On Riding a Unicorn (Blog #1003)

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Yesterday I talked about how things aren’t personal, and today I’ve been thinking about how this concept applies to our dramas and traumas. For example, I’ve talked before about my home burning down when I was four and my dad going to prison when I was fourteen and how these incidents (in addition to others) have shaped my personality, fears, insecurities, and strengths. And in the sense that these events happened to and directly affected me, they certainly FEEL personal. And yet there are thousands and hundreds of thousands of children, teenagers, and adults whose homes have burned down and/or who have been separated from their loved ones through gross circumstances (imprisonment, abandonment, divorce, border patrol, death).

The logical conclusion being that these situations AREN’T TRULY PERSONAL to Marcus Anderson Coker. Rather, they’re simply things that go down here on planet earth.

What’s the saying?

Shit happens.

Having cussed and discussed every terrible thing in my life with my therapist and–to a large extent but not totally–on this blog, more and more I’m choosing to see these things not personally, but impersonally. Better said, I’m choosing to see them through the lens of symbol and myth. For anyone struggling to let go of and move on from a nasty circumstance, this is a lifesaver. Humor is a lifesaver, and symbolic and mythological sight is a lifesaver. What I mean is that in all good stories–including fairy tales, novels, and movies–every hero worth his or her salt has a challenge. They’re deformed. They’re beat up, abused, left out, alone, sick. They’re a forty-year-old virgin. They have to be.

Why, Marcus?

Because there wouldn’t be an interesting plot otherwise. Because there wouldn’t be any drama. Because heroes aren’t BORN doing heroic things. Rather, they have to have SOMETHING to overcome. Something sad, heartbreaking, or scary that forces or at least strongly encourages them to dig deep and bring forth their inner resources. This is how they BECOME a hero. This is why–let’s face it–Cinderella is nothing without her evil step-mother and step-sisters, Luke Skywalker is nothing without Darth Vader, and Inigo Montoya is nothing without the six-fingered man.

Once I heard the philosopher Alan Watts point out that the Bible says to love your enemies–it doesn’t say not to have any. “Love your enemies AS your enemies,” Watts said. Why? Because, again, we need our enemies to help shape us–not into bitter beings, but into better beings. And, to be clear, “our enemies” applies not only to humans, but also to events, circumstances, and situations that we’ve deemed awful, unspeakable, and tragic. Like being made fun of repeatedly; being born “the wrong” skin color, sexuality, or gender; being in a car accident; having a heart attack; getting cancer; and being cheated on or fired.

Yes, we need these things.

This sucks, I know.

Now, I’m not saying we NEED these terrible things the way we need air to breathe. But I am saying THEY DO happen (a lot), and we have a CHOICE about how to see ourselves when they occur. That is, we can picture ourselves as victims (and you know how that story goes), or we can picture ourselves as heroes. We can say, “This is the thing that will bring out my highest potential. This is my personal dark forest to walk through on my way to the castle. This is my dragon to slay.”

And then instead of whining and running, we can say, “Bring it on.”

This afternoon I went antique shopping with my friends Aaron and Kate and their son and wore a rhinestone unicorn brooch I bought just yesterday while shopping with my aunt. Y’all, it a big hit, at least for Fort Smith. I got three compliments, all from total strangers. The last person said, “I just adore your brooch. I LOVE unicorns. They’re such MYTHICAL creatures.”

So get this shit. While antique shopping I bought a handful of old books solely based on their covers (for craft projects). Well, when I got the books home I noticed one was called–and I’m not making this up–Bring Me a Unicorn by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. A few pages in there was even a poem by the author about a unicorn that went, “Everything today has been heavy and brown. Bring me a Unicorn to ride about the town.” And whereas I found all of this delightfully fun, I also found it synchronistic, so I thought, Okay, Marcus, hop to. What’s the universe reminding you?

For me, this “coincidence” was first a reminder to believe in “impossible” things (like healing, mending relationships, finding a lover, and getting a job), something I’ve been challenging myself to do lately. Second, it was a reminder to see not only my own life but also life in general impersonally and mythologically. This is huge. Because when you’re impersonal about whatever shitty thing is going on (the way Jesus was when Judas betrayed him), it won’t change you for the worse, it will transform you for the better. You’ll say, “This HAS to happen because it’s part of my story.” (Note that if JESUS was betrayed–like any good hero is–you certainly will be too.) So yes. Especially on days that are “heavy and brown,” it’s vital to view things from another (magical, mystical, mythical) perspective. To not get stuck in your antique, non-productive, drag-me-down ways of thinking and believing. To instead be open to new ideas. To at least once a day ride a unicorn.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing you can do to change the seasons or hurry them along.

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Is It Serious? (Blog #943)

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Sunday evening I started a forty-hour fast that I broke today. Yesterday, Monday, I weighed myself. It wasn’t pretty. I was up 1.6 pounds for the week, a total gain of 2.6 pounds from my lowest point two weeks ago. But then I weighed again today, Tuesday, just before I ended my fast. Y’all, in twenty-four hours I lost 4.2 pounds! This means I’ve lost a total of 11.6 pounds in the last six weeks and am currently at my lowest weight since–I don’t know–over a year ago. (Insert my elastic pants breathing a collective sigh of relief here.) I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. I’m five pounds away from skinny-bitch size and ten pounds away from twink size. That being said, if I lose any more body fat, I’m going to have to invest in some flannel underwear for the winter.

This is the essence of balance–skinny bitches and twinks may thrive in the sun, but they shiver in the snow.

Getting back to my forty-hour fast, it was fine. Sure, I got hungry, but never more than I get on a regular basis. The hunger just lasted longer. And whereas I probably went a smidge overboard at breakfast this afternoon (I ate at 12:30), my body handled it well. Sort of. You know that noise an old car makes when you’re trying to start it for the first time in a year–chugga, chugga, splat, hiss, roar? That’s what my stomach sounded like fifteen minutes after breakfast. But that was it. This afternoon I had a light snack (nuts and an apple) and this evening I had a bowl of chicken fried rice and an egg roll, no problem.

After breakfast I exercised at home (part of my routine is pictured above) and listened to a lecture by Alan Watts about the difference between work and play. Watts says it’s mostly a mindset, that he’s seen shoe shiners and bus drivers having an absolute ball by essentially turning their work into a dance. This analogy, of course, made sense to me (because I’m a dancer), the idea that there’s a way to move through any job or task with rhythm and energy. I’ve been trying to do this all day. While doing handyman work, I danced with my tools. While folding laundry, I danced with my pants and socks. Now I’m dancing with my keyboard. Mary Poppins said, “In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun and–snap!–the job’s a game.” Same idea.

I really like this notion of treating whatever you’re doing as a dance, of turning your work into a game. This evening I installed a grab bar in my parents’ shower, and it really was a hoot. For one thing, it was like a mystery–Where can I find a stud (but seriously, where?), Is this gong to work out? In this sense, my working in my parents’ shower was a mini version of my entire life, me wondering what’s going to happen next, if everything is going to come together. And whereas I can’t speak for the future, so far everything HAS come together–including tonight’s shower project–so I’m betting whatever’s left will too.

Watts says there are four fundamental philosophical questions–Who started it?, Are we gonna make it?, Where are we gonna put it?, and Who’s gonna clean up? These questions, he says, beg a fifth question–Is it serious? Well, if you’re familiar with Watts’s work, you’ll know he’d answer no, whatever it is isn’t serious. It won’t matter in a hundred years. What’s more, life is a dance, life is a game. This viewpoint makes the biggest difference. Normally when I diet and exercise I put all this pressure on myself. Like I’m going to hell if I don’t succeed in lowering my cholesterol. But this time around I’ve been more lighthearted about it, like, I’m just going to play around with this and see what happens. You can do this with anything–your finances, your relationships, your job. Don’t make changes because you HAVE TO, because you MUST, but rather because you can, because you WANT to, because it’s fun.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

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The Person You Were Five Minutes Ago (Blog #806)

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What a super duper day. This morning after breakfast I went to a local bookstore and absolutely got lost. For over an hour I perused titles in nearly every section. I can’t tell you how much I love this–being around books, recognizing familiar titles and authors, learning new ones. I don’t even have to buy anything. That being said, I did walk away with two books (for two dollars total), one on metaphysics and one on Greek gods and heroes. Plus, I wrote down several interesting titles to possibly check out later. Ugh. There are so many books to read. An abundance. And whereas I used to be overwhelmed because I couldn’t read them all, now I figure, as one friend says, I’ll get what I need when I need it.

Or–I’ll read what I need when I need it.

This afternoon I saw my chiropractor, and he took an x-ray of my neck, which has been bothering me for months. Really, since the car accident I was in nearly two years ago. Anyway, he thought I might have degenerative disc disease or possibly a bone spur. And whereas the x-ray showed more advanced signs of wear and tear than is normal for someone my age (some degeneration, early arthritis, and mild bone spurs), there wasn’t anything majorly wrong. So that’s good. What’s even better is that from the time he mentioned that he wanted to x-ray me all the way through today’s diagnosis, I didn’t freak out and didn’t worry like I normally would. Likewise, I haven’t been freaking out about money as much lately. These are signs of progress, things that remind me, Hey, I really am changing. I’m not the person I used to be.

This evening I went to dinner and hung out with my friends Aaron and Kate. Several years ago when Aaron and Kate got married (not at the courthouse, but later in front of their friends and family), I performed the service. So sometimes I tell people the three of us are married, since I did–technically–marry them. Although I guess they didn’t marry me.

Whatever–we’re still friends.

For I don’t know how long, Aaron and Kate and their son have been posting pictures of themselves jumping into the air on their social media accounts. For just as long, I’ve thought it was the cutest thing ever and have wanted to be part of the action. Well, tonight my dream came true. See the photo above, in which Aaron, Kate, and I are suspended in midair. Talk about perfect timing. As for their stuck-to-the-ground son, as one friend online said, “An attempt was made.” I really can’t tell you how much this picture thrills me. As I told Aaron and Kate, “That’s one bucket list item down.”

After dinner, we went back to Aaron and Kate’s, and their son entertained us. Well, he entertained me and Kate, since Aaron fell asleep in their recliner. “I can’t keep my eyes open,” he said. (I currently know the feeling.) Anyway, their son chitter-chattered for over an hour, ran here and there, danced, pretended to be The Flash. Where do kids get their energy? Then for a while he and I played a game where we tossed an aluminum foil ball (okay, it was my Klondike bar wrapper) back and forth. “This is a fun game!” he said.

Kids are so easily entertained.

Recently I read a quote by Alan Watts that said, “You are under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago.” I think children naturally get this idea. One minute they’re dancing, the next they’re a super hero, then they’re tossing around a piece of trash and absolutely loving it. They can go from laughing to crying and back again just like that. And yet we adults can be so rigid. I have one friend who refuses to ever dress down or be late anywhere they go because “that’s not who I am.” Well, okay. But, I’m just saying, the world wouldn’t stop spinning if you ever decided to be someone different. For me all of this means that simply because I’ve spent my past being mild mannered, a people pleaser, and easily upset over money and medical issues, doesn’t mean I have to spend my future that way. Like a child, just like that, I can decide to play a different game.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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As We Wiggle (Blog #500!)

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Yesterday I drove to Tulsa to dance and have an informal business meeting with a friend of mine. It was simply the perfect day. First I poked around in a bookstore, did some window shopping, and read a short book that I bought a few days ago about quality. Then I went to the dance and saw some of my favorite folks. Talk about quality! I got to see my friend Hannah, who’s a badass dancer, has a killer wardrobe, and always makes me laugh-laugh-laugh. She’s glorious. Then I got to see my friend Marina, who’s ninety-six, still dances, and had a t-shirt on that said, “I never planned to be AWESOME. It just happened.” Also glorious.

At the end of the evening, Marina and I got into a conversation about birthdays. Hers is in March. “Yours is in September,” she recalled. “Yes,” I said. “What do you think I should do to celebrate?”

Marina leaned back and threw her arms out wide. “DO SOMETHING CRAZY!”

I love it, and just might.

After the dance I met my friends Greg and Rita for dinner at a local pub, Kilkenny’s, the coolest spot to hang out. There, while waiting for the son Mason to show up, Greg and Rita and I talked about how this was the norm in some societies, to end the day by meeting your friends for a drink, to connect with your community. “In Europe, television is expensive,” Rita said, “so people actually get out of their houses and look for ways to interact with each other.”

Now there’s a novel idea.

When Mason arrived, he and I turned our chairs toward each other and chatted about business and marketing (his field of expertise) for an hour or two. At one point Mason joked to someone else, “I charge $500 an hour, but Marcus doesn’t know that yet.” At the end of the evening, I said, “I really do appreciate your letting me pick your brain, since I know this is your profession.” Then Mason gave me a hug and said, “Anytime. You’re family.” This is no small thing, when other people accept you with open arms.

Also glorious.

Leaving Tulsa at two in the morning, I stopped once on the side of the turnpike in the middle of nowhere to look at stars. There’s a meteor shower (The Perseids) this weekend, and I was hoping to get a better glance outside the smog and light-pollution of the big city. And whereas I only saw two falling stars, I saw two falling stars! Plus, I could see the Milky Way and hundreds (if not thousands) of stars that I normally can’t see in Van Buren. Actually, I saw so many stars that I had a hard time finding many of the familiar constellations that I can normally spot at a glance. I’m just not accustomed to the sky being so “busy.”

Driving the rest of the way home, I thought, I wish I’d seen more falling stars. But when I got back to Van Buren the sky was covered in clouds–I couldn’t see a damn thing. So I was immediately and deeply grateful for my time on the side of the turnpike with my head craned toward the heavens, when, for a brief moment, everything shone.

During the last half of my drive, I listened to a CD by the philosopher Alan Watts. He’s dead now, but he’s one of my favorites. Anyway, just as I was pulling into Van Buren, Alan said, “When you look at the clouds, they are not symmetrical. They do not form fours and they do not come along in cubes, but you know at once that they are not a mess. They are wiggly, but in a way, orderly, although it is difficult for us to describe that kind of order. Now, take a look at yourselves. You are all wiggly. We are just like clouds, rocks, and stars. Look at the way the stars are arranged. Do you criticize the way the stars are arranged?”

I can’t tell you how much I love this, the reminder that it’s okay–normal–to be wiggly like a cloud or scattered about like the stars–sometimes hiding behind the clouds, sometimes shining brightly, sometimes falling. Today’s blog is number 500 (in a row!). Looking back, it’s been a lot of “seasons,” a lot of ups and downs, a lot of trips and falls. Yet this is clearly the way of it, the way of life. We come together, we dance, we say goodbye. (We wiggle.) And how good it is to know that as we wiggle, you and I are exactly like the clouds and the stars–also glorious.

All–so–glorious.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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A Million Pieces of God (Blog #58)

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There’s a story in Eastern mythology that says when God first realized he was alive, he experienced pure joy. (What’s not to love about being alive?) However, he thought he might lose his joy or that someone might take it from him, so he experienced fear. (Sound familiar?) But then he remembered that he was the only one who existed, and the fear went away. (Phew!) But then he thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone? So after fear came desire, and out of that desire, God shattered himself into a million pieces and created the world.

Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist, tells a version of this story. He says that fear and desire are the two basic emotions every human must deal with on his way back to God. They show up in every mythology and represent the world of duality and separation. In the Bible, this is depicted by the angels who guard the Garden of Eden. On one side of the gate is paradise, the place where God is all, and all is one. On the other side is duality, the home of up and down, good and bad, and you and me. If you want to get from duality to paradise, you have to go through the angels. In short, fear and desire keep us out of paradise. Fear and desire keep us separated.

Personally, I’ve spent a good part of my life in fear and desire, especially fear. I mean, your house burns down, your mom gets sick, and dad goes to prison, and that’ll pretty much divest you of the idea that life is good. The result, of course, has been a big feeling of separation, a big feeling of “something bad is going to happen.” That being said, I’ve worked really hard the last several years to get back to the Garden of Eden, or at least get closer to it. And although it hasn’t become a constant state of mind, I do think I’ve made a lot of progress. Life isn’t nearly as scary as it used to be.

The philosopher Alan Watts says that life is basically God–shattered into a million pieces–playing a big game of hide-and-seek with himself. Well, I really love this idea, and sometimes when good things happen, I like to think that God’s leaving clues, like, Hey, I’m over here (and over here, and over here).

So get this.

This evening my dance instructor friend Sheila and I danced at a private birthday party in Northwest Arkansas. A lovely lady named Carolyn was turning 90, and her son Jim hired Sheila and me to come dance to a live band because Carolyn loves dancing. Well, as it turned out, this was the kind of gig dancers live for. The party was at Jim’s home, and the place looked like it came out of a magazine. I’m pretty sure the chandelier in the entryway was bigger than my Honda Civic. And not to sound like a total redneck, but–Y’all, the downstairs bathroom was fancy. I mean, look at this sank.

The party itself was out by the pool, and the band was under a tent. Sheila and I danced together several times, and I even got to dance with the birthday girl, who told us that when her late husband first asked her for a date, she immediately said, “Can you jitterbug?” (I plan on stealing this dating requirement and think you should too.)

Here’s a picture of me and Carolyn. Thanks to her granddaughter (who said she was the favorite) for taking it.

As the evening continued, Sheila and I were invited to join Carolyn’s family and friends for dinner, drinks, and desserts. We looked at the four birthday cakes, thought about it for like two seconds, and said, “Okay, you talked us into it.”

On the surface, it was a wonderful evening. I haven’t worked a lot lately, so having a job was nice, and the atmosphere was amazing. I mean, the pool house would have passed for its own property, there was a playroom for the grandkids that looked like a castle, and I think the main staircase came out of Gone with the Wind. (I’d show you pictures, but I think that would border on creepy, and I’ve already posted a picture of these people’s freaking bathroom.) Plus, I found out that Jim used to play in a band that opened for Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and some guy named Bob Hope, so there were plenty of reasons to be impressed. (I kept hearing Mary Poppins say, “Close your mouth please, Marcus, we are not a codfish.”)

But below the surface, I couldn’t stop thinking about mythology and God playing hide-and-seek with himself, and here’s why. When I first walked outside and saw the pool, I noticed the fountain in the middle–three ladies–who are, of course, the three graces that represent charm, beauty, and creativity. (I should learn to zoom, but I think you get the idea.)

So the fountain set the mythological mood for me, and then it continued when Jim gave a present to his brother, whose birthday is close to Carolyn’s. I’ll let you see it for yourself, and then I’ll explain.

That’s right, it’s a statue with breasts and a penis. (I mean, is this a great family or what?) So everyone laughed about it being a fertility god, and I guess it’s a joke of some sort because Jim’s brother told me that it’s been passed around to several family members like a white elephant gift. I think everyone in the photo has owned it at one time or another. (For some reason, no one wants to keep it.)

Well, I think the statue is technically not a fertility god, but rather a hermaphrodite, which is a being with both male and female sex organs. (I recommend that you take my word for this instead of doing a Google search for fertility gods.) In Greek mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite and was a beautiful boy who fell in love with a water nymph that prayed to the gods to unite them forever. According to Carl Jung, hermaphrodites symbolize the union of opposites. Seen in light of the story told by Joseph Campbell, they represent the re-union of God, the return from duality back to the garden.

But wait, it gets better. You can’t see it in the picture of the swimming pool, but on the other side of the three graces is a large, triangle-shaped backyard. (Triangles represent the trinity, wisdom, and the divine power of the female). On one side, of course, is the pool. But on the other two sides are two creeks, and those creeks meet at the top of the yard as one creek. So as I walked out into the yard, I met yet another mythological image of the two becoming one. But what’s more, when I got to the top and realized which direction the water flowed, I saw that it was actually the one creek that became two–God shattering himself into a million pieces.

As I drove home tonight, I thought a lot about the mystical meaning of the party. I know for some people, it may sound like I’m reading a lot into it. But of all the places I could end up on a Saturday night dancing, I ended up at a place with the three graces, a hermaphrodite god, and, from my perspective, two creeks becoming one. Additionally, since I used to work for a wedding photographer, I’ve been to a lot of private parties, and tonight I ended up at a party with some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And when you add all of that to the fact that I’ve been thinking a lot about mythology lately, trying to get away from the idea that “something bad is going to happen,” I just don’t think anything about tonight was an accident. Rather, I think God was bringing a few pieces of himself back together. Personally, I think he was saying, “Hey, I’m over here,” inviting me to return to the garden where something good is going to happen, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and–most importantly–we are one.

[My deepest gratitude to Sheila for inviting me tonight and to Jim and his wife, Jacqui, for all your kindness.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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farts aren’t planned (blog #32)

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This morning I woke up with a tickle in my throat. I actually dreamed about it last night, and a friend in the dream told me to eat some yogurt. So that’s what I did when I got out bed because I wanted my subconscious to know that I’m listening to it. Now if I end up getting sick, I’m going to tell my subconscious to go screw itself, to which I’m sure it would reply, “Will you PLEASE go to bed sooner, quit eating ice cream and tacos for dinner, and stop thinking that you’re still twenty-three?”

Well, maybe today’s the day. With any luck at all, I’ll finish this post before the sun goes down, and I can get some sleep. Before the week is over, I plan to clean up my diet, start doing some push-ups. And then in two weeks, maybe my favorite pair of jeans won’t look like a pair of acid-washed yoga pants.

Whenever I decide to start or stop something, to form or break a habit, there’s always a lot of buildup and anxiety about it. I think about it, pray about it, think about it, pray about—for weeks, sometimes months. Not changing anything, mind you, just stressing.

Once a change HAS been made, I can rock out a good habit for a while—meditating every day, going to the gym five times a week, eating well. But then something happens, and that all goes to shit, and it’s cigarettes for breakfast and banana splits for lunch.

When things are going “the right way,” when I’m behaving like I think I should, I feel pretty good about myself. But when things fall apart, my go-to response is to beat myself up, to start “shoulding” on myself. My therapist says that’s because I want things to always be the same. But everything changes, she says. Even good habits fall away.

For the longest time, I would go to my therapist’s office and beat myself up about smoking cigarettes, a habit that started in my early twenties and effectively disappeared until I broke up with my ex three years ago. And while I was more concerned about my health and what other people would think if they found out, she was more concerned about the fact that I was shoulding on and judging myself. She said that one day I would have enough and quit.

And she was right. One day it became clear. I stopped. Just like the seasons, it changed.

This afternoon my friend Marla and I went to speak at our friend Anita’s writing class at the Fort Smith Public Library. (That’s our picture at the top of the blog.) Anita has been teaching writing in Fort Smith since God was a small child, and her second novel comes out this summer. Like her first novel, it’s about a murder that took place in Van Buren over thirty years ago. Anyway, I thought that I was going to the class to support Marla and reconnect with Anita, but had I read my messages more clearly, I would have known that I was actually going to speak about my glamorous life as a blogger.

So I winged it and read a story I wrote last September about how unhappy I was owning the dance studio and living in Fort Smith, how I wanted to write more and move to Austin. And then I talked specifically about the blog, and Anita told the class that if you don’t like R rated movies, don’t go to one, and if you don’t like four-letter words, don’t go to Marcus’s blog.

So even though I didn’t plan to speak, it all turned out fine. And what I loved about it is that there wasn’t any planning, no thinking about it and praying about it, no anxiety. It just happened.

When I finished, a dear lady named Marilyn said, “Marcus, I think you need to get on the next bus out of here. Just move to Austin.” And then several others chimed in and said, “Fuck it. You only live once.” (I’m paraphrasing. They didn’t actually say that.) But I totally felt encouraged, so I asked Marilyn if she’d like to take a selfie with me, and she said, “I would love that,” so here it is.

Alan Watts tells the story of a Buddhist monk who poetically stated that you can’t plan everything in life. You don’t think, I’m going to go to the supermarket at ten tomorrow morning and then “drop fart” at ten-thirty. And this is actually a spiritual lesson. Farts aren’t planned. They’re “a happening.”

Honestly, I think I give myself too much credit. It’s probably an ego thing. I think that I can control when I get sick and when I get well, when I work and when I don’t, and where I live. And I’m not saying I don’t have any influence in what I eat or when I go to bed or when I’ll move to Austin, but I do think my therapist and the Buddhist monk are right. One day, I’ll clean up my diet and go to bed sooner. One day, I’ll get on a bus and get out of here. When that is exactly, I can’t say, but I can save myself a lot of anxiety by not worrying about it so much. When it’s time, I think I’ll know it’s time, and it will simply happen. And just like the speech that wasn’t planned, it will all turn out fine, even if there are a few four-letter words along the way.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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God: sloppy or not? (blog #26)

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Sometimes I think that God is sloppy. There, I said it. And all I mean by that is that God doesn’t do things the way I would do them. (Surprise.) Like, in my world, everything has its place. My keys always go here, or there, and if they’re not here, or there, they’re lost. And at the end of every day, I go through my man bag and put all the pens in the pen holders, and all the books in the middle pocket, and all the bills I need to pay in the outside pocket, and all three of my prescription glasses in the other pocket next to my wallet that holds all of my credit cards that are organized according to their respective billing due dates. (It’s a wonder I don’t get laid more.)

This morning I woke up and immediately started thinking about all the things I needed to do today. Specifically, I started thinking about three separate conversations I needed to have in order to figure out the hospital billing for the sinus surgery I had a couple of months ago. Not that hospital billing is normally easy, but on the day of the surgery, the doctor said he wanted to do a second CT scan because the first one was off by nine degrees. (That’s funny. My favorite number is nine.) He said I wouldn’t be charged for it.

So of course I was.

But I haven’t been charged for the first one. Which is too bad, since the first one was cheaper than the second one because insurance is, well, a fucking mystery, probably invented by drunk space aliens. So for the last two months, I’ve wanted to get this whole thing figured out and effectively move “pay my hospital bill” from my “to-do list” to my “done list” because I’m organized and everything has its place and I don’t like things being unsettled.

God, on the other hand, obviously enjoys a good mess and is not in a hurry to get this matter checked off his list because I’ve ended up with three or four different account numbers at the hospital, and that’s made even the billing department confused. So now the day is over, and I’ve had all three of those conversations (two with billing people and one with the doctor), and whereas everyone was extremely helpful, things still aren’t completely settled. (Clearly God’s getting his way, and that drives me nuts.)

I’ve been thinking most the day that I would write about the idea that the universe—God—is communicative. There’s a dead philosopher (whom I have a really big intellectual crush on) named Alan Watts who points out that not only are you interested in and watching the universe, but the universe is also interested in and watching you. Well, this is an idea I’ve been slowly coming around to, that the universe is interacting with all of us, and that it’s actually kind and not vindictive or punitive.

So this afternoon I was on my way to a gift shop in Fayetteville, and I was thinking about the fact that one of the positive things about living with my parents is that I started this blog and I started writing every day. And although that’s not a steady paycheck and it’s not living in Austin, it’s a small start, and sometimes small starts end up as big finishes. (Just like a mustard seed starts small but doesn’t stay that way.) So I got to the gift shop, and as I was looking at cards, I noticed one that showed several light bulbs hanging down, just like the main picture I chose for this blog. And I kind of did a double take and smiled to myself because I figured God was communicating.

Before I left the store, the girl behind the counter asked what I was doing later, so I said, “I’m teaching a dance class.” And then I asked her the same thing, and she said, “I’m moving.”

“Where are you moving?”

“I’m moving in with my parents because I’m getting married soon, so I’m living with them for a while.”

“That’s funny,” I said, “I’m living with my parents now.”

And then she said, “I think it’s great. I mean, it’s part of the dream.”

So I took that as God communicating again, just letting me know that living with my parents is part of my journey, part of my dream.

Oh, and I almost forgot one more thing God said to me–the message on the front of the card with the light bulbs—“Your future looks bright.”

(This picture was taken just outside the store where God talked to me.)

Little incidents like these thrill me to no end because I think of all the things that had to come together in order for me to be in that one particular shop when that one particular girl was working, which just happened to be the day she was moving in with her parents. And also that card had to be there instead of some other card, and some card designer had to make those light bulbs hang down the way they do on this site. (Incidentally, the site photo was taken years ago in Albuquerque at an Urban Outfitters, and it was one of my first Instagram posts, and it just “felt right” when I was designing the page.)

Obviously, God’s capable of a lot. Just look around.

Just before I wrote that last paragraph, I was about to say, once again, that God was sloppy, that it would have been more clean cut and organized to get me the message some other way. (A burning bush maybe?) But having written that last paragraph, I have to admit that God is a lot more organized than I give him credit for. And if all those things could come together seamlessly just so God could whisper, “You’re doing better than you think you are,” what else is he capable of?

Obviously, he’s capable of a lot. Just look around.

A friend reminded me tonight that God–the universe–is intelligent, that the wisdom that makes the mustard seed transform into a tree also keeps the planets spinning and also makes my finger nails grow. And if it can hang a star in the sky and it can bring two strangers together so one can encourage the other without even knowing it, then that wisdom can certainly figure out my hospital billing. And if the first CT scan was off by nine degrees and my favorite number is nine, that’s probably not an accident, so it’s probably just God letting me know he has something up his sleeve again, just like he had this blog up his sleeve when I moved in with Mom and Dad. To me, it may look like sloppy work, but that’s probably because, until now, I’ve been too busy organizing my sock drawer to notice that not only is God interested in me, but he’s also trying pretty hard to get my attention. And at least when I consider the heavens, I think that for God too, everything has its place. So surely that includes me. Surely I’m right where I need to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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