I could do twenty to thirty straight-leg lifts without assistance. And whereas he said most people could do that seven days after surgery, I’ve been doing that since yesterday (day three). So basically I’m a rock star.

No autographs, please.

I’m making jokes, but personally, I’m not celebrating my slightly ahead-of-schedule recovery because this isn’t fun and this isn’t pretty. Seriously, walking to the refrigerator shouldn’t require every ounce of willpower a person has and three Hail Marys. I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing–sometimes I feel really solid, and other times I feel like I’m putting my weight down on a piece of boiled spaghetti. (Whoa!) Then there’s the pain. The vast majority of the time, it’s not that bad. But if I’ve been in bed or had my leg propped up on the couch for a while and then stand up, well, that makes me want to cuss. And usually I do.

But then I give it a minute, and the pain goes away.

For the last few days, I’ve survived on only Tylenol. Sometimes Ibuprofen. Granted, I’m glad to have the prescription heavy hitters if I need them, but they sort of made me loopy, and I’ve heard they can make you constipated. (Like I’m not already full of shit.) But really, I don’t need anything else to go wrong.

God, I need something to go right.

It’s simply one of those days. Fuck, it’s one of those years. Hard, difficult, and kick-you-in-your-gut challenging. And I’m tired of it. I’ve said this before, but I cry uncle. Go pick on someone else, universe. Earlier I saw one of those stupid, feel-good memes with a picture of a daisy that said, “When everything seems dark, maybe you haven’t been buried; maybe you’ve been PLANTED. Bloom!” I seriously wanted to barf. If you ever come to me when you’re in the midst of The Dark Night of the Soul, and I look at you and not only compare you to a flower but also suggest that you immediately spring forth and open up your petals for me (and no, that’s not a sexual reference), you have my permission to punch me in the ass.

It’s not that I don’t see all the silver linings in this situation. I’m making progress every day. I’m supported by a lot of people. I have good friends. And despite the fact that this last year has been filled with health challenges, I’ve made headway on a number of fronts. But here’s the deal. I’m TIRED of looking for silver linings. I’m tired of waking up every day (almost every day) and staring at clouds. I need a sunny day. I need a string of sunny days.

Uncle.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance is a lot like gravity--it's everywhere.

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Grasping for Door Knobs (Blog #639)

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Last night I slept badly again–tossed and turned, had weird dreams, woke up with a headache. When I finally stumbled out of bed and used my walker to make my way into the living room this morning and my dad asked how I was, I said not so great. “Still,” I said, “I’m going to have an attitude of gratitude.” Then, since we both speak sarcasm, we laughed, and I ate chocolate cake for breakfast while I propped my injured leg up on the coffee table to help straighten it out. Honestly, this is the most painful thing I do–try to fully straighten or fully bend my knee. And whereas I’m making progress, it’s slight.

A little bit here, a little bit there.

After breakfast I did my first set of rehab exercises for the day, then iced my leg. Then I read, took a nap, ate a snack, and did the exercises/ice thing again. Then I ate dinner, and now I’m blogging while drinking a chocolate shake, which I’m assuming is what my post-operation directions had in mind when they told me to “eat nutritious foods because they help you heal.” After this, it’ll be the exercises/ice thing again, then back to bed for HOPEFULLY a good night’s rest.

Clearly, my days after surgery are revolving around physical therapy and ice packs, and I hate that. I hate that a month ago it was easy to get in and out of bed, in and out of a chair, and in and out of shower, and now I have to think like MacGyver to do any of those things. I hate that everything from getting a Q-Tip to changing my underwear now has to be “thought out.” Last night during The Great Sleep Disaster of 2018, I woke up at four in the morning sweating; my shirt was soaked. Not like I had a fever, but it was definitely damp. Anyway, I got up to change shirts, and despite the fact that my closet is only five feet from the end of my bed, I had to think about things. What am I going to hold on to? What am I going to lean against?

I think it’s the leaning against thing that pisses me off the most. I guess it’d be more accurate to say “that I have the hardest time accepting.” For so long I’ve done everything on my own. Easily flitted from here to there. And now I’m finding myself in countless awkward positions–hopping on one leg, using crutches, grasping for door knobs–just to change a shirt. Byron Katie says that we’re always supported. By life or whatever. Like, if you’re sitting in a chair, the chair’s holding you, and the ground’s holding the chair. And if you trip and fall, well, there’s the ground again, holding you. Most people, of course, would be mad about the trip, but her point (I think) is that in this moment–right here, right now–the trip is over.

From this perspective, I can’t do anything about that dance accident I had four weeks ago. It’s over. But I can recognize that I’m currently in a warm bed and my leg is resting on a pillow. Supported. And I can try–try–to be grateful for my one good leg, for crutches, and for door knobs. For anything I need to lean against.

Since it’s day three after surgery and my directions said I could, this evening (after dinner) I removed the gauze and bandages around my knee. Ugh. There was a lot of dried blood. Also, there were staples, which I wasn’t completely prepared for. You know, sometimes they do things laparoscopically. And whereas there were two such incision points, there were also two “cuts,” one with five staples, and one with twelve. (Prepare yourself, since I’m going to post a picture.) Honestly, I can’t figure out how I feel about these incisions. I mean, I’m grateful that I’ve been repaired, but my knee looks like the side of Frankenstein’s face. I don’t know, I guess it’s the finality of the whole thing. This really happened. I’m going to have a scar.

All things considered, it could be worse. After I took the bandages off, I carefully navigated my way into the bathtub and cleaned up for the first time in four days. Phew, did that feel good. Also, it was exhausting, getting in and out of the tub. Seriously, this is a lot of emotional back and forth–feeling grateful, feeling pissed. But this is life. It’s never just one thing.

Whenever I finish blogging, I’m going to cover my staples with bandages as instructed. However, for now, my view is essentially your view in the picture. 17 shiny staples staring back at me. Earlier today while trying to climb into bed, my left knee gave out–er, faltered–and I fell back into the bed. Now I see why. It’s been though a lot. But this has happened a few times, when all my strength wasn’t there, and I’ve had to catch myself. My point is, there’s always that uncertainty–Am I going to be able to hold myself up? This is something I thought a lot about during the night last night, the applicable metaphors regarding this injury. Because these are some of my greatest fears–Can I walk tall and move confidently forward in the world? Can I support myself?

A few times since starting tonight’s blog, I’ve reached down with my left hand to simply feel my knee. Physically, it’s a little swollen, tender, and–um–leaky. (That’s gross, I know, but this is real life and facts are facts.) When I put my hand on my knee, I can’t help but cry. It’s like I’m putting my hand on the shoulder of a dear friend who feels sad and tired. Oh so tired. Like it’s been though a lot, and not just this last month. At the same time, it feels willing to heal, willing to try again, willing to support me like it has for all these years, despite my never having given it any credit for all its hard work until now. It seems to say, We’ve got this. Be patient. Grasping for door knobs is only temporary. I hope this makes sense. More and more, I really do believe our bodies are trying to communicate with us.

More and more, I’m trying to listen.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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Anything but Unremarkable (Blog #638)

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It’s day two after knee surgery, and last night I slept for shit. At five in the morning, I woke up with a headache, I guess because I’m having to sleep in an awkward/unfamiliar position to baby my leg. Anyway, it’s the weirdest thing when you wake up in pain and can’t easily move to do anything about it. First you lie there hoping it will go away. Then you slowly wake up, realize the pain’s not going anyway, and try to formulate a plan–because when you’re knee doesn’t work, everything including getting out of bed, going the bathroom, and taking a Tylenol requires a strategy. But I did it–got up, used the bathroom, popped some pills, and went back to bed.

All by myself.

Today itself has been unremarkable. This afternoon I got a package in the mail–some herbs I ordered on Amazon–and the package was empty. No kidding; not a damn thing was inside. Go figure. Anyway, that’s how the day’s felt–blah. I haven’t taken any high-grade pain medicine since last night. The good news is I’m not hurting. The bad news is I’m uncomfortable. That’s the best way I can describe it. Like I want to jump out of my skin. Plus, my throat is scratchy from the breathing tube the anesthesiologist used, and I haven’t showered in three days (I can’t until tomorrow). I smell gross, I feel gross, I have gross all over me.

Ick.

So far I’ve done my rehab exercises five times–three times yesterday, two today. Three times a day is what’s “required.” By the time I get myself down on the floor, curse my way through the exercises, and stop a few times for breaks, each session takes about an hour. This seems like a long time, but–hell–what else am I doing? Getting better, I’m telling myself, is now my full-time job.

The exciting thing–if that’s the right word–about doing the exercises is that I can already see progress. Like, how my knee can bend a little bit more (with encouragement) or how I can lift my leg off the ground more easily (without having to wrap a towel around my foot and pull it up). Also, I’ve been scooting around the house using a walker rather than crutches, and that’s helping me practice picking up my left leg, putting a little weight on it, and going through the motions of walking. I assume this is how progress is going to come–a little at a time–so I’m trying to embrace the process.

Woo.

This afternoon I read a book for about an hour, which means my concentration is returning. That was a thing for a minute, not being able to concentrate, either because of the anesthesia or the pain medicine. However, after reading, despite the fact that I’d only been up a few hours, I took a two-hour nap. So that’s still a thing, being easily worn out and needing to rest.

Okay, I’m frustrated. Anyway I look at it, this is simply a pain in my ass. Well, my knee, which is possibly worse. Do you know how hard it is to walk to the kitchen for a piece of chocolate cake or sit on a toilet seat when your knee doesn’t work? As I said yesterday, I’m over it. However, while doing my rehab exercises, I listened to a lecture by Caroline Myss and was reminded that each of us wields a great amount of power that not only affects our own personal lives, but also the lives of others. This power, she says, starts with the thoughts we think, which are indeed acts of creation. And since one thought leads to another (and another and another), she suggests imagining the potential different outcomes that could arise from waking up and saying, “Today is a good day,” versus saying, “Today is a disaster.”

So despite today’s challenges and frustrations, I’m choosing to say, “Today is a good day,” anything but unremarkable, a day for a progress, a day for healing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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I’m Over This (Blog #637)

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Yesterday I had surgery on my left knee to reconstruct my ACL. My dad drove me. Arriving at the surgery center, I was immediately stripped of my dignity. That is, my clothes. “You can leave your underwear on,” the nurse said (the same way my last date did), as she handed me a gown to wear. Later I told my friend Bonnie, “Those things are so unflattering.” Her response: “You’re so gay.”

For the last few weeks I’ve been fighting a skin rash, so in addition to a change of clothes and my wallet, I loaded up my “surgery backpack” with various creams. Anyway, before surgery, I told the nurse I needed to use the restroom, and when she pointed me in the right direction, I grabbed my bag so I could take care of business. “DO YOU NEED YOUR BAG?” she said. I guess she thought I was gonna take a swig of whiskey or snort a line of coke in the john. Not bothering to explain myself, I said, “Yep!” and kept walking.

When I got back from the restroom, the nurse shaved my knee and hooked me up to an IV, which was used to pump me full of saline and antibiotics. Then the anesthesiologist came to explain about putting me under and the option of giving me a nerve block, which is sort of like an epidural, to numb pain.

“I want it all,” I said.

The surgery itself went well. When I woke up in recovery I was in a fancy brace, which the doctor said was mainly for my comfort. “Take it off if you like,” he said. “You’re not gonna pull anything loose.” Ugh. My surgeon is real aggressive. Those are his words. I got the day off yesterday, but at-home rehab exercises started today. So far I’ve done them once (out of three times). And whereas they weren’t fun, they weren’t as painful or as difficult as I thought they’d be.

That being said, I am on drugs, and I can tell when they start to wear off. The nerve block definitely has. But whatever I’m taking keeps me groggy and–when I’m standing–nauseated. I’m sure the nauseated part has something to do with the anesthesia and pain, the consequence of my knee having been cut into like the piece of chicken I just ate for dinner.

Mostly, I’m hanging out in a chair or resting in bed. Changing positions, going to the bathroom, and walking on crutches is awkward. My neck is sore. My sister, brother-in-law, and their kids are sick with cold/stomach stuff, so that terrifies me, being surrounded by germs. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about it. Just because they’re sick doesn’t mean I have to be. But it’s not like the universe hasn’t kicked me when I’ve been down before.

We’ll see what happens.

Okay, I’m over this. The knee injury, of course, but especially the writing. Between the pain and the drugs, it’s difficult to concentrate. I keep thinking I’ll spend the day reading it watching TV, but I can’t focus and end up nodding off. So I’m shutting this down and going to grunt through my exercises again.

You can do this, Marcus. You can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Upid (Blog #636)

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It’s 6:36 in the morning, just like this is blog #636, and I’ve been up for half an hour, getting ready for knee surgery. My dad’s about to use the bathroom, then we’re getting in my car, Tom Collins, and heading to Fayetteville. Check in is at 8; surgery at 9:30.

Phew.

Last night after I posted the blog, I walked around the block because I figured it would be the last time I could go for a walk for a while. It was slow, emotional. This really is overwhelming. And by “this” I mean life lately. But still, I made it. There was a point going up a hill when my knee got cranky, but hell, it is pretty screwed up, so why wouldn’t it get pissed about being taken for a stroll?

Just before midnight last night, I ate a snack and gulped down some water, then cut myself off from food and liquids as instructed. Then I crawled in bed. And whereas it took a while to wind down, I did get some rest. Granted, I woke up at five in the morning randomly. I’d just had a dream about–something–being on the yearbook staff in college, I think.

Oh well.

Now Dad and I are in the car, just getting on the interstate. I’m blogging now because I’m imagining I won’t feel much like blogging later. Although my writing while on pain medication could be fun. Anyway, there are times, days like today, when I think this blogging every day thing is perfectly ridiculous. I mean, I know it was my idea, but one day I bet I’ll look back and think, Stupid.

Or as my nephew, who’s not allowed to say stupid, would say, Upid.

So this is it until tomorrow. Even if I feel up to it this afternoon or evening, no more writing. Last night I had “a chat” with my knee, and I told it I’d rest, drink plenty of water. You know, take it easy. So that’s what I’m going to do. Besides, I’m over this.

I have other things to do today.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Freedom lies on the other side of everything you're afraid of.

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About to Step into the Ring (Blog #635)

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Today I’ve felt ick and nauseated. For one thing, it’s Christmas Day and my immediate family doesn’t celebrate, and that’s not fun. It feels like all those weddings I used to work as a single, in-the-closet photographer. Like the whole world’s happy and together, but not me. Whatever, the holidays are complicated for a lot of people. So many memories, so many emotions. Plus, I’m having surgery on my left knee tomorrow to repair my ACL, and that’s got my stomach tied up in knots.

Ugh.

This afternoon I put the knee brace my surgeon’s office gave me in the back seat of my car, Tom Collins. They said I’d wake up in it after surgery. The brace, not my car. I also un-decorated my crutches, which for the last few weeks have been decked out in Christmas tinsel, ever since I was in that tacky holiday variety show at the local theater. Anyway, I put those in the back seat too, as I’ll be needing them again starting–soon. This is part of what’s got me upset. For a week and a half now I’ve been crutches-less and walking on my own. Granted, my walking has been slow and not always pain-free, but at least I’ve felt independent. But starting tomorrow it’s back to square one, hobbling around and asking people to bring me things. I guess it just feels like I’m going backwards.

I realize this isn’t the case. Tomorrow’s surgery is an important step (pun intended) in this whole process and absolutely necessary if I want my “world of movement” to look anything like it did before. But it’s a lot, emotionally. Sure, the surgeon does this every day, but I don’t. I’ll be going under. There will be scars. And whereas the surgeon said the scars wouldn’t be a big deal because I have hairy legs, it’s still a big deal to me to be both cut open and permanently marked.

Also, sometimes I shave my legs.

Now it’s nine at night, and I’ve got to be up at six in the morning. I can only have food and liquids for the next three hours. I still have to shower, pack a small bag, and make sure I have my shit together. Honestly, I don’t imagine I’ll get much sleep. For one thing, I’m not used to going to bed before midnight. More like two in the morning. For another thing, my mind is racing.

I wish I knew how to make it stop.

People do these things every day–have surgery, go through rehab, get through the pain. People walk again. People dance again. So part of me knows it’s possible. And whereas I know I’ll do as I’m told, push through, and probably overachieve (because it’s one of my things), I’m honestly not looking forward to it. You know how sometimes you’re ready for a fight, and sometimes you’re not? Well, I’m not. This isn’t a fight I was looking for or even wanted once it found me. And yet here I am about to step (sort of) into the ring. So I’m taking deep breaths and preparing to do my best.

Here we go.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops.

"

On Humble Beginnings (Blog #634)

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It’s an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, and I’ve spent most the day cuddled up in my favorite chair, reading. For me, today has been like most any other, since our family stopped celebrating Christmas over twenty years ago. It’s a long story. Part of me wishes I could go back and rewrite it, since I think traditions are important and my thinking around this particular tradition has changed a lot. But, of course, it’s hard to wind back the clock. Plus, once you’ve lost the magic of something, it’s difficult to regain it.

But not impossible, perhaps.

Really, I’m fine with this. Sure, when I see pictures of others celebrating with friends and loved ones and opening presents, a part of me misses that. But I’ve been with my family all day long, and I haven’t had to spend a dime on presents. Which is good, since I don’t have a dime. But I do miss the sparkle around the season. I used to adore decorating the tree and putting up lights on the outside of the house. Really, looking back at how I’d climb on the roof and meticulously unscrew and re-screw every bulb until they were perfectly arranged–green, red, green, red–someone should have told me a long time ago that I was a homosexual. Anyway, the last few years I’ve made an effort to participate and celebrate, if only a little. This year I helped a friend decorate the outside of their house. I was in a holiday variety show.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

I think one of the hardest things to do is accept your life both as it is and how it’s been. Especially in today’s world of social media, it’s so easy to compare yourself to others. Just scroll through your phone for a minute–one minute!–and you can see everything you’re not in terms of looks, friends, prestige, and holiday celebrations. But to really sit with your story, with all your humble beginnings, this is a tough thing to do. My mom’s been depressed since I was a child. Our home burned down when I was four. My dad went to prison. As if this weren’t enough to make us different, we stopped celebrating Christmas, and (years later) I came out of the closet.

This evening my sister, her husband, and their boys went to a friend’s house for dinner. A friend of theirs and their family ended up being there–because their home burned down tonight. The family was okay, but their pets died. This went on while my parents and I went out to eat at Chili’s and I shoved down a plateful of fajitas, two beers, and a chocolate molten lava cake. Granted, it wasn’t extravagant in terms of “what’s expected,” but we were together. Anyway, this is the world we live in. The worst things happen alongside the best things.

Back home from dinner, I returned to my reading chair. After my sister and her crew got home, my older nephew, who spends most his time in his own world and really isn’t into socializing, crawled up in my chair and read his comic book alongside me. Didn’t say a word. Just snuggled up between one armrest and me and turned his pages. It was the sweetest thing; I wouldn’t trade the thirty minutes he sat there for the world. Who’s to say if this would have happened in a living room full of packages? I mean, I’ve seen my nephew around presents.

It wouldn’t have happened.

Yesterday my friend Bonnie gave me a pack of positive affirmation cards called AFFIRMATORS!, and they’re my new favorite thing. There are over fifty cards in the pack, and the idea is that you shuffle them “like a three year-old” and pull one out at random. Well, get this shit. Three times today (out of four) I pulled out the same card–Magic. I’m including a picture of it here, but the idea is that life is a great mystery, and we’re surrounded by serendipity and wonderful, inexplicable happenings. Anyway, on a day that used to be filled with magic for me, during a time in my life that’s so difficult, it was the perfect reminder that miracles can occur in the most unlikely of places and circumstances.

Just after I pulled this card for the first time, I got a text message from a friend from high school that I haven’t talked to in–I don’t know–five or ten years. I guess they were last-minute shopping; they wanted to buy some dance lessons. This ended up being the perfect thing. They got a gift to give to someone they care about, and I got some cash (which I really needed). Anyway, I kept hearing my therapist’s voice in my head, since a couple weeks ago, after having injured my knee, I was bemoaning my financial prospects and suggested I could liquidate a few things. “Naw,” my therapist said, “let the universe do something.” And so it did. Talk about a Christmas miracle.

Magic.

In other good news, the skin rash that I’ve had for the last few weeks is finally getting better. Like, not just a little; a lot. I’ll spare you the details, but I figured out the right cream to use on it. Maybe this seems like a small matter, but when life’s knocked you down over and over (and over) again, it’s really delightful to be on the receiving end of a win. And in light of the fact that I’ll be having knee surgery in a day and a half, it’s nice knowing my body isn’t completely falling apart and that something’s on the mend. It’s good to be reminded that with a little persistence (and not a little magic) things can improve.

God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings.

Despite the fact that I’m not currently surrounded by the trappings of Christmas, I keep thinking about the mythological image of Jesus being born in a manger. I love that part of the story, since it reminds me that God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings. Shit, I can only imagine what Joseph and Mary must have felt like that night–worn out, tired, pregnant, no room in the inn. Surely one of them must have thought, God, I could use a break tonight. I could use a little magic here. Personally, I would have been pissed. Especially if I were Mary. I would have been looking everywhere for Gabriel, and when I found him I would have said, “You mean to tell me that first The Divine knocks me up, and now he wants me to deliver his kid in a barn?!” But I’m reminded tonight that The Divine is into this, into stories that don’t make sense from a human perspective, into “what seems small is big.”

With these things in mind, I’m doing my best to honor my story, including my past and present, as it is and not as I wish it were. Because no matter how humble or challenging and no matter how it compares to another’s, this is my life–my one, unique, and precious life. And no matter what, being alive is a gift. No matter how dark the night or bleak the circumstances, if you’re alive, you’re alive, and you’re story’s not over. And who’s to say what The Divine will make of your humble beginnings?

Who’s to say what magic lies ahead?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One day a change will come.

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On Blessing and Cursing (Blog #633)

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This afternoon after a family friend heard that I’d severed my ACL while performing a dance stunt, the first words out of their mouth were, “You can’t do what you used to do.” Not words of sympathy or compassion, but rather, “You’re old and brittle.”

My response: “Shut up.”

I’m making a big deal out of this (and you can’t stop me) because I’ve gotten this reaction from quite a number of people. I tell them the facts (I hurt myself), and they go straight for the jugular. “Well, you’re not getting any younger.” First of all, no shit, asshole. NO ONE IS GETTING ANY YOUNGER. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN ANY YOUNGER IN THE HISTORY OF THE ENTIRE WORLD! Second of all, there was an eight-year-old in my surgeon’s office the day that I was there who’d torn his ACL too, so clearly injuring yourself isn’t directly related to age. That is, all of us are human, breakable, and generally (and by that I mean completely) subject to the laws of physics. Young people hurt themselves. Old people hurt themselves. Is age A FACTOR in whether or not a person is likely to hurt themselves? Of course. But so is physical build, experience, and–when dancing–the slickness of one’s shoes and the floor one is dancing on.

Breathe, Marcus.

My main beef here isn’t whether or not anyone thinks I’m old and frail. Fuck that. People can think what they want. My beef is that WORDS MATTER, and the way you talk to yourself and others matters a lot. This afternoon my friend Bonnie gave me a super-cool deck of positive affirmation cards called AFFIRMATORS! that are a fabulous spoof on positive affirmation cards. (They have a picture of a rabbit riding a unicorn on the front.) Still, the ones I’ve read so far communicate excellent points in humorous ways. Anyway, the first card I pulled out of the deck was Positive Thinking. I’m including a picture of it below (credit to: http://knockknockstuff.com), but the basic point is this–your mind is a garden, and the thoughts you water, tend to, and practice will take root, grow, and take over–so make sure they’re good ones.

When I was in college, I attended a leadership conference in Hot Springs, and the speaker told everyone in the audience to stand up, so we did. Then he told everyone to turn around, so we did. Then he told everyone to jump up and down and basically make asses out of ourselves, so we did. Now, why on God’s green earth would we do this? The speaker said it was because of something called The Power of the Podium. That is, as audience members, we assign a certain authority to someone behind a lectern and will therefore do stupid shit they ask us to do. In terms of the leadership conference, the speaker’s point was–if you’re given the chance to speak to others, make sure your message has a meaning and that you’re not wasting everyone’s damn time.

My point is that you don’t have to be standing in front of an auditorium in order for people to be paying attention to you. Indeed, if your mouth is moving, chances are pretty good that someone is listening to you. And the question I’m proposing is, “What would happen if the person you’re speaking to actually believed you?” Specifically, what if I believed the person this afternoon who was arguing for my limitations rather than my abilities? What if I spent the next year watering the thought, I can’t do what I used to do, versus, My body is strong and capable of great things. Because they could have just as easily said that. They could have said, “This may slow you down for a while, but I trust you’ll be back in the saddle in no time.”

During medieval times, if someone wanted to bless someone, this is how they’d do it. With their words. They’d say, “May the sun rise up to meet you. May your children’s children be healthy and prosperous. May your wife’s breasts be larger than your bank account.” Whatever. Conversely, if someone wanted to curse someone else, they’d say, “A pox upon your house. May a fever seize you. May all your descendants be hanged.” Maybe this sounds silly, but the idea is that the human mind has a tendency to ruminate on and “make true” those thoughts that are planted in it, especially those thoughts that are charged with emotion (like excitement or fear). In this manner, any blessing or curse can easily become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Granted, in today’s society, we often don’t think of ourselves as blessing or cursing each other, but that doesn’t mean we don’t do it. For example, my therapist is constantly telling me that I’ll be wildly successful as a writer one day. That’s a blessing. On the other hand, once when I told a friend that I wanted to be a writer, they glibly referred to my dream and the reason I feel like I’ve been put on this earth as “a hobby.” Their implication was clear: “You can’t make a legitimate living at this.” That’s a curse. Subtle, perhaps, but a curse nonetheless.

I suppose a lot could be said about why we humans drag each other down. My friend Justin says that if you’ve settled for less in your life, you’ll rarely celebrate someone else who’s reaching for more. Misery loves company or whatever. Personally, I think that we can’t truly empower someone else until we have first empowered ourselves, and that’s a tough thing to do. Still, telling someone, “You’re old and feeble,” “Things will never get better,” or, “That’ll never happen” is shitty any way you slice it. Who died and made you God? What else can you tell me while your crystal ball is out? This is a large and marvelous universe. How do YOU KNOW what will happen?

The human spirit is capable of overcoming the greatest of obstacles.

Regardless of how much I rant, I know I can’t control what comes out of another person’s mouth. I’m realizing, however, that I can control what I listen to, put up with, and let take hold in the garden of my mind. More than hoping to change anyone else’s opinion about anything, that’s what I’m wanting to do here–get rid of the weeds that have been long-planted in my consciousness. Because yes, I’m thirty-eight, but thirty-eight is not old, at least not old as in, “It’s time to trade in your dancing shoes for a stamp collection.” Old as in, “There are hairs growing out of my ears,” sure. But if you’re here to tell me that simply because I’m thirty-eight and had a rough year that things are downhill from here, I’m here to tell you to kindly fuck off. People of all ages have rough years, and the human spirit is capable of overcoming the greatest of obstacles. So this is my blessing to myself and everyone else who will take it in; this is the thought-seed I’m hoping to water, tend to, and practice–

Your spirit is ageless, your body is stronger than you know, and your fate is to rise again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our world is magical, a mysterious place where everything somehow works together, where nothing and no one is without influence, where all things great and small make a difference.

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We’ll Try Again (Blog #632)

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I don’t know what to say about today. Things happened. Now I’m ready to go to bed. Blah.

Okay, I’ll try again.

This morning I got up early to ride with my dad and aunt halfway to Oklahoma City, where we dropped my aunt off with my aunt’s son (my cousin) and two of her three grandchildren. (She’s spending the holidays with them.) On the way there, I read a book; on the way back, I visited with my dad. When we got back to town, we ran a couple errands.

Since then, I’ve been at home organizing paperwork, doing laundry, and worrying about my health. Also, I’ve been working on a puzzle off and on. It’s slow going. Everything right now feels like it’s slow going. Slow going and overwhelming. One minute I feel like I can do this, the next minute I feel like I can’t. Earlier I went outside and looked at the stars. It’s been weeks since I’ve star-gazed, and I still don’t have a handle on the winter sky. The Northern Cross, which was overhead all last summer (and every summer), now dips below the western horizon well before midnight. Even this sent a streak of panic through me. I thought, Wait! Come back. I liked you.

This evening a friend came by to give me a Christmas present–a thousand piece puzzle that promises to be one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done–because it’s basically a mix of solid colors, and (get this shit) the colors change whenever you look at them from a different angle. I hope that makes sense. (Here’s a link to a similar puzzle if it doesn’t.) Anyway, my friend said, “When you’re working on it and get frustrated, just remember–I really do you like you.” Hum, I feel like there’s a lesson here. Recently someone said, “Consider the idea that you’re loved.” Like, by God, the universe, or life itself. So I’ve been trying to do this, to remember that just because I’m frustrated now, doesn’t mean the world is out to get me. Indeed, years from now I could look back on my current challenges and think, Absolutely necessary.

My puzzle friend, who’s had their fair-share of injuries and surgeries, suggested that I be as patient as possible with my body. “It may take longer than you want it to,” they said, “but one day you’ll wake up and think, This is what I used to feel like.” In the meantime, they suggested I be thankful for my body–because it’s doing the best it can. Even now, they reminded me, the muscles in both my legs are working hard to compensate for the damage we’ve sustained.

This is something I intend to do, to recognize where my body is knocking it out of the park. Because when I think about my injured knee, I think, Wait! Come back. I liked you. And yet in thirty-eight years, I’ve never told it, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me walk. Thank you for letting me dance.” Along these lines, I’m considering the idea that I’m loved not just by something “out there,” but by my own body, something “right here, right now.” That is, I have a body that serves me the best it can every day. Granted, it doesn’t always do what I want it to, but I don’t always do what it wants me to either. So good that we have this time to slow down. Maybe now we can learn to get along, learn to listen to and appreciate each other.

Okay, we’ll try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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