Jacob Holding onto the Angel (Blog #662)

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After six weeks of battling a skin rash–a yeast thing–this afternoon I called in the big guns. I went to my dermatologist. Thankfully, after a year of them not taking my insurance, they do now. This means I got to see my favorite skin lady ever, who always listens to my long list of problems attentively and non-judgmentally. (I’m never short on things to worry about it.)

For my rash, my dermatologist wrote me a prescription for an anti-fungal cream, since the powder I’ve been using has been helping but also irritating my skin. (Two steps forward, one step back.) Then she gave me a cream for a spot on my elbow that’s most likely psoriasis. Ugh, I hate that. My grandma had psoriasis all over her body, so I always envision the worst whenever I hear that word. But my dermatologist said, “Don’t freak out. I’d rather someone have psoriasis than acne. We have so many options for it now that we didn’t have ten or twenty years. We’ve got pills, shots, creams, you name it.”

I’ll take one of each.

Otherwise, we took two moles off today–one on my scalp and one underneath my right sideburn. Weird how you can carry something around on your body for years and then it’s all-of-a-sudden gone. I’m telling myself that, likewise, my other issues can clear up in a flash–my upset stomach, my irritated skin. My dermatologist said psoriasis is an inflammation, and I said, “Oh my god, every issue I have is an inflammation. My entire life is an inflammation.” Seriously, that’s what it feels like, like my body’s on high-alert. I think, How can I turn the alarm off? How can I calm the fuck down?

Despite the fact that I got a lot of good help and information today, it’s difficult for my inner hypochondriac to not freak out. You know, because now I have more labels. Psoriasis and Yeast Infection on top of Acid Reflux and Just Had Knee Surgery. It’s hard to not feel like I’m a wagon whose wheels are falling off. It’s also hard to not blame myself. There’s this thought that if I were doing all the right things, eating the right foods, taking the right supplements, and exercising more, that I wouldn’t have these problems. And whereas maybe that’s true, there are countless people who do everything “right” and still get sick and die.

Because people get sick and die.

This evening while my parents watched America’s Got Talent: The Champions, I practiced knitting. Well, just after I got started, I realized I screwed something up. I still don’t know what happened, but I ended up with more stitches in a row than I was supposed to, so I unraveled the whole thing and began again (for the third time this week). This time, I really paid attention and didn’t rush. When the show was over, I was about eight rows in with no mistakes. We’ll see what happens tomorrow, but I figure this is the deal in life. Sometimes you simply have to begin again.

And again and again.

Personally, beginning again exhausts me. Like, I’ve been fighting this yeast rash for six weeks, and now I’m being asked to apply this new cream to it twice a day for a least four more. Four more weeks! That feels like an eternity. But my friend Bonnie pointed out that, shit, I’ll be rehab-ing my knee for six months, so four weeks is nothing by comparison. Plus, I know I’m not really starting over. A lot of progress has already been made. I’m just not at the end of the road yet.

The road. The long road. Tonight on America’s Got Talent there were a number of performers who said they slugged it out for years–even decades–before their big break came along. I guess we’re all looking for a break in some respect–in our careers, in our bodies, in our relationships. We all think, I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. That’s what wears me down, not the fact that I have dry skin on my elbow the size of a quarter, but the fact that it’s one more awful thing that’s shown up and is refusing to leave. One more burden to carry down this long, long road.

In my better moments, those moments when I don’t blame myself for my problems (Byron Katie says, “Do you have to take credit for everything?”), I tell myself that I have no idea why my problems are here. When I was a teenager I would have given anything had my mom been healthy and my dad been out of prison, and yet these two challenging experiences absolutely shaped me into the man I am today–strong, independent, more compassionate than I was before. This afternoon I read more in Wayne Dyer’s I Can See Clearly Now, a book he wrote when he had leukemia, which he ultimately died from. Still, despite his diagnosis, he said he absolutely knew that the disease was in his life to grow him. No self-blame, just acceptance. This is something I’m working on, not pushing away every awful thing in my life, but rather embracing them as my teachers. Not that I don’t want my challenges to go away, but like Jacob holding onto the angel, I don’t want them to go away until they bless me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"That love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self."

The Super Blood Wolf Moon Eclipse and My Body (Blog #661)

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It’s 9:53 in the evening, and the total eclipse of the super blood wolf moon (yes, that’s actually a thing) started about twenty minutes ago and will last for the next three hours. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. Every several minutes I’m wrapping a blanket around my waist like a sarong, walking into our backyard, and checking it out. Thankfully, after weeks of clouds covering up the sun and stars, tonight the sky is clear. Maybe there’s a little haze, but even in the light of the full moon, I can still see The Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, Orion, and Canis Major (among others). And then there’s the eclipse. Eeek. This is more exciting than football.

For me at least.

Here’s a picture of the full moon a couple hours before the eclipse started.

Last summer I started a book called The Power of Your Other Hand by Lucia Capacchione, which suggests you can tap into your inner child, artist, writer, healer, and teacher by writing or drawing with your non-dominant hand. And whereas I was balls-to-the-wall into this book when I first got it, it’s been collecting dust for months now. Still, for whatever reason, I thought about it this afternoon and decided it was time to pick it back up, read a chapter, and do the suggested exercises, one of which involved dialoguing with my body by writing questions with my dominant hand (my right) and writing answers with my non-dominant one (my left).

Talk about talking to yourself.

For over an hour, I went through this process, asking questions of my body in general, my head and shoulders, my stomach, my knee, and my skin. Who or what are you? How do you feel? Why do you feel this way? What can I do to help you? And whereas I’ll spare you all the specific answers, I will say that my body apparently feels neglected and picked on (by me). For example, when I first asked about my headaches, it said, “I feel ignored. I am here to help. You put so much pressure on me to go and do and learn. You must like pressure. I mirror that, all your pushing.”

With this in mind, I’m really going to try to take it easier on myself, to stop asking my body to be something it’s not, like healthier, straighter (in terms of posture, not sexuality), or prettier/handsome-er. I truly can be so fucking demanding of myself. A real critical hard ass. A perfectionist. (Take your time to digest this information; I realize it may come as a surprise.) Sometimes when I see someone who’s beautiful, part of me thinks that means I’m not. But my body specifically asked me to stop comparing myself to other people or wishing to be “like him,” so my new mantra is I’m beautiful too.

Now it’s 10:57, and the moon is completely eclipsed by the earth’s shadow. Incidentally, it’s called a blood moon because it doesn’t absolutely disappear during the eclipse but rather glows red. It’s called a super moon because it’s closer to the earth than normal and therefore larger, and it’s called a wolf moon because the January moon is always called the wolf moon (because wolves howl at it?). Thus, Super Blood Wolf Moon Eclipse. Geez. What a mouthful. Anyway, the moon will be in totality (totally covered up) for about an hour, then it will begin to show again. And whereas I have zero desire to be outside for the entire affair, I do want to wrap this up so I can continue to go outside every five or ten minutes and see what’s going on. Plus, while the moon isn’t shining as bright, I’ll be able to see and identify more stars and constellations.

I’m seriously nerding out right now.

Just because I can’t help myself, here’s a little astronomy lesson. If you’re looking at the moon in the east, uh, before midnight tonight, you should be able to see two bright stars “above” it. These are Castor and Pollux, the two brightest stars in Gemini. Below and to the right of the moon, you’ll find Procyon, the brightest star in Canis Minor (The Lesser Dog). Then there’s Orion in the  south (easily identified by the three stars in his belt), and and if you follow his belt “down,” you’ll find Sirius in Canis Major (The Greater Dog), Sirius being the brightest star in the night sky. Sirius is the reason we have the expression “the dog days of summer.” Since the sun tracks near Canis Major in the summer, the ancients believed the constellation’s brightest star added to the heat of our sun and, therefore, our days.

There’s a chance to start again.

Okay, I obviously went on a little bit of an astronomy rant there. I really do need to get going. Still, it occurs to me that an eclipse, at first sight, is an ominous event. In this case, all the light of the moon is slowly blacked out. One might think, What are we doing to do? But then just as surely as the light disappears, it comes back. Phew, what a relief. All is not lost. This reminds me that often things can seem bleak, but as long as we’re alive there’s a chance to gently start again–with ourselves, our bodies, and each other.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

When Things Seem Dark (Blog #660)

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It’s 9:15 in the evening, and I’m babysitting for some friends. The kids just went to bed, and I’m curled up in the living room by the fire. And whereas my body feels like poop and I’d really like to fall asleep, I’m writing instead. Not that I’m trying to play The Blog Martyr. I get this is my choice. It’s just my leg aches, my shoulder’s inflamed, and my head hurts. In multiple ways, my body is asking for a break. I really am trying to listen, but I’m not exactly sure what it’s asking for. More sleep? I agree, that’d be nice.

Let me start again.

This morning and afternoon were filled with what’s become typical. I ate breakfast, did my leg rehab exercises, took a shower. Oh, and I practiced knitting. I figured out something I was doing wrong at the end of every row. And whereas that was frustrating and I had to start all over, I now know more than I did before. For the rest of my knitting life, I’ll be better off because I screwed up in the beginning. Anyway, then I got ready for babysitting.

When I first got here, the kids played on their devices while I started a book by Wayne Dyer called I Can See Clearly Now. Then we ate dinner and watched a movie–Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked. It was the cutest thing. Alvin and his pals get stranded on a desert island (grammar joke: I’d much rather be stranded on a dessert island), and Dave comes to save them. Then we played Oregon Trail, a card game based on, well, the Oregon Trail. Last time the kids and I played this game, I died, but this time I only got a broken arm. I thought, Even in board games I can’t help but injure myself. But as one of the kids said, “It could be worse.” Amen. Hell, one of them got shot, and the other one died of cholera. So even with a broken arm, I ended up winning the game.

Now I’m back at home. Just before I finished the last paragraph, my friends got back. I said earlier that I was frustrated with my shoulder and headache, and without my even mentioning my issues, my friends recommended a stretching program that comes on public television. They said it’s helped them with a number of their bodily concerns. Anyway, I plan to check it out. Lately I’ve been telling myself that things CAN get better, that answers can come out of nowhere, so maybe this is an answer. Stranger things have happened. Two of the big points in Wayne’s book are that nothing happens by accident and that even the most difficult circumstances in our lives are there to help our souls grow. So I’m trying to remember this, that things can turn around like that and that even when life seems dark, there’s light to be found.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is progressing as it should.

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On Doing Difficult Things (Blog #659)

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It’s 11:30 at night. An hour and a half ago I sat down to blog but have been procrastinating ever since by cleaning out my email inbox and searching online for alternative health solutions. I really don’t know what to talk about today. Once this afternoon and once this evening I practiced knitting, and I’d rather be doing that. Or reading a book. Or watching Netflix. (The fifth season of Grace and Frankie just came out.) Really, I’d rather be doing anything else but writing. Oh look–there’s a jar of peanut butter.

Eating peanut butter sounds like a good thing to do.

Last night after blogging, I went to the gym. I really like going late at night; there’s hardly anyone there. That being said, because my gym’s not open late on the weekends, today I went this afternoon. And whereas there were some hot bodies to look at (well, one in particular), it was definitely more crowded and less fun. Hell, I thought I was gonna have to fight an old lady for the last available exercise bicycle. Thankfully, she was apparently eyeing another piece of equipment. But still, I usually have all five bikes to myself, and today I felt crowded. I guess conspicuous is a better word. In my opinion, my rehab exercises look weird. You know how you assume everyone’s staring at you constantly, even though they’re not.

The truth–nobody gives a shit what you’re doing.

When I got home from the gym, I took a nap. Because my achy leg wakes me up constantly during the night, nap time is the best part of my day. It’s fabulous. Also, this lack of solid sleep thing is a drag, a serious drag. Even now, despite the nap, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate or string two thoughts together. My mind and body are just done. Go back to sleep, they’re saying. Maybe this is why Netflix or knitting sound appealing. Neither requires much mental power.

Hum. That’s something. I just said knitting doesn’t require much mental power, which means it’s getting easier. (I just learned a few days ago.) That’s good. Likewise, doing my rehab exercises and going to the gym are getting easier. They’re becoming part of my routine. Not necessarily a fun part, mind you, but a part nonetheless.

Where am I going with this?

I said earlier that I didn’t want to write tonight. Still, here I am writing, so clearly a part of me does want to write tonight. Sometimes people say I’m disciplined–I write every day, I do my rehab exercises consistently, whatever. And whereas I agree that I’m disciplined in these areas, since I know there are areas in my life in which I’m not disciplined, I usually just think of myself as being “sold on” these activities that I consistently do. That is, I really want to be a writer and am sold on the idea that writers write. I’m sold on the idea that if I do this every day for a certain period of time, I’ll learn something valuable. Along the same lines, despite the fact that I hate having injured my leg, I’m sold on the idea that if I do my rehab exercises, I’ll get better. One day I’ll run again; one day I’ll dance again. So I do the thing even when I don’t feel like it.

I guess that’s my point tonight. If it’s worth doing–if there’s some reward on the other side of doing it–you’re probably rarely going to feel like doing it. It’s not a warm, fuzzy message, I realize. It’s just the truth. There is a warm, fuzzy part, however. Once you do the thing, then the good feeling comes. For example, now that this blog is over, I’m glad I did it. I feel a sense of pride, of accomplishment that no one can take away. So that’s the deal–a part of you will never feel like doing the difficult thing–never. Whatever it is, it’s difficult for a reason. That is, it’s not fun. But a great part of you will always feel good after having done the difficult thing–always. The fun comes after the fact.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Bodies are so mysterious, much more complicated than car doors. They take more patience to understand and work with. They require more than a couple hours to repair.

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Reminding Myself of the Facts (Blog #658)

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I don’t know why I’m smiling in today’s photo. It’s not like I feel fabulous. Lately I’ve just been going through the motions. This morning I got up early to meet a friend for lunch, which was lovely, and the sun even showed up for about five minutes. Imagine that–sunshine for the first time in over a week. But then the clouds took over again. Since injuring my leg, this is how my mood has been. Punctuated moments of sunlight–a smile here, some laughter there–followed by the clouds rolling back in.

Wah. Wah.

After lunch today I went to physical therapy. And whereas I showed up late (I had the appointment time wrong in my head), they fit me in. I really do like these folks–even when I’m scheduled to work with someone specific, they all chip in to help. Plus, everyone–the therapists, the patients–are in one big room together. I swear, it’s the best medicine, seeing people of all ages rehab-ing their broken parts. Today I met a teenage girl who tore her ACL while dancing (like me) and had the same surgery I did at the end of November. Anyway, she’s about three or four weeks ahead of me in terms of progress and her exercise regimen, and it was exciting for me to see a preview of coming attractions. (Except the part when her therapist bent her leg back and she said, “That hurts–everywhere.”)

When I got home from physical therapy, I took a nap. Naps, I’m finding, are the best thing ever, since I’m really not sleeping well at night. Every hour or two, my leg wakes me up. Then at some point, even though I’m tired, I can’t go back to sleep. But a good nap helps. This evening I slept for an hour and a half and woke up practically drooling. It was like I’d just come back from visiting another planet. I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.

Now it’s 10:30, and whenever I finish the blog, I’m going to my local gym to do more knee rehab. As my goal is to be there once a day for leg related stuff, I’m hoping that sooner or later I’ll pick up some biceps through osmosis. Wouldn’t that be great? Then maybe someone’s flat stomach could magically rub off on me. Or just rub on me, I’d settle for that. (That was a sex joke, Mom.) But seriously, even when I’m in a gloomy mood, I enjoy going to the gym, especially late at night when hardly anyone else is there. Then I can listen to my music, do my thing, and not be bothered.

Whenever I get overwhelmed by my emotions, I have to remind myself that just because I think a thought, doesn’t mean it’s true. Just because I feel something, doesn’t make it gospel. Like, a few good friends have checked in on me today, so this evening I’ve been reminding myself that I’m not alone even when I feel like I am. Likewise, I’ve been telling myself there’s significant progress that will happen over the next month (as evidenced by the girl I met this afternoon), even though I feel like my current limitations are permanent. And whereas my reminding myself of “the facts” doesn’t immediately change my mood, it does keep me from spiraling out of control. It does keep things from getting worse.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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Wax On, Wax Off (Blog #657)

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This afternoon my friend Bonnie taught me how to knit. Well, started teaching me. It’s not exactly something you learn in an afternoon. But I did learn how to “cast on,” which is how you initially connect your yarn to your needle, as well how to knit a knit stitch. As I understand it, there are two basic stitches in knitting–knit stitches and purl stitches–so this means I’m like, halfway to being an expert already. But seriously, I’m not. Bonnie flies through the basic movements lickety-split, faster than a speeding bullet. Me? I’m slower than Christmas.

Bonnie says I’ll get the hang of it. At some point, I’ll figure out how to hold the needles with one hand and the yarn with the other, and doing all the things will become muscle memory. Until then, I’m having to think about everything, and I don’t mind saying it’s frustrating as hell. Like, I’ve been excited about learning, and all I wanted to do during my first lesson was cuss (and I did). But this is the deal when you learn something new–it’s hard work. That’s how it is with dancing, and–now I know–that’s how it is with knitting. If someone makes it look easy, it’s because they’ve spent hundreds of hours practicing.

Despite my feeling frustrated today, Bonnie said I did a good job. And even though I said a few cuss words, I actually had fun. First, I enjoy learning new things. Second, it was good to do something creative and work with my hands. Third, it got my mind off my recent knee surgery and all the things I currently can’t do, like run, dance, and hula-hoop. (Confession: I couldn’t hula-hoop before my accident either.) Lastly, it was exciting (and is exciting) to think about making a scarf, cap, or blanket during this extended period of down time. Maybe six months from now I can look back and say, “Yeah, knee surgery and rehab sucked, but look at this cool afghan I made.”

Bonnie says I’m not ready to make an afghan–yet. This last weekend when we were in Nashville and I asked about what I was going to knit first, she said, “First you’re going to knit a small square–think of it like a potholder for Tinker Bell if you want to–then you’re going to tear it apart. Then you’re going to knit it again, then you’re going to tear it apart again. And again and again until I say you’re ready to move on.” So I called her Mr. Miyagi (from The Karate Kid, Mom), since he made Daniel buff cars repeatedly in order to learn self-defense. Now that’s our joke–wax on, wax off.

This is obviously a new endeavor, but I already see a lot of parallels to dancing, writing, and even knee rehab-ing. Everyone wants to do the thing–knit the afghan, dance the cha-cha, write the novel, um, walk. But before you can do the thing, you have to learn to do the thing, and learning to do the thing is almost always mundane, repetitive, boring, and awkward. This means you not only have to be willing to be a newbie (that is, bad at something), you also have to be willing to be patient with yourself. So I’m trying to lean into this wisdom of wax on, wax off in knitting, knee-rehab, and in life, this wisdom of slow and steady wins the race.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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On Depression (Blog #656)

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Lately I haven’t been feeling like myself. Whom I’ve been feeling like exactly, I can’t say. But I can say that I’ve been feeling lethargic, overwhelmed, and hopeless. In other words, I’ve been a real Negative Nancy–a wet blanket–a gloom merchant–the opposite of Rainbow Brite. Anyway, this afternoon I saw my therapist and fell apart. Well, sort of fell apart. I cried enough to dampen one-half of one tissue. Still, I could have used the whole box if I’d let myself. That “hold it together” part of me is just really fucking stubborn.

It’s had a lot of practice.

Okay, here we go. (Breathe, Marcus.)

My therapist suggested I may be dealing with what’s called Post-Surgery Depression. “People don’t talk about it, but it’s really common,” she said. Then she repeated herself. “Really common.” And whereas she didn’t hand me an official diagnosis (I’m not sure she does that anyway), we did talk about options. To take a pill or not take a pill (to get me over the hump), that is the question. It’ll be a while before I have an answer. Honestly, I feel slightly better simply having admitted everything to my therapist. “I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.” Plus, it feels good knowing a lot of people in similar or even different circumstances feel this way–unmotivated, deluged. “You’re human,” my therapist said. “There’s only so much one person can take.”

This evening I looked up Post-Surgery Depression online and read five or six articles about it. (So now I’m pretty much an expert.) From what I gathered, there are a lot of causative and contributing factors, including the stress of the surgery, the anesthesia, the use of antibiotics, the feeling of chronic pain, and (as in my case) the loss of mobility and (therefore) income. Check, check, check. I wasn’t making a ton of money before this accident happened, but what I was making was coming from dance. Now that I’m on a rehab prescription that includes six months of no dancing, it’s difficult to see how everything is going to work out. Granted, I can still teach, but someone’s going to have to call to schedule a lesson first.

In terms of the stress of the surgery, none of the articles said it, but surgery is clearly traumatic. I mean, it’s not like they’re sawing on a piece of plywood or dicing up a fruit salad. You’re a living, breathing organism with a mind, body, and soul, and in order to repair the damage of the original injury, they have to knock you out, slice you open, run a drill through your bones, rearrange your parts, and staple you back together (no wonder you wake up bruised). In other words, you’re injured twice. As for the knocking out part, one of the articles said that being under general anesthesia is less like sleeping really soundly and more like being in a controlled coma (which is a big damn deal). The same article compared it to a city’s power plant being completely taken offline. That is, not everything “comes back on” at once. It’s more like a couple blocks at a time.

For me, I can’t quite shake that my entire world has been turned upside down. As a baseline, last year wasn’t great. In fact, it sucked, and as I’ve said before, it was my hardest ever. Sure, it included a lot of personal growth, maybe more than I’ve ever experienced. Which is why I’m constantly saying you shouldn’t work on yourself–because if you want the good stuff, plan to go through hell. They simply go hand-in-hand. (Also, to be clear, I do recommend working on yourself. It’s better than the alternative, which is long-term suffering.) Anyway, so there was hell, then this injury came along. And whereas I’ve been supported and gotten good help, I’ve also had the shit scared out of me and been totally inundated both physically and emotionally.

Someone said recently, “It’s like the straw that broke the camel’s back.” I replied, “No, it’s like the hay bale that broke the camel’s back.”

I’m not in love with the fact that I’m talking about (potentially, officially) being depressed to the entire world-wide web. After all, there’s a lot of stigma around this topic in our society, and it’s grossly misunderstood. Hell, clinical depression runs in my family, and I don’t understand it. (Once a psychiatrist told my father, “People understand depression to the extent that they’ve had it.”) Obviously, it can take on a lot of different forms. My personal experience with it is limited to feeling empty and paralyzed while I was in a no-good, horrible, very bad relationship several years ago and feeling extremely unhappy just before I closed my dance studio. In both cases, I knew something had to change.

The articles I read today about Post-Surgery Depression offered the standard advice. Be patient, get outside, exercise, don’t neglect your friends. Also, they said it was important to celebrate small victories. For example, this last weekend while in Nashville, I noticed that it was easier for me to go down the stairs at my friend’s apartment when I left on Monday than it was to go down them when I first got there the previous Friday. My natural tendency is to brush this improvement off, since it wasn’t dramatic. But the articles suggested you can find a lot of hope by recognizing incremental gains.

So to commemorate this milestone, I just ate an Oreo Blizzard from the Sonic.

But back to my not really wanting to talk about this and why I’m doing it anyway. My therapist pointed out this afternoon that I’ve chosen to make my very personal and private journey public (on this blog), and I agree. Not that I share everything that goes on in my life or head, but putting my insides on the outside is sort of what I do here, so it doesn’t seem right to stop now. Plus, because there is a stigma in our society around The D Word, I can’t imagine that will ever get better by not talking about it. And it needs to get better. I know what it’s like to feel sad, isolated, ashamed, embarrassed, different than, and less than, and it needs to get better for anyone who feels these things. And since every major stride I’ve made in terms of my mental health and personal relationships has always started with no longer bottling up, stuffing down, and keeping secrets, but rather with having an honest conversation, then I’m having this honest conversation.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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Lickety-Split (Blog #655)

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It’s 10:47 at night, and I spent most of the day–over eight hours–on the road home from Nashville. As I’m exhausted and still need to do my knee rehab exercises, my intent is to keep tonight’s blog simple and knock it out lickety-split. Here we go.

1. On me and my body

Last night before I fell asleep, I had a chat with my body. In short, I told it that 1) I knew it was doing the best it could, 2) I wanted to stop criticizing it, 3) I’d like for us to work together, and 4) I’d try to not only listen to it more, but also try to believe in its wisdom and ability to heal. Anyway, who’s to say what causes what, but I’ve felt ever-so slightly better today. Not like my skin issues cleared up overnight or I woke up full of energy, but I did wake up more–what’s the word?–hopeful. Anyway, I imagine I need to have this conversation with my body a few (hundred) more times, and I’m willing to do this. Regardless of what’s going on with me physically or how I actually feel, me and my body need to be friends.

2. On being nice

This morning for breakfast Bonnie and I ate at a crepe shop in Nashville, and there was a sign–an arrow that pointed toward the counter where you place your order–that said, “Nice People.” Cute, right? Well, it made me think of something my therapist has told me a million times–“Nice is a strategy.” And whereas I know I’ve quoted her on this matter before, I’m not sure I’ve really fleshed it out.

Personally, I know my default way of being in the world–for years–has been to be “nice.” I was raised in the south, after all. So often I’ve thought I’ve had to reply to every text message, right away, or not stand up for myself, in the interest of being “polite.” You know, What will people think? But my therapist says, “Nice is something you are when you want something,” even if it’s just for people to like you or believe you’re a good person. “It’s very different than being kind.”

Is being nice wrong? Of course not. My therapist says she’s nice to secretaries and doormen (because you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar). But again, she’s clear that being nice is a strategy, just like being passive aggressive or even aggressive is a strategy.

3. On grounding

During the ride home today (my friend Bonnie drove), while I was reading a self-help book, I learned a grounding exercise to help relax you body and calm your nerves. Basically, it helps pull you out of your anxious thoughts and into the present moment. First, you FEEL your feet on the floor. Then you notice three things–the sound of your friend singing, the heat coming through the air vents, the headlights in front of you (or whatever).

Normally my go-to thought with these methods is, Shit like this doesn’t work for me, but I’m working on believing that it can, that if shit like this can work for other people, it can work for me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For all of the things life takes away, it gives so much more in return. Whether we realize it or not, there’s always grace available.

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On Emotional Support (Blog #654)

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Last night in Nashville we went out for our friend Mallory’s birthday. Y’all, I don’t mind saying it was an effort. For whatever reason, despite the fact that we were at a hip restaurant (The Goat) surrounded by lovely people, I just couldn’t quite turn it on. What’s the saying? My heart wasn’t in it. Still, I tried to be pleasant and managed to hang in there until the very end. When things concluded, it was one in the morning, and we were at a smoke-filled, karaoke-singing, dive bar. (Use your imagination. If you need help, think The Fifth Circle of Hell.) Then we came back to where we’re staying (my friend Bonnie’s son’s house), and I passed out hard.

By that I mean I woke up every two hours to reposition my bum leg or use the bathroom.

Today none of us got up before noon, and we all took our time getting ready. After doing my rehab exercises and eating breakfast, I took a shower, and I can’t tell you how proud I was of myself for cleaning up. Sad that I now consider bathing a personal triumph, but I do. (Everything is such an effort.) This afternoon Bonnie and I ran some errands then went to Mallory’s house so Mallory could open her birthday gifts from Bonnie. There I did more rehab exercises and took this silly photo with Mallory’s pink mask and superhero cape. Don’t ask why she owns these things. (Ask why you don’t.)

Here’s how I know I’m not completely beat. I still have a sense of humor. Sure, everything tires me out, and I don’t have a lot of enthusiasm for life right now, but I can still laugh. That’s something. Last night at The Goat, there was a book about a rescue farm for actual goats, and it included a picture of a goat with no hind legs. Instead, it had a contraption with two wheels strapped on, so it could use its front legs and pull itself around. Anyway, first I laughed, then, remembering my bum leg, I cried. I thought, I understand, little goat. I understand.

Another thing at the restaurant last night. In the men’s restroom, there was writing on the walls and mirrors. Like, one mirror said, “So fresh,” and another mirror said, “So clean.” But the writing that I loved the best was inside the stall and had arrows pointing to the handrails by the toilet. It said, “Emotional support.” Talk about clever.

Emotional support. What a big deal. Lately I’ve been seriously dragging ass, and–I don’t know–it’s been easy to feel like a burden to others. There for a few weeks when I couldn’t walk, my parents were making me meals, bringing me my laptop, whatever. Even now that I’m more mobile, my friends are walking slower to accommodate me. Last night my friend Bonnie sat with me when I didn’t feel like socializing, and not once this weekend has indicated that I needed to hurry up or even be up, physically or in spirits. Talk about emotional support–no one making demands on me to be any different than I am in this moment.

For this, I am grateful.

This support is something I’m still processing. Hell, I’m still processing this whole experience. Most the time, it doesn’t seem real. I wake up in the middle of the night, stand up to use the restroom, my leg falters, and I think, Oh yeah, this is real. This afternoon I told someone I was a dancer but that it’d be six months before I could dance again. Shit, this is real. In some moments, I can see the light. In others, I can’t find even a twinkle. But I’m discovering this is part of the journey, to allow myself to be both happy and sad, to feel both hope and despair. And this is all I can come up with right now for a conclusion, that some challenges in life are simply big. Massive, they come to us uninvited (who’d choose them?), stretching our heads and hearts, inviting us to let more support in, more love in.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Kindness is never a small thing."

The Ten-Cent Turnaround (Blog #653)

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A couple weeks ago I started a new medication for my upset stomach. However, I forgot to pack it (the medication, not my stomach) for my trip to Nashville, where I am now. No big deal, I thought, I don’t think it’s done much good anyway. Well, I was wrong. Last night (after eating pizza), I got the worst case of acid reflux, and it woke me up several times during the night. Between that and my knee that I recently had surgery on, I slept like shit. I was achy, nauseated, all the things. Still, I made it through the night.

This morning I got up early to do my knee rehab exercises. I’m seriously sick of them. It’s not a big deal to do them two or three times, but two or three times a day for two weeks has begun to take its toll. And it’s not like this routine is going to get any better. It’s going to be my life for a while–sleep (sort of), eat, rehab. Rinse and repeat.

I realize I’m whining.

A big part of my problem is not the fact that my life has been turned up side down. I’m perfectly capable of doing knee rehab two or three times a day for the foreseeable future. However, doing so takes almost all the energy I have. Almost everything does. Yesterday after I packed for Nashville and this morning after I got dressed, I felt like I’d run a marathon. And the day had just started. Today my friend Bonnie, her son Tim, and I met their family for brunch (today is Bonnie’s daughter-in-law Mallory’s birthday), and whereas I really wanted to be awake, alert, and lively, it was all I could do to just be present. I hate that, not being able to focus on anything other than my aching leg, my sore tummy.

Every party has a pooper, that’s why they invited me?

When we got to the restaurant, our party of seven was seated in a booth made for six. I was on the end, my left leg (and butt cheek) hanging off the side. But then the folks at the larger booth next to us left and suggested we take their table. So we did. And whereas it confused the hell out of the hostess and our waitress, we used my leg as an excuse. “He just had surgery,” one of Bonnie’s in-laws said. So that’s one good thing that came out of this damn situation. We got a bigger table. Happy Birthday, Mallory!

After brunch, Bonnie, Tim, and I came back to Tim’s place and all fell asleep. Talk about a good idea. Y’all, I crashed hard for a couple hours. Then I woke up and had a talk with myself. Okay, I said, it’s time to do rehab exercises. “Again?!” I replied. Yes, again, I said. This is the deal, I’m just working off willpower right now, trusting that as I do as I’ve been instructed, things will eventually improve.

I repeat–things will eventually improve.

Now I’m obviously blogging. I need to wrap up, since in an hour we’re going out to eat (again) for Mallory’s birthday. This time, I believe, there will be a big crowd, forty of fifty people, so I’m going to try to turn it on. Also, I’m going to try to get some antacids or something to hold me over until I get back to Arkansas. Anyway, I don’t mean to be a gloom merchant. It wasn’t my intent to kvetch. But sometimes life is an uphill climb, and that’s the truth. Recently my therapist said, “Given your background, I know it’s really difficult for you to believe that things can get better, but I’m telling you they can. Things can turn around on a dime.” So I’m trying to believe her and I’m trying to hope. I’m trying to hang in for the ten-cent turnaround.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to find a problem, you will.

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