This Isn’t Brain Surgery (Blog #546)

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Things that have happened since we last spoke–

1. A good night’s rest

Last night I slept for over ten hours. I’m convinced that my recent commitment to going to bed earlier and getting more rest is doing me nothing but good. I’m starting to covet it, even protect it. Each night I use a pair of clamps to attach a dark blanket to the frame around my window. Then I lay another blanket in front of my door that leads to the hallway. In essence, I turn my room into a cocoon. It’s this odd ritual, specifically designed to keep the light OUT. At least until I awake.

When I started this blog a year and a half ago, I’d only write in the wee morning hours–between midnight and six in the morning. So much good has come from it. Now I’m convinced–the darkness* is where we heal ourselves. At least until we awake.

*the place where our shadow lives, that part of us we’ve ignored, stuffed down, or forgotten about; the place where solitude and stillness exist; the place where you can hear yourself and meet yourself; the cocoon in which you transform

2. A bizarre dream

Early this morning I dreamed I was taking a shower, a common dream motif for me. (I’m sure it has to do with coming clean, bathing in the waters of my consciousness/unconsciousness.) Anyway, then I was throwing up moths–yes, moths–the kind that circle around your front porch light. Hundreds of them. There they were on the floor of the tub, most of them (but not all of them) dead. Some of them, I think, were still stuck in my throat. A friend or doctor said something about a prescription, but I didn’t recognize the name of the medication.

What this all means, I’m not sure. I associate moths with irritation, since they’re always eating holes in my shirts or flitting around my face. My sense when I woke up from the dream was that it had to do with my currently upset stomach, so maybe there’s something about the hundred things in my life that are irritating to me and my internal desire to voice them (moths to mouth). As my therapist says, “Get the poison out.” Or maybe I’m learning to not keep everything inside (throwing up the moths) and am closer to healing (the friend or doctor) than I realize.

3. An encouraging number

After breakfast I stepped on this scales and was delighted to find out that I’ve lost between one and a half and two and a half pounds since beginning my exercise program and “moderate” diet ten days ago. And whereas I hadn’t worked out in a few days and was thinking of giving up “this shit” altogether (because I obviously can’t do things perfectly), the number on the scale reminded me that small actions, taken not perfectly but consistently, produce results.

As someone once told me, “It’s not what you do 20 percent of the time. It’s what you do 80 percent of the time.”

So I worked out. Later, I ate a sensible dinner.

This isn’t brain surgery.

4. A moment of courage, a moment of kindness

This evening I went to the house I’ve been cleaning up for friends in order to roll their trashcan to the curb for pickup in the morning. However, since I’m working all weekend elsewhere, I wasn’t sure about getting the trashcan off the curb. Finally, I worked up the nerve to ask the neighbors down the street, who were hanging out in their driveway, if they could do it. I thought, Marcus, It’s okay to ask people for help. So when one of the daughter’s (I’m assuming) rolled their trashcan to the curb, I introduced myself and asked her for the favor. Well, she just acted confused, like she didn’t know if she could help or not. Shit, I thought, this isn’t brain surgery; it’s a trashcan. (In her defense, I’m guessing she’s in school all day tomorrow and that’s why she was unsure. Plus, teenagers suck at communication.)

Thankfully, her dad (I’m assuming) came over later and said he’d be glad to roll the trashcan back up the driveway after the trash truck comes tomorrow. And he was so nice about it. “No problem, brother,” were his exact words.

Again–
It’s okay to ask people for help.
People are kind.

5. A magical book

Yesterday I started reading a book called Into the Magic Shop by James R. Doty, MD, and tonight I finished it. I absolutely adore books like this–ones you can be absorbed into, be spellbound by.

Doty’s book is part autobiographical, part informative (he’s a neurosurgeon, so this IS brain surgery for him), part instructive (on the topics of mindfulness and visualization). And whereas I’ve read so many books on mindfulness and visualization that I want to vomit up a hundred moths, this one is different in the best possible way. More than once I found myself weeping as Doty describes his painful childhood, his desire for a better life, the magical woman who miraculously showed up and taught him how to open his heart and have everything he could ever want, and what has ultimately brought him happiness. (Hint–it’s not what he thought it would be.)

Doty says, “It’s easy to connect the dots of a life in retrospect, but much harder to trust the dots will connect together and form a beautiful picture when you’re in the messiness of living a life.” Amen. For anyone (like me) who’s waiting and desperately wanting the dots of their life to be connected, Doty’s story offers hope on almost every page. It’s a glorious tale gloriously told.

I don’t know what else to say. Read it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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The One in Front of You (Blog #536)

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I don’t know what’s happening to me. Last night I hung up a dark comforter in front of my bedroom window to block the outside light and went to bed before midnight. Then this morning I woke up at 7:45. For breakfast, I limited myself to two cups of coffee, and not even two big ones. (What? Moderation?) By 9:15, I was WORKING–penning a blog for another business that I write for occasionally. To top it all off, I ate LUNCH–my SECOND meal of the day–at 11:00. (I met a friend, was EARLY, and was one of the FIRST people in the restaurant.) This evening I went for a jog as the sun went down, ate a respectable dinner, then took a shower. Now it’s 10:45, and I’m ready for bed. What the hell?

Is this how normal people live?

For most of this afternoon, I “babysat” a house that belongs to some friends of mine while two manly men from a local business installed carpets in one of the bedrooms. And whereas I spent a good amount of time dicking around on the internet, I also read quite a bit more in Why We Sleep. (I’ve been reading it for three days now. It’s a thick book.) Anyway, the author, Matthew Walker, really has me sold on the idea that you should get eight to nine hours of sleep every night. Apparently anything less (like, six hours a night) is consistently linked to poorer concentration, lower immunity, higher blood pressure, heart problems, cancer, and dementia.

Whenever I decide to make changes regarding my health and routine, a good part of me is terrified. I think, But what about that thing coming up? Is this worth the effort if I can’t do it perfectly? However, at the same time, another part of me is excited. That part thinks, Yeah, I enjoy a good routine. I remember SUNRISES and EXERCISING.

Okay, maybe not sunrises.

While running tonight, I thought about how good it feels to USE my body, to MOVE. Granted, it didn’t feel good ALL OVER–I still have a few aches and pains–but it did feel good to breathe deep and to break a sweat. (I swear I’m not going to become one of those irritating internet fitness people.) I don’t know–for the last year my health has been so unpredictable. For months I didn’t even come close to having the strength or motivation required for moving about or making a plan and sticking to it. (We’ll see how the sticking to it part goes.) But now it feels like I do. Thankfully (so very thankfully), my body appears to be on the mend.

Going back to being terrified, I worry that my health will relapse or that I’ll drop the proverbial ball. You know, like I’ll get bored with all this “health shit” and go back to late nights, beer, and chocolate cake. But I’m doing my best to take this One Day at Time, Sweet Jesus, and not worry so much about next week or even tomorrow. As one of my friends used to tell me, “You can’t eat tomorrow’s meal today.” In other words, think about the meal (or opportunity to exercise or go to bed early) in front of you. Just the one in front of you.

Now, for reasons that should be obvious, I’m going to bed.

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. 

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The Bottleneck (Blog #508)

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Last night I dreamed that I was running in Dallas–of all places–and couldn’t quite pick up my feet. I’ve had dreams like this before, like, I’m not moving as fast as I want to. But this time I was lost. I couldn’t quite find where I was supposed to be going (my hotel, I think). I checked my GPS, and it provided the correct route–a straight shot up the interstate. HOWEVER there was a huge traffic jam–a bottleneck–six lanes of traffic trying to squeeze into one. Finally it cleared up. Just like that, all the cars and me (on foot!) were flowing through. No longer lost or jammed up like we were before. On our way as if nothing had happened.

Currently it’s four in the afternoon, and I’ve only been up for a couple of hours, since–again–I worked late last night helping some friends pack for an upcoming move. We’re getting SO close to done. As we’re working again this evening and I have a myriad of other things to do before then, I seriously need to keep this short. I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately–I’m in a rush–I don’t have to write–I don’t have time to read–I don’t have time to wipe my ass. Ugh. It’s so frustrating. No wonder my stomach has been upset.

“It’s stress,” my friend, who’s a pharmacist, said last night. “Everything is stress.”

No kidding. If I had to describe last night’s dream in one word, that would be it–stress. It’s just the worst sensation to feel like you’re not moving fast enough or like you’re all jammed up. That’s what it feels like lately–the bottleneck–like I have so much going on, and I’m not sure any of it’s getting me anywhere. Plus, my body still isn’t back to normal. I’m dragging, forcing myself at times. Last night one of my friends said, “How are you functioning?” and I said, “Willpower. It’s just willpower.”

In last night’s dream there was a brief pause, something that happened between the huge traffic jam and everything clearing up. I don’t know, it was like a rest, a break in the bottleneck, when everyone collectively realized how crazy it was to force-force-force the situation rather than letting it flow. And that’s when it worked, when we stopped trying to push every little damn thing. That’s when we were on our way again. So maybe I can stop pushing too. Maybe I can stop trying to run so fast and simply walk instead. Or maybe I can stop completely, watch other people go first, and think, I’ll be on my way soon enough–yes, it will be just like that–as if nothing had happened.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"The truth is right in front of you."

You Know, a Guy Could Take This (Blog #505)

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Twenty days ago, while I was in San Francisco for a dance event, I received a ticket (from a meter maid!) for parking on a steep hill and NOT turning my wheels toward the curb. Talk about a serious drag. I didn’t know a person was supposed to do this. Anyway, when I talked to a friend of mine who’s a policeman in San Francisco, they said, “Might I suggest a good old-fashioned protest?” Well, sure enough, there’s a website listed on the back of a ticket, in case someone wants to put up a fuss. So, in light of the fact that the ticket is sixty-nine frickin’ dollars, that’s exactly what I did this morning.

I resisted.

Unfortunately, I was limited to 1,000 characters, so I couldn’t be as “flowery” as I wanted to be with my words. Still, here’s what I said:

Hello. My name is Marcus Coker, and I recently visited SF for the first time (in order to attend a swing dance event). The event housed me with a local, on 14th Avenue. Of course, parking was a challenge, but I “finally” found a spot after 45 minutes of circling the neighborhood. You can imagine my relief. There was a sign about not parking on certain street-cleaning days, but otherwise–I thought–I was good. (Phew.) Alas, when I went to check on my vehicle the next day (a friend who is a policeman said vehicle break-ins were common in SF), I’d received a $69 dollar ticket for “parking on grades,” a term that I had to Google and means I didn’t turn my wheels toward the curb. Ugh. This really put a damper on my weekend, especially since I had no idea about your city’s policy. After all, it wasn’t posted, and, being from the flatlands of the south, I never park on hills. As I immediately corrected the problem, I ask that you forgive this incident. Please have mercy. Regards, Marcus

Then, when the website asked if I had any supporting documents, I uploaded this PDF: SF_ParkingProtest

So we’ll see what happens. At the very least, I figure I’ve bought myself some more time. This morning when I saw the ticket in my to-do pile, I freaked out. First, either the protest or the payment is due tomorrow, and that triggered my “not enough time” response. Second, the fact that this is an “authority issue,” made my butt pucker. But then I thought, You can do this, Marcus, and sat down and got to work. In no time, I was simply doing my thing–writing. Plus, I was trying to have a good time. So much of my past has been filled with my being nervous, afraid, and terrified about things that really amount to nothing. A parking ticket. A meter maid. But–regardless of how it turns out–this protest was actually fun for me.

So that’s something.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for my friend and local artist Ralph Irwin. I wrote about Ralph in detail here (in my most highly read article), so I won’t go into great detail about him here. However, I was reminded yesterday what a profound impact one person can have on another. Honestly, although I worked two doors down from him when I had my dance studio, I didn’t spend that much time with Ralph. We only had a handful of heart-to-hearts. That being said, they were enough. Ralph left his mark on me.

One of the things that was mentioned at the memorial service was that Ralph would often take some odd, discarded object, hold it up to the light, squint, and say, “You know, a guy could take this and–.” Then Ralph would proceed into a barrage of wild ideas and creative possibilities. This was my experience with him. Once he told me, “Some people might look at a rusty old door and think of it as trash. But an artist would look at it and see possibility, something you could paint or hang on a wall or use for something else entirely.”

Possibility. If nothing else, Ralph taught me that there’s an infinite number of ways to see the world. What’s more, there’s an infinite number of ways to make your world more beautiful. But it all starts with how you see things. Do you look at the objects and people in your life–do you look at yourself–as trash? Or do you see something beautiful there? Personally, I think Ralph saw people the way he saw objects–full of potential. At least that’s how I think he saw me. I’m not sure he ever said it directly, but he took time to help me flesh out ideas and show me new ways of looking at things. He encouraged me (and I know he did this for countless others).

Of course, it’s no small thing to be encouraged.

There was something said yesterday about how Ralph felt like he didn’t get enough done. The man was teeming with creative ideas and projects, and although many of them were completed during his seventy-six years on earth, many of them were not. I get this–I love completion. But as an artist and creative, I think this is a good “problem” to have–to wake up every day with a million ideas, to see possibility everywhere you look, to not get locked into one way of seeing a situation. This is where I see progress in my own life. Five years ago I would have gotten a traffic ticket, and it would have been “awful” from start to finish. But whereas facts are facts–I got a parking ticket–I can choose how I look at the facts. I can paint them up and put a frame around them that I like and that’s fun for me. I can choose how I respond.

I can hold my problems up to The Light.

I can squint my eyes.

I can see the world differently.

Yes–

It’s more beautiful now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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Jupiter and Me (Blog #458)

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Thoughts–

1. Sleep

Today I slept in, took a nap this afternoon. My body is tired and wants to rest. I judge it, judge me, think it’s lazy. But I’m learning to listen. I have to. The body always wins.

2. I got 99 problems, and a book is one

There’s a song that says, “I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain’t one.” This is true for my life. However, while surveying my room today, I noticed another problem. I’ve started the book collecting thing again. This after my big estate sale in which I sold hundreds I never read. Now I have a dozen lying around my room, some partially read, some–like me–waiting to be noticed. This afternoon I started to get overwhelmed, like I HAVE to read them, check them off THE LIST. But then I thought, Marcus, you’re just creating problems for yourself. There’s not a problem in this room, except the ones you’re imagining.

3. Some planets move slower than others

This afternoon I read more about the stars and planets. The sky is starting–starting–to make sense. I’m currently fascinated with the fact that Mercury laps the sun every 88 days (earth takes 365), but Jupiter takes nearly 12 years, spending almost a full year in each constellation of the zodiac. There’s Mercury, running himself ragged. (Run, Mercury, run.) Ole Jupiter isn’t in a hurry.

Honestly, I’m so much like Mercury–I can’t read fast enough, can’t get to wherever I’m going fast enough. Today I’ve been faced with my emotions–frustration, sadness, not having answers–and I can’t get over them fast enough. But what if I settled in, moved like Jupiter, accepted that I’ll get “there” soon enough, that–shit–there’s nowhere really to go?

I’d probably feel better.

4. Friends help a lot

Now I’m with my friends Bonnie and Todd, on their porch. We’re talking about emotions, relationships, even the stars and planets. At least for me, speaking my worries and concerns out loud makes them more bearable, seem smaller. I told Bonnie about my book concerns, then five minutes later she gave me another book, a gift she picked up for me in Nashville. We both laughed, I felt better, got excited about the book. I thought, I got 99 problems, but a book ain’t one.

5. Inspiration

In addition to the book, Bonnie gave me a print she found in an antique store. It’s a simple drawing of a typewriter and a cup of coffee. “The tools of your trade,” Bonnie said. “It’s perfect,” I replied, noticing that the paper was stained in coffee. Like me, or at least my teeth. I plan to add it to my alter, for inspiration. Looking at the drawing now, I see that it’s unsigned. To me, this is beautiful, that a total stranger would create something–a muse for someone like me–and not ask for recognition in return. Like a slow-moving planet that would never think to call out, “Look at me.”

6. At least someone loves me

All things are moving as they should.

Earlier on the porch I got bit by several mosquitoes. Those bastards love me. So that’s something, someone does. Now the air has changed, the mosquitoes have moved on, my histamine reaction is calming down. I’m calming down. This is my life lately–getting upset and calming down, reminding myself that all things including Jupiter and me are moving as they should, remembering that people notice me, love me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In this moment, we are all okay.

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Anything Is Possible (Blog #407)

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Well hell’s bells. It’s four in the morning, and I’m just now sitting down at the kitchen table to write. How did this happen?

With nothing officially on my calendar, I slept in then used today to do everything I didn’t emotionally want to do. I called my insurance company, emailed my doctor’s office, cleaned out my email inbox, left a message for the insurance company of the guy who knocked the ever-loving shit out of me last July while I was simply driving along, minding my business (then out of an orange-colored sky–). (They didn’t answer or call me back, despite their voicemail message that said, “I’m committed to returning you call by the end of the business day.” Committed, my ass.) In other words, I spent the day being an adult, hating every minute of it.

Then I took a nap.

This evening I went to my friend Bonnie’s house to pick up some stuff and ended up staying awhile. She and her husband (Todd) have this gorgeous, wraparound porch where we like to sit and watch the sun go down. It’s the kind of place where the rest of the world disappears. It’s like you sit down in one of the chairs, and it kind of sucks you in. Whatever stressful thing you did earlier in the day simply falls away. You look at the trees in the yard, trees that have been there longer than you’ve been on the planet, trees that have seen it all come and go, and suddenly your problems seem smaller. You think, What was that thing I was so worried about?

Everyone should have such a place.

After hanging out on the porch for a bit, Bonnie and I headed to downtown Fort Smith, on foot, to see a rockabilly band. By the time we got to the venue, the band was almost done with their last set, but we still got a few dances in. Honestly, it was the weirdest thing, this little dive bar with Jimi Hendrix painted on the wall, this band giving it all they’ve got, a dozen people scattered about the room, just two dancers getting with it. In my mind it was the last place you’d find something beautiful, like joy on the dance floor or a turquoise bass being strummed like nobody’s business. But there it was if you could see it.

When the band finished, Bonnie and I left, and I broke all my Autoimmune Paleo rules. “Let’s go down the street and eat a pizza,” I said. So that’s what we did. Y’all, the pizza was delicious. I don’t know why anyone would give up carbs. (Actually I do, but for a night, they were nice.) Walking home, we stopped in front of Fort Smith’s one and only gay bar, Kinkead’s, then went inside.

Y’all, for the longest time, I was in the closet, at least in Fort Smith. At least in my head. But the point is, I’ve intentionally never gone to Kinkead’s. First out of fear, then out of principle. Like, I’ve never been and I’ll never go. But tonight I figured that needed to change. (Everyone should, at some point, break their own rules.) So just as they were closing, Bonnie and I went inside. Ten feet into the door, I saw an old roommate, then an old boyfriend. God, this town is so small, I thought. But it was truly good to see them, and it was good to meet some new faces, which I did. Hell, I even saw two sets of breasts–well, one and a half sets (on drunk females)–so that’s something.

To be perfectly clear, I didn’t ask to see these bare-chested ladies and am rather traumatized that I did. Highly traumatized, actually. (I’m a homosexual.) That being said, it was more entertaining than staying home and watching soap operas with Mom and Dad. (Sorry, Mom and Dad.) At the very least, it’s a better story to tell.

And then she pulled down her shirt in a gay bar. (Wrong audience, honey. Wrong audience.)

Anything is possible.

Now I’m home and ready to pass out. I’ve been thinking, Life is so random. One minute you’re home wrapped up in “adulting,” forcing yourself to take care of business. Then the next you’re out dancing, enjoying yourself in the strangest of places. It really is odd. So much of me has wanted to leave this town for so long. And not that I want to stay, but I’m here now, and I’m finding that you can have fun anywhere. It really is about what you bring to the place, not what the place brings to you. And at least if you’re open to it, perhaps life can surprise you, take your ho-hum day and turn it right around, leave you thinking, Shit, I guess anything–anything–is possible.

But seriously, life, enough with the bare-chested ladies.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

Unshakeable (Blog #371)

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Today I feel uncomfortable in my skin. I have a dry patch on my elbow, and my knee is itching for no apparent reason. A couple other areas are red, slightly inflamed. Part of me thinks, maybe I could try a new diet, become a vegan or something like that. Another part of me, a bigger part of me, thinks, Fuck it. I’m tired of not having answers about my physical body and tired of waiting. Tomorrow I’m going out-of-town to dance and celebrate the one-year anniversary of the blog with my friend Bonnie, and tonight I freaked out thinking I needed to buy a new outfit, at least some shoes and a t-shirt. Finally I decided, Fuck that too.

So now I’m doing laundry. With any luck, tonight’s blog will be short and simple, and I’ll be able to get some rest.

Yesterday I picked up a printed copy of “year one” of the blog from a local printing shop. I used a website to get all the posts arranged in chronological order, so it’s quite literally a day-by-day account of my life for this last year, the majority of my actions and emotions down on 350 front-and-back pages. At some point, I’d like to re-read all the posts word-for-word, but I did flip through them casually yesterday, scanning the pictures, catching a few sentences here and there. It was the weirdest thing, to see my life on paper and have a concrete record of my thoughts. So many memories and feelings came rushing back. Good days and bad–I was there for every frickin’ one.

I was there when I found a possum in my pillow.

Whenever I write for this project, my goal is to somehow, someway, end on a high note, to say something encouraging to myself and others. I don’t mind saying this is a hell of a lot easier on some days than others. Some days, like today, I’d really just prefer to crawl in bed and pass out, escape. But after looking back at several posts yesterday, I’m grateful for all the long hours I’ve put into this project. I’m over-the-moon if other people get anything out of it, and I also now see it largely as a love letter to myself. Y’all, it’s one thing to read encouraging words that came from someone else, and it’s quite another to read the encouraging words that came from your own heart and soul. There’s nothing like it.

If you want to cry, you should give it a whirl.

Honestly, since making it to the one-year mark, I’ve thought about throwing in the towel. Just like I’m tired of not feeling well, I’m also tired of working so hard and pouring my guts out. I go back and forth on my decision to keep going. Some days I’m gung-ho; other days, ho-hum. On ho-hum days, days like today, it’s hard to sit down at the keyboard. I think, Come on, here we go again. Earlier tonight Bonnie asked what I was going to write about today, and I said, “I truly have no idea.” Even when I started tonight’s blog, all I could think about was how frustrated I feel, and–believe it or not–a large part of me wishes I could talk about something else. I’d much prefer to sit down every night and “fake it,” be funny, or tell everyone (as my dad says), “If I were any better, I’d be twins.” But then again, that wouldn’t be completely true, nor would it be true to the project.

One other cool thing about having a written record of the last year is that–because it included good days and bad–I’m able to look back now and see that I somehow made it. There were a lot of high points, and even on the worst days, days when I felt uncomfortable in my skin or didn’t have a new outfit, I survived. More often than not, I was surrounded by friends or family, and–most importantly–I was always there. That’s probably one of the biggest takeaways from this last year, learning to support myself more, realizing that even in the midst of suffering there’s a part of me that’s unshakable and always up to the challenge, this still, small voice that says, “Go easy on yourself. Get some rest, baby. Things will look different in the morning.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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