Cicadas Were Meant for Flying (Blog #127)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

The Truth Will Set You Free (Sort of) (Blog #126)

1 Comment August 3, 2017 CoCo

Some days I drown myself in self-help wisdom, like oh heck, I’m up to my neck in self-reflection and transformation. Honestly, I love it–drowning that is–it’s great. You should try it. Then again, it’s exhausting–change, change, change! Sometimes I think, God, Marcus, give it a rest. Do something stupid for once–binge watch Beavis and Butthead, sniff glue, whatever.

Today I read two-thirds of a book called I Hope I Screw This Up by Kyle Cease. I found out about Kyle, a former comedian who now talks about personal transformation, through an ad on Facebook. It used to bother me that Facebook knew I would like something like this. I mean, it’s weird, right? Once there was an ad in my feed for a t-shirt that said, “I’m the Gay Uncle,” and I thought, Shit–they know. But now I think of it like having a personal shopper, someone who really gets me. (Here’s a homosexual who wants to help himself!) Anyway, I’ve wanted to read Kyle’s book for over a month now, so I finally pulled the trigger this afternoon and downloaded it from Amazon.

So far the book is a gem, and I’m highlighting a lot of passages. I’ll spare you every single quote I like, but one of my favorites is, “Sharing my deepest truth, no matter how scary it is in the moment, is freedom. My only pain would come from repressing that truth.” I guess I like it so much because I’ve found it to be true. Time and time again in relationships with others and also on this blog, it’s been the truth that’s set me free. When I started the blog, I subtitled it, “The truth will set you free (sort of).” I added the “sort of” because so far the truth has set me free from a number of friends and lovers, most of my worldly possessions, and a good deal of money.

Let’s face it. The truth can be a real bastard.

That’s the part they don’t tell you. It’s said like–the truth will set you free (yippee!)–as if the truth were a carnival ride. And whereas maybe a child would be dumb enough to not think twice about a roller coaster called “getting honest with yourself and others,” an adult knows better. You don’t ride a ride like that without losing your lunch. The truth has the power to change you, turn your life upside down. That’s the reason we run from it–eat fried chicken, smoke cigarettes, sniff glue, whatever.

Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

This evening I went to see the musical The Secret Garden at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Several of my friends are in it, and my friend George is the musical director. (It’s great, check it out.) Before the show started, while I was in the men’s room, a man who used to take dance lessons from me at Mercy Fitness Center struck up a conversation. At one point he said, “You look good–are you still working out?” Well, rather than simply saying, “Thank you,” I immediately said, “I could do better.” My grandma used to do shit like that, and it always drove me nuts. I’d say, “I love the mashed potatoes, Grandma,” and she’d say, “Well, they’re cold. I just bought a new oven.”

Crap. Don’t you hate it when you turn into your dead grandmother?

At intermission a friend of mine asked me about my still living in town (everyone thinks I moved to Austin already) and said, “How are you earning a living?” Then the strangest thing happened. I laughed and said, “I’m not–it’s great.” What’s strange, I guess, is that I actually meant it. I’ve told a lot of people lately–I have fewer things and less money now than I ever have, and I’m happier than I ever have been. This fact, I assume, is in no small part due to my work in therapy and my insistence on honesty and vulnerability when blogging (every day, every damn day). So maybe the truth really does set you free (maybe).

After the musical tonight, I went to eat with my friend George. Inevitably, we always end up talking about self-help, spirituality, and how to “live well,” and tonight was no exception. (So much self-help today!) When I told George about the compliment I brushed off in the bathroom, he said, “The correct response is, ‘Thank you.’ There’s no humility in aggrandizing or degrading yourself.”

Chew on that.

I wonder what that is–we spend so much time wanting recognition and praise (or is that just me?), and then when we get it, we act as if we aren’t worthy of it. (Me, looking good? No. I ate fried chicken last night.) Or maybe sometimes we try to take more than is given. (I’m the best worker-outer ever–no one works out better than me!) My guess is that we all walk around with mental images–versions–of ourselves that are anything but true, anything but kind. Byron Katie says, “If you realized how beautiful you were, you’d fall at your own feet.” I love this quote because it reminds me that “God doesn’t make junk.” And yet it seems that a part of me, a part of most of us, is used to being small, to not accepting compliments and acknowledging (graciously) someone else’s generous opinion. (You look nice.)

The truth is that I’m often uncomfortable with compliments because part of me doesn’t feel good enough to receive them. (Please say that again after I have abs.) But–go figure–just by admitting that, I feel better. I guess the thing about the truth that sets you free is that it puts you in touch with who you really are in the moment. (I’m tired, I’m insecure.) In my case, I’ve found out I’m not the guy with all the stuff or all the jobs. I’m not the guy who never gets upset, and I’m certainly not the guy without a sexuality, even though I pretended to be all those things for years. I’m not even my body weight. Rather, I’m something beyond all of that. I can’t say what exactly, but it feels like a carnival ride might feel to a kid with a strong stomach–wild, unpredictable, and free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

God Is Extravagant (Blog #125)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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.

Flexing the Right Muscles (Blog #124)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

Everything Is All Right (Blog #123)

1 Comment July 31, 2017 CoCo

Currently I’m in Springfield, Missouri, at the Savoy Ballroom, where for the last two days I’ve been eating and sleeping upstairs and dancing downstairs. This afternoon I took a nap. (Please alert the media.) Y’all, naps should be a required activity for adults in America. What a shot in the arm. I feel like a kid again. My brain is working. What a great life. Honestly, the only thing that could make this place any more magical would be a fire pole. Just imagine–wake up from a nap, slide downstairs, dance.

Perfection.

Last night my friend Matt (who’s teaching dance now and in the photo above) and I rearranged furniture and decorated the dance studio in the upstairs apartment. The challenges were 1) the room has a lot of weird angles, and 2) the room is really four rooms in one–a dance studio, a guest room, an exercise room, and a “the rest of our crap goes here” room, and 3) we couldn’t put any furniture in the middle of the room because people have to dance there. So Matt and I scratched our heads for about an hour (no, THAT won’t work EITHER), and finally decided to “do something even if it’s wrong.”

It took a few hours, but we finally figured it out. I don’t have any “before” pictures, but here’s what we ended up with. This is the view when you walk in the room. The “dance/music section” is on the left (partially pictured here) and extends to the middle of the room. The “exercise section” is in the back right corner. My most favorite part is the Apple poster with Pablo Picasso that says, “Think different.” Notice how his shirt matches the piano keys beneath it. Because the wall behind the piano is concrete, we decided to hang the poster by fishing wire from the exposed pipe behind the air duct. It was our way to “think different.” I said, “We’re just following directions.”

This is the view from the back of the room. On the left (on your right as you walk in) is the “guest room section.” The screen on the far right is by the doorway. To the right of the TV is an old wooden music stand with a book on it called From the Ball-room to Hell, which is no-kidding about the evils of dancing. Maybe it could be subtitled Dancing Your Way to Damnation (And What a Way to Go). I’m reminded of Mark Twain’s quote, “Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company.”

As Billy Joel said, “The sinners are much more fun.”

Here’s a close up of the “dance section,” to your left as you walk in, straight across from the couch. (You can see it in the mirror in the picture above.) Isn’t that the cutest thing you ever saw? The dress is the one Anne wore for the opening night of the Savoy.

This afternoon after my nap, Anne and Andy and I went next door to eat Peruvian food (yum). Next door! In the course of conversation, we talked about what it was like living with my parents. I said, “You know, Mom and Dad are pretty cool. Of course, sometimes they (and by they I mean Dad) know how to push my buttons.” Then Anne said the best thing ever.

“Well sure they know how to push your buttons–THEY MADE THEM.”

Seriously. Is she right or is she right?

Now there’s a flash mob class in progress. I met one of the couples (Della and Dusty) before when I was here for a sock hop. They recognized me by my name because they used to live in Van Buren in the eighties. I guess when our house burned down, it was a pretty big deal. (It was a pretty big deal.) Anyway, Della told me tonight that her husband had gone downtown (where the car accident and subsequent fire happened) that evening, but he hadn’t called to say he was okay. She said she was sure he’d been hurt. Then she said, “It’s really amazing you weren’t home that evening.” I said, “My parents went to dinner and had planned to get a babysitter for me and my sister, but they couldn’t find one. Several years ago a lady who used to take care of us told me my parents called her that evening. She said she lied and said she was busy so that she could hang out with her friends.”

Let’s hear it for liars (sometimes).

Today I’m fascinated by how one life touches another, how a tragedy that happened in a small town over thirty years ago can create a point of connection for two people, and then how those same people can be brought back together in a beautiful ballroom long after the deep sigh of relief that comes with surviving a near-miss has been breathed. Still I’m fascinated how part of me remembers the fear like it was yesterday, how even writing about it now makes my eyes water up. I look around at all the people dancing and it’s still such a relief–everything is all right.

Earlier tonight I watched Matt teach two of his students how to do the frog jump, which is an aerial I taught Matt a few months ago. I watched him talk about how to take time to prep, how the girl’s hand needs to stay under her belly button for support, how they need to do a rock step when it’s all over. And whereas I’m not Matt’s only instructor, I feel like it’s fair to say that most of that came from me. Watching Matt, I felt like a proud dance parent. Watching his students, I felt like a proud grandparent. Naturally, everything I know came from someone else, so I think that just as one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

Keep Showing Up (Blog #122)

2 Comments July 30, 2017 CoCo

The last twenty-four hours have been packed with dance, which means I’m currently out of Ibuprofen. Seriously, maybe I should take up knitting or–even better–watching TV. Those activities would surely be easier on my body. Speaking of my body–if anyone with any authority is reading this–I’d like to request a different model for my next lifetime.

Last night I drove to Tulsa to meet my friend Matt (from Springfield) to Lindy Hop. (There’s a weekly swing dance in Tulsa.) When I got to the dance, I immediately spotted three of the coolest people I know–Gregg, Rita, and Marina–at the same table. (Birds of feather.) Gregg and Rita and I used to travel to Lindy Hop dances together, and they’ve watched me grow as a dancer, brought me hot tea and Happy Meal toys when I’ve had the flu, and heard me snore (and we’re still friends). They’re also one of the few people who still call me “Sparkles,” which I think is kind of cute. (But that doesn’t mean YOU can do it.) As for Marina, she’s who I want to be when I grow up. I mean, anyone in their nineties who wears a t-shirt that says, “I’m awesome–deal with it” is a role-model for me.

I left the dance early to eat with Gregg and Rita, who were meeting their son and some of his friends. Afterwards I drove to Springfield (which Matt had done about an hour earlier) and met Matt to eat again. Sometime about three or four in the morning I met my friends Anne and Andy (like the Raggedy dolls) at their dance studio/home in downtown, said hello, and proceeded to crash on a futon in their guest room and immediately enter into a coma.

When I woke up this morning, I honestly didn’t know where I was. My alarm was going off, and I think the muscle relaxer I took last night was still in effect. But I finally figured it out. (I know where I am now.) I’d come to Springfield to work with Matt (and Anne and Andy) on aerials. Even better, my former dance partner Janie had agreed to help out.

After breakfast we all met in Anne and Andy’s studio, which is one floor below their home in the same building. (Talk about easy!) The objective today was to work on a move called “Around the Back” (because you go around the back), also known as “The Frankie” (because it’s credited to Frankie Manning, one of the original Lindy Hoppers and probably the most famous). Before we tackled it, we warmed up with some other moves, and at one point I tweaked something in my upper back/low neck area. (Advice–don’t have a car wreck and then, less than a month later, spend three hours throwing another adult through the air.) Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I can still feel my toes.

Here’s the move we spent the move we came to work on. Considering it’s been six years since we’ve tried it together (or at all), it went pretty well. Matt did a great job too, even though he wore a headband that made him look like he was doing Jazzercize. And since I just made fun of his headband (which I really have NO room to do), I’ll just go ahead and say that when I followed today and Matt threw me in the air like a sack of potatoes, I squealed in giddy delight.

Anne said, “You’re such a girl.”

I said, “I know I am.”

Here’s a move we did–just to see if we still could. (We still could–Yippee!)

Okay, y’all, we might have a problem. I just picked up a glass of water to lift to my mouth, and I think I actually heard my arm say, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Yep. I overdid it.

Anyway, after three hours of that jumping around nonsense, we were all pretty much spent. So Janie took off, and then I taught a couple other private lessons that Matt had lined up for me, but–thank God–neither of them involved lifting, throwing, jumping, or anything else the Good Lord intended only for teenagers and people who don’t eat cake for breakfast. So after that Matt and I joined Anne and Andy upstairs for dinner, and then I took advantage of their heated/vibrating recliner.

I think it’s okay to say that after we hit the two-hour mark this afternoon, Matt started getting frustrated. He was tired and couldn’t get Janie fully “around his back,” even though he’d had some wonderful successes earlier. I mean, thirty to forty-five minutes of aerials should be the limit, since muscles fatigue. And whereas I understand getting frustrated–I’m constantly frustrated that I’m not “better”–today was Matt’s first attempt at “Around the Bak.” Comparatively, I can’t tell you the number of hours–and injuries–Janie and I have logged over the years in order to learn what we know.

So many hours and injuries. So–many–anti-inflammatories.

I always tell people that learning to dance is like learning a new language–it doesn’t happen quickly. And even though I’m still attracted to the idea of the miracle–the instant cure, the overnight transformation–so far most of my successes have come from slow and consistent determination. A little practice here, a little practice there. My therapist told me once that I’m steady like a ship. When I look at the progress I’ve made in over seventeen years of dance or over three years of therapy, I still want to “be better.” But I have to admit–I’ve come a long way.

I didn’t mean for this to turn into a pat-myself-on-the-back session, although my sore muscles could probably use it. (Yours probably could too–pat yourself on the back!) But I think there’s something to recognizing your successes. Even more, I think there’s something to recognizing all the steps you’ve take toward success–all the times you’ve fallen down and gotten back up again. When I first started dancing, over a dozen of my friends started with me. Within six months, they’d all quit. It’s not that I had more talent–I still wouldn’t say that–it’s that I just kept showing up. That’s the only secret I’ve got for us today–for dance, for therapy, for writing a blog–whatever–be interested, work hard (ish), and keep showing up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.