This morning I finished house sitting then spent the afternoon and evening with my friends and former roommates Justin and Ashley. And whereas I’ll spare you the details of our entire day together, I will say that at one point Justin and I drove by Fort Smith’s latest mural project, a house painted by Okuda San Miguel. Y’all, it’s super cool. For weeks the house has been entirely white, a blank canvas. Then just this week it was turned into a rainbow-colored wonder of lines and geometric shapes. And not that this has to do with what I plan on discussing tonight, but the project is cool and was part of my day, so I’m including pictures below.
Currently it’s two in the morning. I got home from Justin and Ashley’s about eleven, but have spent the last few hours unpacking from house sitting and–quite frankly–taking a shower because I hadn’t cleaned up in a few days (so sue me). And whereas I could have put everything back in its proper place tomorrow, I simply got in a mood. Having been gone for a week, I wanted to BE home, to get all my clothes and toiletries in order. Having stepped in dog shit earlier today, I wanted to WASH my shoes.
A random comment I made to Justin and Ashley tonight was that on a weekly basis I use a number of phrases or speech intonations that I picked up years ago from one or more of my exes. “I don’t love the fact that they influenced me so much,” I said, “but they did.” My therapist says that when two people really meet, it’s like a chemical reaction. “Both people are forever changed,” she says. I guess you could think of you and any significant person in your life like two eggs that have been scrambled together (you’re one egg, they’re the other, and the omelet is both of you ). The point being–you can separate the omelet, but the eggs won’t be the same as they were before. Each will have parts of the other mixed within it.
Along these lines, in forensic science there’s something called Locard’s Exchange Principle, which basically says that when someone commits a crime, they will both leave something at the crime scene (a fingerprint, a hair, some blood) and take something from it (a fleck of paint under their fingernail, gravel in the grooves of their shoe, spilled liquid on their jeans). I thought about this tonight as I was unpacking and cleaning up from house sitting. Mostly because I found dog hair everywhere–on my pillow, in my shoes, in my car. Of course, this means that I left my hair (and maybe a booger or two) where I was staying.
Because I’m a giver.
But seriously, the point being that both I and the place I stayed are different than we were before.
Yesterday I blogged about trimming down the number of friends I have on Facebook, and this idea that for better or for worse every relationship and interaction leaves its mark on you is precisely why I’m culling my digital friends. To be clear, I’m not suggesting that all marks left are negative. On the contrary, there are PLENTY of people I follow who are absolute bright spots in otherwise gloomy days. The important thing for me to remember and not take lightly is that any of us can seriously influence anyone else. My dad met a man in prison who introduced him to the idea of not eating “unclean” meat and–long story short–I didn’t eat pork for twenty years. So don’t tell me one person–you or anyone else–isn’t powerful.
We’re talking about bacon here.
If the response of the citizenry of Fort Smith to our latest mural is anything like the response to our previous murals, there will be those who LOVE it and those who HATE it. Regardless, everyone will have a reaction. Likewise, you’re GOING to have a reaction with everyone you meet in person or online. If the connection is strong enough, it’ll be a big one. For example, I know people who are decades past divorces and are STILL bitter. Conversely, I know people decades past divorces who are still BETTER. My point being that you do have some say in HOW you let the chemical reactions in your life change you. Like, okay, this shitty thing happened. (Shitty things happen.) Now are you going to be a man-hater your entire life, or are you going to get your ass in therapy and (finally) deal with your baggage? When you leave another’s house covered in dog hair, are you going to do nothing and inevitably spread someone else’s mess all over your space, or are you going to be more conscious about what you let into your home and, therefore, take the time necessary to clean things up?
Currently it’s just after midnight. Two hours ago I sat down to blog but got distracted by YouTube videos. Then, when I saw one of my friends post that they’d done some digital house cleaning, I decided to do the same. I did this several years ago, culling my Facebook friends list from 2,400 to 1,800. And whereas I didn’t have it in me to go through my entire list tonight, I did go through part of it and trimmed down–I don’t know–50 friends. Not that I have anything against these people. But if we haven’t communicated or even liked each others’ posts in ten years, well, that says something.
Hey, we can always try again.
One of the reasons I dove into this project tonight is that more and more I’m concerned with the management of my personal (mental, emotional, and spiritual) energy. Think of it this way. You can be selective about what you watch on television, but you can’t be selective about what the stations tell you when you have them on. Likewise, every person or page you follow on social media gets to broadcast into your psyche. They get immediate access. Look at my kid, look at my cat, the flu’s going around, that politician’s a jerk! Of course, in real life we’d never let 2,000 of our acquaintances march into our living room and say whatever they wanted for 5 minutes or even 15 seconds. Nor would we take the time to peer into our neighbors’ windows Gladys Kravitz style if it required leaving our couches, creeping across the street, and hiding behind their bushes–even if they invited us to. Why? Because it would take too much energy.
But, Marcus, it’s different online.
That’s exactly my point. It may SEEM different online, but it’s not. What’s draining is draining. Again, if you wouldn’t let someone vomit their political or personal rant on your dining room table, why would you let them do it on your newsfeed? Trust me, your mind, emotions, and spirit don’t discriminate. If you don’t believe me, think of the last time you got upset–lost a single minute of peace–because of what someone said online or how they reacted or didn’t react to something you posted. I don’t even have to ask if this has ever happened to you. I know it has. Because our virtual lives are becoming just as real, if not more real, than our actual ones. Which is all the more reason to be–what’s the word?–discriminating about how we live them.
Getting back to my physical life, this morning I had breakfast with my dear friend Kara. Kara and I went to high school together and have purposed to stay in touch with each other ever since. Consequently, our breakfast was delightful. Needless to say, if Kara were ON Facebook, I’d keep her around. Anyway, get this. While Kara and I were eating I noticed my friend Gwen at the table next to us. Gwen’s a fellow writer whom I met years ago through a magazine I used to work for, and we’ve purposed to stay in touch online (message occasionally, read and interact with one another’s posts). So when Gwen got up to leave and I said hello, it was the perfect thing (like, yippee!), exactly what social media is lovely for (true connection).
Conversely, and getting back to MY RANT about social media, I’ve seen Facebook friends in public before and not only not said hello, but avoided them. Or they’ve avoided me. Either way, we didn’t speak. Tonight as I was wondering whom to keep and whom to let go, I thought, If I wouldn’t talk to this person in a restaurant, I don’t need their stuff on my feed and they don’t need my stuff on theirs. In some cases I thought, But maybe (after ten years) we WILL interact, and then I definitely hit the unfriend button. Because that’s desperate, and that’s scarcity.
That being said, as my therapist says, life is long. You never know what’s going to happen. Sometimes people circle back around.
More and more, I’m learning to trust that whenever someone shows up in our experience (like at a restaurant), it’s time–and that whenever someone slides (or storms) out of our experience, it’s time. Once I had someone tell me that life was a series of attractions and repulsions. Like, go here, don’t go there. Friend them, don’t friend them. This isn’t about making anyone else right or wrong, of course. Nor is it about being right or wrong or better than or less than. It’s simply about doing what’s best for you, about keeping both your physical and virtual space as clean, nourishing, and on purpose as possible.
Today is Thanksgiving, and I’m grateful for my family. This afternoon we ate at Village Inn. We’ve done this the last few years, gone out to eat, then met back at home for dessert and coffee. It really is the perfect thing. Everyone can eat what they want–today I had turkey and dressing, and my Dad had a cheeseburger and fries–and you don’t have to do the dishes. Of course, going out to eat means that others (like our sweet waitress today) are NOT with their families. This reminds me to be ever more thankful for being able to be with mine and for those who make our gathering together possible. So this one’s for the staff at Village Inn.
Especially for whoever makes the pumpkin pie. (It was delicious.)
Fun fact: the local manager today told me they’d sold about 1,400 pies in the last three days. Coincidentally, sweat pant sales are up at Walmart.
This Thanksgiving, as is often the case, our family hosted non-relatives–friends, lovers, neighbors. You know how it goes. Not everyone has or can be with their loved ones, but everyone needs a tasty meal, a slice of pie, and good company. I’ve personally been hosted by other families for major holidays before and know how that made me feel (welcomed, accepted, and loved), and this is part of the reason I love that my family has always opened its doors and shared with others. Today at Village Inn I ran into one of my old psychology teachers and later remembered that another one of my psychology teachers told us that he once spent Thanksgiving at 7-11, the convenience store. I think he’d been through a divorce, but at the very least he was lonely. “I knew I could talk to the cashier,” he said.
My mom and I were talking about this sort of thing today, the fact that some people don’t have a place to go on major holidays (or ever) and that even if they do, they’re not always accepted for who they are by those who ideally should love them the most. We both know people who are gay and are either shunned by their families or loved conditionally (like, just don’t talk about THAT, or bring your lover over, or let the neighbors know). Recently one of my mom’s gay friends told her, “I wish I had a mom like you,” I guess because she doesn’t judge him for being different.
For being–himself.
A word that kept coming up today was “embarrassed.” One of my relatives mentioned being embarrassed about how they (sometimes) look, and someone else said they were embarrassed about their voice (because they’ve been made fun of for it). I’m assuming this is the deal with mom’s friend’s mother. She’s embarrassed by (ashamed of) her son’s sexuality. Of course, when you’re embarrassed or ashamed, the natural response is to hide, put on a show, or try to change yourself or others. (Just don’t talk about THAT). Alas, none of these strategies work for very long. We are who we are.
No one can effectively hide.
Getting back to being embarrassed, I know that I’ve often been embarrassed by my family. Especially my father because he’s always trying to get a laugh and doesn’t mind throwing his children under the bus in order to get one. For example, he used to tell hot waiters, “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to take my daughter on a date. She can’t get one on her own.” (Is it any wonder I didn’t come out sooner?) Tonight at my aunt’s house while we were eating pie, my family covered a whole range of–well, very personal–topics. And whereas I’ve been prohibited from blogging about the specifics, suffice it to say that if you’d been a fly on the wall, your face probably would have turned red.
As I was growing up, this sort of chatter (which happened both at home AND in public) was enough to make me want to run away. But as I’ve gotten older, it’s one of the things I appreciate MOST about my family. First of all, talking about you-know-what, at least the way my family does it, is hilarious. We laughed our butts off tonight. Second of all, the fact that no topic is off limits is precisely why no person is off limits. In my family anyone is welcome. We don’t care if you’re gay, straight, poor, rich, religious, not religious, sick, healthy, smart, or dumb. It’s come as you are. Pull up a chair. Have a piece of pie.
Just don’t stay in the bathroom too long. We only have the one.
I remember as a kid being totally ashamed by my family’s open door policy. My dad would invite into our home kids from the projects near his drugstore, and I didn’t handle it well. They were poor, dirty, and uneducated, and I guess I felt better than them. More than that, I was scared. Deep down I think we all know–That could easily be me. The truth is I’m fortunate to have what I have. That’s what I think whenever I hear stories about homosexuals who aren’t welcome–and celebrated–by their families. I really lucked out. ANYONE who’s allowed and encouraged to be wholly themselves–that is, loved unconditionally–by at least one person has totally lucked out.
Likewise, anyone who loves another unconditionally gives an unspeakable gift.
My psychology teacher today said, “Remember Pavlov?” Of course, I did. Pavlov rang a bell whenever he fed his dogs, and eventually they salivated at the sound of the bell even when there wasn’t any food. I’ve been thinking about how this Pavlovian Conditioning applies to the way one person treats another. Like, as a child out of fear or embarrassment you shut down your heart to another human being (just like you), and years later that’s what you keep doing–shutting down your heart anytime you see someone different. You don’t even stop to consider whether or not you COULD love them. Because that’s the deal. It’s not that we’re incapable of unconditionally loving our children, our neighbors, and fellow human beings. Indeed, our hearts have been designed for precisely this. It’s simply a matter of–when you see someone who’s different from you–not shutting down your heart, but connecting to it.
Mother Teresa once said, “Every day I see Jesus in his most distressing disguises.” I love this. Also, I’m deeply disturbed by this because it challenges me to love more than I’m used to loving, to not just care about those who are familiar and like me, but also care about those who are drastically different (in thought, looks, status, and behavior) from me. More and more I see “the different ones” as the divine in drag, asking, “Can you love me like this? Can you love me like that? Can you–will you–open your heart and home MORE?”
[On a personal note, today is also my mom’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom! Thank you for the unconditional love you give me and so many others. It makes all the difference.]
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."
As someone who can usually be found reading, I rarely get out in nature. I mean, I walk around my neighborhood on a regular basis, but I don’t, like, hike. That being said, I enjoy hiking. I just never think to do it. If I look at my calendar and spot a free afternoon, I don’t reach for my boots, I reach for my books. Still, I’ve read that being outside is good for you, so I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. So get this shit. I recently ran into a friend and former student (when I impulsively stopped at Hobby Lobby to pick up supplies for a fix-it project I’ve been putting off for over a year) who said they loved to hike and wanted to get back into it. “Text me sometime,” I said, “I’d love to tag along.”
Well, they did, and I did. This morning my friend and I met at Lake Fort Smith and ended up hiking the Ozark Highlands Trail for three and a half hours. And whereas the total length of the trail is about a hundred and sixty-five miles, we went five and a half, which both I and my hips were more than fine with. But seriously, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed being outside, (heavily) breathing fresh air, listening to running water, and reconnecting with and getting to better know someone with similar interests.
When we finished hiking and I got back to town, I drove by Village Inn because my dad, my aunt, and a family friend of ours go there every week for Free Pie Wednesday. I earned a slice of pie today, I thought. Maybe I can catch “the crew” and join in the fun. And whereas I didn’t see their car in the parking lot, when I called my aunt she said they were on their way. “Ill grab a table,” I said. Well, it was everything I dreamed of and more. We laughed and laughed, and the pie was delicious.
Last night on a whim my dad suggested going out to our friend’s house, where I’d never been. “What else are you doing?” he said. “He has an Elvis Presley collection that’s to die for.”
“What the hell,” I said.
Y’all, just like today, it was the best time. Stepping into our friend’s house was like stepping into a time warp. His furniture was retro and cool, and–just like Dad promised–Elvis was everywhere–on the calendar, the Christmas tree, and the roll-out carpet. On the wall there was even a picture of Elvis in his underwear. (“That was worth the trip,” I said later.) Anyway, visiting in our friend’s kitchen I thought, Life is so random. One minute you’re sitting at home staring at Facebook, and the next you’re in a whole new world, The World of Velvet Elvis. And whereas some people might judge our friend for having SO MUCH Elvis paraphernalia (how gauche!), I thought it was absolutely delicious. More and more I think, Am I going to judge my experience, or embrace it?
This evening I had a free hour and called my friend Justin to see if he wanted to catch up. “We could walk the dog I’m sitting,” I said. Well, Justin was in the middle of something but said it could wait. “Why don’t you come pick me up?” he suggested. Again, this on-a-whim meeting was fabulous. We laughed, we cried, it was better than Cats.
At one point on our hike today, my friend and I stopped to snack on the bank of a fast-moving creek. “The water is so powerful,” I said, my thought being that it didn’t look like something you’d want to fight against. Rather, it looked like something that could carry you along. Anyway, that’s Justin, he doesn’t insist on a rigid schedule; he lets life move him. When I dropped him back off at his house I said, “One thing I really appreciate about you is your ability to be spontaneous.” He explained, “I figure one way or the other our plans will eventually get wrecked.” Exactly. So better to go with the flow and happily accept random adventures than swim upstream and insist on having it your way.
Okay, let’s just get right to it. This last weekend I felt like hell. Saturday I had a headache all day, and yesterday my neck hurt, my shoulder felt hot, and my lower back was locked up. This morning when I stumbled out of bed I felt every bit of my thirty-nine years and then some. And whereas I realize this could be read as complaining, it’s simply the truth.
These are the facts.
Whenever I feel this way (like a bag of ass), it’s extremely frustrating because despite my best efforts, not only are my physical problems continuing, they’re apparently getting worse. Month by month and year by year it seems there’s SOMETHING ELSE that’s not quite working right. Last summer my stomach started acting up. Since then, I haven’t been able to breathe as well. For a while now my ribs have felt constricted. Every time I breathe deeply, they hurt or my shoulder does. I’ve talked to multiple medical doctors, chiropractors, physical and massage therapists, and acupuncturists, but no one’s been able to help me significantly. The most recent medical doctor I asked about headaches said, “Posture has a lot to do with that.” And whereas I don’t disagree with that statement, no amount of posture correction techniques, including physical therapy exercises, yoga, pilates, stretching, bioenergectis, myofascial release, and chi kung, have changed my condition. I try and try to get my body to stand straight and “do right,” but I’m still in pain. One chiropractor–a doctor and self-professed “really smart” man–told me, “You’re an anomaly.”
He still took my money, of course.
I could go on and on about this topic and know I have in the past. Suffice it to say that it’s VERY DISHEARTENING to not only be faced with a physical challenge, but also to do everything you know to do to find an answer (talk to experts, read a ton of books, pray) and still come up with peanuts. Personally my biggest challenges have been sinus infections and headaches, and I know that they’ve often left me feeling quite hopeless. Indeed, there have been times that I’ve cried out to whoever’s listening up there for help and felt like I was totally ignored or–worse–completely unloved. Tylenol takes the edge off my headaches, but nothing takes the edge off this, the feeling like you’re all alone in the universe, that God’s left you twisting in the wind.
Recently I heard that a prayer heaven always answers is one that sounds like this. Dear God, I don’t care what it takes or how you turn my life upside down, but get me out of this pattern (of illness, of unhealthy relationships, etc.) Well, this is a bold prayer, of course, since you’re giving the gods permission to do what they want with your life, but–let’s face–they’re going to anyway. So you better bet I’ve been praying that prayer. Help, Lord, I want out.
I wish I could tell you that I’ve had unshakable faith that my prayer would be answered. And yes, I know that “no” and “not now” are valid answers from heaven. Sometimes we simply don’t get what we want. Sometimes, especially when it comes to physical problems, we don’t get relief until we die. This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Will I simply have to suffer with this until I kick the bucket? If so, am I strong enough to do that? Because one day of solid pain is bearable, but day after day for decades? I can’t imagine. That’s one positive thing that’s come out of my hurting these last few years. For the rest of my life, I’ll hold increased compassion for anyone who feels like they’re up against a wall and getting nowhere. If this is you, I understand. My heart goes out to you.
Also, hold on. Your story’s not over.
One thing I say a lot is that God works in mysterious ways. Well, get this shit. Several weeks ago I posted about ANOTHER sinus problem I was having, and a friend of mine (whom I met through dance nearly twenty years ago and only this year reconnected with) said she used to be in the same boat but that something called Upper Cervical Care had helped. “I don’t remember the last time I had an infection,” she said. Well, for all my talking to experts and reading constantly, I’d never heard of upper cervical care, so I started digging around and found a doctor in Northwest Arkansas–Dr. Jackson Chism–who’s one of the three people in the state who practices it.
While reading the reviews on Dr. Chism’s Facebook page, I began to cry. (This is usually my intuition’s way of letting me know that what I’m hearing is true.) People were saying they’d suffered from headaches, migraines, and fibromyalgia for years and had seen vast improvements if not complete remission of symptoms. Hopeful, I told myself I would go by his office the next time I was in Northwest Arkansas. However, weeks went by and I didn’t stop by or call. I do this sometimes, put off trying something that could help because I’ve tried SO MANY OTHER THINGS that haven’t helped and don’t want to be disappointed AGAIN. Because–if this doesn’t work, then what?
One thing I’ve been looking into and have mentioned here before is a posture and movement correction program I heard about online. Seriously, it seems really smart, really legit, the main idea being that a lot of our posture problems are caused from the BOTTOM UP. Like, we sit all day, which shortens our hip flexors, which tilts our pelvis, which causes our back to sway, which rounds our shoulders, juts our head forward, and so on. Anyway, if I had the money, I’d be on a plane tomorrow to work with one of the trainers who promotes this program. (No one does it around here.) This is part of my frustration. Like, I don’t have the money, don’t have the resources to take care of myself.
However.
Recently I’ve been going through a series by Caroline Myss and Jim Curtan about the symbology of The Wizard of Oz, and one thing it says is that Dorothy’s dog’s name in Latin (Toto) means “everything,” the idea being that from the start of her journey until its very end, Dorothy always has EVERYTHING she needs. When she clicks her heels together three times and teleports back to Kansas, Glinda the Good Witch tells her, “You could have done this all along.” So I’ve been reconsidering the notion that I need more money or need to leave the state in order to heal. I’ve been thinking, Maybe the answer’s right here.
Getting back to upper cervical care, a couple weeks ago I finally called Dr. Chism’s office. As “luck” would have it, not only was he taking new patients, but he was also running a special–x-rays with consultations before and after for under $40. “Let’s do it,” I said.
Last Monday was my appointment. I met Dr. Chism, he explained what he does (I’ll get to that part below), then he took x-rays, saying that he never makes adjustments without knowing what he’s working on first. “It’s possible I’ll look at your x-rays and determine that I can’t help you,” he said. “If that’s the case, we’d be wasting my time and yours to go any further.” Then we scheduled my next appointment.
For this afternoon.
For the last week I’ve been cautiously optimistic. Dr. Chism explained that at the base of our skull sits something called an atlas, the first “disc” of your spinal column. Then he put his thumb and first finger together and dropped a pen down the middle. “Through your atlas runs a bundle of nerves that control most everything else in your body,” he said. “But if your atlas shifts because of a car accident or something, it can pinch those nerves and cause all sorts of problems. [This is why upper cervical care can help sinus infections, apparently, because your nervous system influences your immune system.] Additionally, that shift can cause your head to lean one way or the other, and then your body will lift a shoulder or tilt a hip in order to correct the problem.” Still, despite this explanation making sense to me, again, I felt like crap all weekend and thought, I’m probably just throwing money down the drain. I’m broken. God doesn’t care, and no one can fix me.
I actually thought that this morning on my way to a meeting. But no kidding, just as I finished whining, I turned my head and noticed one of the many inspirational yard signs that have recently sprouted up around town. “Don’t give up,” it said. Then, when I arrived at Dr. Chism’s this afternoon, the lyrics of the first song that came on when I sat down in the waiting room said, “Don’t you give up on a miracle. You gotta speak to the impossible.” And whereas I’m normally turned off by offices that play “churchy” music, I took this as a direct encouragement from above.
Hold on. Your story’s not over.
The first thing Dr. Chism did with me today was go over my x-rays, which are just below. On the left you can see where the vertebrae in my neck are. The red curve, Dr. Chism explained, is where they’re supposed to be. “Ideally the top vertebrae is over the bottom one, and the ones in between curve like a banana,” he said. “Yours is straight as a board.” I said, “It feels stiff as a board.”
Other doctors have pointed out the fact that my vertebrae show signs of deterioration and bone spur calcification, but no one else has adequately explained why. “If your discs were deteriorating because of age [which other doctors have said], they’d all look the same because they’re the same age,” Dr. Chism said. “But some of yours are better than others.” Then he explained that my discs were showing signs of wear because my head is forward of my body, and my structure is trying desperately to support itself. “For every inch your head is forward, it adds ten pounds. So a ten pound head becomes a twenty or thirty pound one,” he said. “That’s why your body’s laying down new bone, in order to shore itself up.” Then he pointed to the base of my skull (where I experience the worst of my headaches) and said, “One consequence of all this is that these muscles will always be tight.”
Check.
Next we talked about my atlas, the vertebrae that’s the focus of upper cervical care. Apparently the ideal situation is for the atlas to be titled at 8 to 10 degrees, but Dr. Chism said mine was at 3.4. “The problem is that this pinches nerves and–worse–cuts off blood supply to the brain. So you might feet tired all the time [check] or begin to experience neurological symptoms [check: tremors].” We talked about the BOTTOM UP theory, but Dr. Chism said, “For you, I can definitely say the problem is TOP DOWN. Your body cares more about getting blood to your brain than it does about whether or not your hip flexors are short.”
When I asked WHY most of my issues show up on the right side of my body, Dr. Chism directed me the right x-ray, in which you can see a definite “kink” in my neck. My reaction to this and our ENTIRE conversation was consistent tears. It was like my body was confirming, “What this man’s saying is true. THIS is what we’ve been living with for years, for decades.”
“The good news,” Dr. Chism said, “is that THIS is what I do. You’ve got a lot going on, but it hasn’t progressed to the point where it’s irreversible [as would be the case if my bone spurs had actually FUSED my vertebrae together].” Then he asked if I WANTED a treatment today, and I said YES, HELL, YES. From there he walked me through getting on my knees, lying my head turned one way on a small table (about the height of an ottoman), and relaxing as much as possible. Then he felt for my atlas, placed one hand karate-chop style along the base of my skull, and with the other (I think) applied swift pressure. Inside, I heard what sounded like the cracking of a large walnut.
“I heard that,” Dr. Chism said. “They probably heard it next door.”
Y’all, that was it. Five seconds and it was over. When I got up (slowly), I was a little dizzy, and Dr. Chism walked me to another waiting room where I lay down with my head and knees supported for about 25 minutes. “Your body and nervous system need time to adjust to what just happened,” he said. Well, adjust they did. For the first–I don’t know–five to ten minutes, I cried. Then I laughed a lot. The entire time I could feel my head, neck, shoulders, hips, and legs shifting ever so slightly, tightening up, then relaxing. When Dr. Chism came back, my hands were tingling. “All of that’s normal,” he said. “It’s just your system changing.”
When I first arrived at Dr. Chism’s today, he used a particular tool to measure–I think–how the nervous system in my neck responds. I’m still not super clear on what this tool does. What I do know is that when I got there today, the graph this tool produced looked like a YELLOW S. “We want that line to be straight,” said Dr. Chism. “That’s what we’re working toward.” Well, after my adjustment and “sink in” period, my line was still curved but much straighter, as indicated by the TEAL LINE below. “It’s almost perfect,” Dr. Chism said. “For the first treatment, it’s awesome. You’re going to do really well.”
Before I left, Dr. Chism said, “If you wake up feeling awful again tomorrow, don’t be discouraged. This isn’t a one-and-done thing, and it’s going to take time to get you where we want you. [My thought: That’s okay. You don’t learn to cha cha in a day either.] Also, if you wake up feeling fabulous tomorrow, don’t get too excited. This is A PROCESS. Either way, you might be sore because as your body makes corrections, it’ll be using muscles it’s not used to using.” Then he gave me a dos-and-don’ts pamphlet, his staff took my payment and made me an appointment for next week, and I went on my merry way.
This evening I’ve continued to feel slight changes in my body, something Dr. Chism said could happen over the next two days. And whereas I’m still aware of tightness here and pain there, overall things are MUCH looser and mobile than they’ve been in a long time. Y’all, I’ve been cracked, whipped around, poked, prodded, needled, cupped, electrically stimulated, medicated, and colon cleansed. I’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to feel better and–time and time again–been frustrated. (To be clear, some things have helped, albeit not solved, my problems.) But then today happened. As I sit here now my shoulders aren’t as tight, my rib cage doesn’t hurt as much, and it’s easier to sit and stand up straight.
And here’s something–I’m happier.
As one of my chiropractors often says, things can turn on a dime.
Y’all, I realize I almost never discuss my healthcare providers by name but have gone on and on about Dr. Chism. This is simply because I am so very grateful for having met him. I don’t think it happened by accident. I also realize this is a VERY long post, one of my longest. Alas, this is a BIG subject for me both physically and emotionally, and it has a LONG history. I also want others to be as clear as possible about the process should they choose to explore upper cervical care for themselves. (It’s recommended for headaches, migraines, IBS, acid reflux, fibromyalgia, asthma, arthritis, and chronic fatigue, among other things). Still, if you skimmed down to the last paragraph, I don’t blame you. The main thing I want you to know is that more and more I believe 1) there’s always hope, 2) there’s always help, and 3) even though it may not seem like it at times, heaven is listening. We’re not in this alone. God works in mysterious ways. (Along these lines, sometimes not having enough money to do the things you want to do–and think would help you–IS an answer to prayer.) So don’t you give up. Whatever you’re going through, hold on.
The last two nights I’ve posted my blogs between two and three in the morning. And whereas I’m a self-professed night owl, this seriously can’t happen tonight. Therefore, I’m writing now, at five in the evening. However, since I have somewhere to be at six, this has got to be short. I’ve got this hangup about thinking things must be a certain way–perfect–but if the dog I’m house sitting for can spend three hours every morning in the bed next to me licking himself, then I can do myself the kindness of writing a shorter blog.
But seriously, he licks himself SO MUCH. His slurping is SO LOUD.
Maybe I’ve just gotten hyper sensitive to sounds in my old age.
Maybe I’m jealous.
While I’m talking about this dog, y’all, you should see him. I don’t know what breed he is, but he’s big. That’s it, he’s a big breed. A little dinosaur, really. Anyway, twice I day I wrangle him into his collar and leash, and we walk around the neighborhood. No, I take that back, he DRAGS me around the neighborhood. And whereas I stay MOSTLY in control, there are times when my left knee (the one I had surgery on) isn’t quite “with it.” Sometimes when he’s surprised and darts toward a squirrel or another dog, it’s all I can do to keep my shoulder in its socket.
Naturally, this situation is frustrating. Behave! I think. But the fact is the dog simply hasn’t been TRAINED to sit still when having its collar and leash put on or to HEEL while walking. Short of this training, of course, he’s just a wild beast. A savage animal dragging around a homosexual on the beat-up streets of Fort Smith, Arkansas.
This afternoon I saw my chiropractor who works with emotions, and a word that came up was compulsive. “That’s a familiar emotion,” I said, thinking about how I stayed up for an hour last night scouring the internet for one of my favorite songs, Style by Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby. (This song used to be my alarm clock; now my alarm clock is a big dog licking himself.) And whereas I easily found the song itself, I couldn’t for the life of me find the PARTICULAR VERSION that I wanted (and used to have but lost in a hard drive crash three years ago). Anyway, I kept thinking, Just message your friend Charles in the morning. (Charles has a music library worthy of the Smithsonian.) Still, I couldn’t let it go. I kept looking and looking–to no avail. Thankfully–finally–I gave up and went to bed.
The good news–Charles had what I was looking for and more (outtakes, etc.). If you’re interested, the BASIC song is below. What’s missing and what I have now–thanks, Chuck–is the part where, just after singing this whole song about dressing up and having style and class, Dean Martin says, “Come on, get some clothes on or we’ll be late for breakfast.” Hilarious.
Getting back to the idea of being compulsive, it occurs to me that if you’re in the habit of obsessing or worrying about something or someone, it’s just because your mind’s been trained to drag your around–either by yourself or someone else (like your parents). If you’re NOT calm and peaceful, especially when you’re simply sitting in a perfectly calm and peaceful living room staring at your computer, it’s only because you haven’t trained yourself to be. This is where the practices of slowing down, being mindful, and meditation come in. Any sort of discipline will work. My mind used to kick up a fuss about sitting down and writing every day, but now it’s just the way it is. I actually get excited about it. At least with respect to blogging, my mind has learned to heel.
Or, if you prefer, to heal.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.
Eeek. Maybe it’s the bed I slept in last night (I’m house sitting), but I’ve had a headache all day. And whereas I’ve been popping pills left and right (we all have our limits), nothing has helped. Well, I won’t say that. (You just did, Marcus.) Nothing has COMPLETELY helped. Still, it’s been a good and productive day. Last night I went down the rabbit hole of downloading a bunch of previously uploaded music from my streaming service because I read that the service would soon be going out of business (who knows if it’s true?), so, despite a few hangups this afternoon (like not having enough space on my hard drive and having to shuffle things around to my virtual drive), I got ‘er done.
Now I’m the proud owner of nearly 2,000 music files I’d previously forgotten were mine. Which brings me to another point. As I look back on my spending all day organizing this stuff, part of me thinks, Marcus, you’ve wasted your time. Three years ago you lost all your files in a hard drive crash and survived. Aren’t you just clinging now, holding on to what’s left? But another part thinks I’m not hurting anyone. And besides–I’m SIGNIFICANTLY less attached to the files than I was three years ago. I could lose them again tomorrow and be like, Whatever; eff it. Plus, today–if only for today–I’ve enjoyed listening to songs that used to make me smile and want to dance. That still do.
This afternoon while downloading music I simultaneously watched a documentary about Thich Nhat Hanh, the famous mindfulness teacher. (And yes, I know that my doing two things at once was anything but mindful. Life is ironic.) Anyway, in a particularly touching section of the documentary, a little girl asked Thich Nhat Hanh how she could stop being sad about her recently deceased dog. He said, “This is a tough question,” then explained that if you see a cloud that makes you happy and then it disappears, you’ll think, My cloud is dead. But with mindfulness you can realize that the cloud isn’t dead but rather transformed–into the water that you drink, even into a loved one. For me this means that everything changes–and nothing ever truly dies. Enjoy what you have while you have it. When it leaves you, try to let it go.
Try to move on with life.
Tonight I keep getting distracted by this music stuff. At eight I sat down to blog and thought I’d first “just look into” what it would take to switch streaming music services altogether. Well, the next thing I knew I got swept into converting all my playlists from one site to another, then I got wrapped up in the features of the new site. (So shiny!) When all was said and done, four hours had gone by, I’d cancelled my old subscription (that I’ve had for over five years ), and signed up for the new one (with the first three months free). And whereas some of my songs from the old service aren’t on the new one, it’s too late now. What’s done is done. There’s no looking back.
Goodbye old songs.
While going through this music-server changeover process, I started to drag it out–transfer a few playlists a day, think about my options, etc. But, again, I got carried away. Plus, I noticed my first service’s billing cycle renews in a few days, so I thought, It’s time to jump. Rip the bandaid off, Marcus. Let’s do this. Honestly, I think this is the best way to do things sometimes. Looking back, the most formative decisions I’ve made have been largely impulsive. Sure, I’ll take a dance class. I’ve GOT to see a therapist this week. I’m miserable–I’m closing my studio and selling all my stuff. I know, I’ll start a blog! I don’t regret any of it. This is my unsolicited advice: if your heart is calling you, don’t wait–dive in. See where life takes you. Clouds change LIKE THAT.
You can too.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."
This afternoon I finished reading the book I referenced yesterday, Activate Your Vagus Nerve: Unleash Your Body’s Natural Ability to Overcome Gut Sensitivities, Inflammation, Brain Fog, Autoimmunity, Anxiety, Depression by Dr. Navaz Habib. The book suggests several PASSIVE methods for activating your vagus nerve–like massage therapy, chiropractic care, and acupuncture–as well as dozens of ACTIVE methods for activating your vagus nerve–like belly breathing through your nose, humming or chanting, listening to music, gargling, practicing mindfulness or meditation, laughing and connecting socially, and exposing yourself to sunlight. (Important note: I said TO not IN.) I’m all about this active stuff. What can I do at home to calm myself down and heal?
More importantly, what can I do on a budget?
One thing I noted while going through Dr. Habib’s book was the fact that I’ve recently been organically drawn to several of his suggestions. For example, deep breathing, cold exposure, and yoga or pilates. I’ve said before that I believe not only that our bodies know how to heal but also that we are guided to what we need, and this is what I mean. When something is right for your body, I think you’ll be attracted to it. Now, does this mean you’ll wake up one day and start CRAVING broccoli instead of chocolate cake? Doubtful. But you’ll likely start thinking, That looks interesting. I should check that out. I should stop doing THIS and start doing THAT.
Follow your hunches.
More and more I don’t think healing, or at least the habits that promote healing, are complicated. For example, two things I immediately implemented–well, started–right after I finished the vagus nerve book were 1) installing blue-light blocking software on my laptop and phone and 2) listening to classical music. The idea behind the blue-light blocking software is that blue light signals to our bodies that it’s stay-awake time even when it’s not, so by installing a filter on your electronic devices (or turning them off altogether two hours before bedtime), you won’t disrupt your natural sleep rhythms. And whereas–I admit–my sleep rhythms are less than ideal, I can at least stop adding to the problem by staring at blue screen.
Instead, I can stare at a red one.
Currently it’s 10:30 at night, and I’ve been listening to classical music–Mozart–for the last two hours. (On my streaming service I found an album elegantly titled 50 Mozart Masterworks you Have to Listen to Before You Die.) And whereas I’ve never been a big “fan” of classical music, I’m enjoying this. I guess the idea behind the suggestion is that our bodies (and vagus nerves) respond to what we listen to. As a dancer, this makes sense to me. I listen to Lady Gaga and I feel and move fast and punchy. I listen to a waltz and I feel and move gracefully. Anyway, I’ve had violins and orchestras in my ears for a good while tonight, and I do feel calmer. It’s almost impossible to get upset or hurried about anything. The average song on the radio is three minutes and thirty seconds, and the first classical piece I listened to tonight (“Sonata for Two Pianos”) was twenty-four, so that fact alone told my brain, “You might as well settle in and get comfortable. This is going to take a while.”
This is the perfect attitude to take toward life, of course. Settle in, get comfortable. Just now (well, nearly two hours ago) I got distracted and started downloading previously uploaded music from my music streaming service because I read they’ll soon be going out of business. And not that I HAVE to have all 1,715 songs I uploaded over five years ago (because I’ve lived this long without them), but I might as well. My point being that because this service won’t let you download your music all at once, you have to go album by album. Well, tonight I downloaded over forty-five albums, over 800 songs altogether, and–seriously–the classical music has helped. Normally I’d be pulling my hair out. But tonight I’m like, Whatever, there’s no hurry here.
Well crap. All day I’ve been worn the eff out. The last few days I’ve slept more than a bear in hibernation, but I just can’t seem to get my rear in gear. Plus, my hips have been hurting. The weather must be changing. Oh no. Is THIS what it’s like to get older? If so, you can have it. Of course, it beats the alternative (dying). Still, I wonder if it wouldn’t help if I were a SMIDGE less cognizant of my body. That is, as a dancer I’m pretty tuned into every square inch of my physical self, and–I don’t know–maybe I wouldn’t make such a big deal about things getting slightly out of whack if I were one of those less self-aware people who, as my dad says, can’t find their ass with both hands. But just imagine how inconvenient that would be.
Especially when going to the bathroom.
But I digress.
I spent this afternoon doing laundry, first my clothes, then my sheets. That’s right, smart alecks, I’ve now washed my sheets twice this quarter. (Miracles never cease.) Anyway, while the washer and dryer were doing their thing, I started reading a book about the importance of the vagus nerve, the longest nerve (that’s actually two nerves) in your body and the one that’s the most responsible for regulating not only your sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems, but also your heart, liver, and lungs. In other words, it’s important. And whereas I haven’t gotten to the part in the book about how to consciously activate your vagus nerve (and thus calm down your body and stimulate healing), I’ve heard before that humming or singing, as well as gentle rocking, help switch your vagus nerve from the “let’s freak out” to the “everything’s gonna be just fine” position. This makes sense to me. Think about how babies respond to humming, singing, and gentle rocking. Well, you and I are no different.
We all need soothing.
This evening I helped a friend update their website. Okay, fine, we technically started over, since their site hasn’t been updated in eight years. And whereas starting over obviously required more work, we had the best time. At least I did. I spent most of my college years engrossed in photography, layout, and design and have spent most of my years since engrossed in writing and communication, so this really was the perfect thing for my friend to ask me to do. I dove right in. That being said, since each website hosting platform is different, much of tonight was a learning curve–how to change font sizes and what not. But hey, I like learning and my friend bought dinner, so Hakuna Matata!
My friend and I worked on their site for–I don’t know–four hours, then I worked on it a few more when I got home. I guess I got hyper-focused on figuring out how to add pictures and link to their social media accounts and couldn’t let it go. (I’m no Elsa.) While I was with my friend I kept futzing around with text alignment–to the left, to the center, to the right. My friend said, “This is why you DON’T want someone who’s OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE designing your website.” I said, “This is why you DO want someone who’s obsessive compulsive designing your site.” Along these lines, my therapist says there are times when my perfectionism serves me. Because it allows me to attend to ALL THE DETAILS when redecorating a room or redesigning a website or whatever. I just need to be able to turn my perfectionism off so I don’t use it against myself. (Like, my nipples aren’t perfect, and all that.)
JUST ENJOY YOUR NIPPLES, MARCUS.
Now, the fact that I stayed up until two tonight working on my friend’s site when 1) I was already tired and 2) there’s not a deadline–I guess–means I haven’t quite figured out how to turn my perfectionism off. At the same time, it may just mean that I got excited about something, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We creatives (that is, all of us) need to get enthused about new projects now and then. My friend and I tonight were brainstorming ideas and ended up laughing, laughing, laughing. This is huge. Not just having fun, but also bringing LIFE to yourself, to others, and to your work.
For the last two days, for whatever reason, I’ve been tired, tired, tired. Fortunately, my life is such that I can rest. That is to say, I’m not a mother. God bless y’all mothers. You never get to sleep. Hang in there, they’ll grow up one day. Then you can rest. Anyway, back to me. (My dad tells everyone, “Marc’s blog is about HIM,” and I’m like, “DAMN RIGHT, it’s called ME and My Therapist”). Okay, this morning I slept in and then, after breakfast, read a book about gargoyles and grotesques, those nasty looking, often highly sexualized creatures that decorate medieval churches. Now there are some guys and gals who don’t get to rest. According to the book, one of the purposes of grotesques (aside from being homages to local gods) is to scare away demons, and you know THAT’S a full-time job.
Speaking of full-time jobs, this afternoon I took a shower. I can’t tell you how much I hate the fact that a person has to do this multiple times a week in order to be socially accepted (except at Walmart, of course). But I digress. After cleaning up (and putting on my clothes) I taught a dance lesson then had a session with my chiropractor who works with emotions. Lately he’s been using a technique that involves tapping into however you feel NOW (frustrated, scared, embarrassed, vulnerable) then remembering the first time you ever felt that way. Then he says, “Picture that child and tell them, ‘Whatever you’re feeling is okay. There’s nothing wrong or inappropriate about your emotions.” I really like this, the idea that there’s no such thing as a bad emotion.
This evening when I got home from my chiropractor’s, I took nap. When I woke up I was still tired, but whatever, clearly my body wants to rest. This is something I’m learning to be okay with. I’m also learning that I don’t need to know WHY my body needs to rest, I just need to give it what’s it’s asking for. So often I get frustrated because I can’t decipher what my body’s messages mean, but–being tired–that one seems pretty obvious. Like, duh, go to bed. Anyway, after my nap I ate dinner and took out the trash, now here I am, writing.
Today’s post is #966 in a row, and that means post #1,000 is only 34 days away. (Incidentally, Christmas is also 34 days away. And no, I didn’t plan this.) Along these lines, I’ve been thinking about the eventual ending of this project (I plan to continue until March 30 or 31, 2020), how scary that is (because then what?), and what I’ve learned from it. And whereas I plan to go into these ideas more in depth over the next several months, the largest lesson I’ve learned has centered around the idea of meeting myself. (Like my dad says, this blog is about ME.) For example, earlier tonight I was frustrated (about being tired and, well, my life), but when I sat down to blog, it was like part of me relaxed because I knew that I could work through it. That’s what these 966 days have taught me, that no matter how I feel or what kind of day I’ve had, there’s a space within me that can hold it. THIS is a full-time job of course–taking care of ourselves and consciously working with whatever arises right here, right now–but it’s worth it, I’m convinced of that.
Another theory I’ve read about gargoyles and grotesques is that they represent one’s inner demons. So many people say that our job is to SLAY our dragons, but others say our job is to HUG them, to welcome them in. I like this idea and have found it to be true, at least more effective. Whenever I’ve tried to push an emotion or icky situation AWAY, it’s only gotten stronger. But when I’ve said, “Sweetheart, you have every right to be here. Talk to me,” it’s calmed down, relaxed. The book today referred to several of the gargoyles and grotesques as hideous, gross, or repulsive. But I kept thinking of that song “Everything Is Beautiful In Its Own Way” and how some of those little monsters were actually kind of cute. This is a matter of perspective, of course, and that’s my point. If there’s something you don’t like about yourself–or someone else for that matter–take another look. Chances are, it’s not as scary as you think.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them.
