The Bright Side (Blog #515)

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Currently it’s 8:00 PM (central standard time), and I’m sitting at a Chili’s restaurant in the St. Louis airport. So far my travels home from Washington, DC, have gone smooth as silk. Nothing like the ones getting there. Rather, everything and everyone has run “one time.” No delays, no hangups. What’s more, after a full weekend of dancing and consequential exhaustion, I got to sleep in late this morning and do some sightseeing, since my flight didn’t leave until 6:55 this evening (eastern standard time). So it’s been a good day.

I should probably clarify my comment about sightseeing. I did NOT go to the Smithsonian or tour the monuments, although I did leave my hotel this afternoon and glanced the Jefferson and Washington monuments from my Uber. I DID, however, go to three bookstores. Lame? Maybe for some. Exciting? Definitely for me. I love a good bookstore. Plus, I discovered a super-cool antique-doorknob shop. I know, I know–you’re probably thinking, This man needs to get laid. And whereas you’d be right, I swear the doorknob store was more thrilling than it sounds. They even had some sweet gargoyle lamps!

The first bookstore I went to was just off Dupont Circle, which is basically set up like a hub or wagon wheel. Ten streets pour into a roundabout which is made up of two circles–the outer circle being for cars or pedestrians, the inner circle for pedestrians only. (Inside that area is a small park.) Well, my Uber driver dropped me off on the correct street, but the WRONG side of the circle. Of course, it wasn’t a problem to walk–I could use more walking in my life–but I had to figure a plan first, since I started to walk around the outer circle but realized that would take too long. Finally I figured it out–Make a straight line. Go to The Center first. Then you can easily find your way to wherever you want to go.

Go to The Center first.

I get so twitterpated about books. I honestly think of looking for them like an adventure. Today while walking to the second store, I ended up one street off, right by a hotel. So rather than walk AROUND the entire block, I cut through the hotel lobby. Well–I tried to at least, since the lobby didn’t open to the other side. But always determined, I nosed my way into an empty conference room and spied a door that said EXIT. At this point, the theme song to Mission Impossible started playing in my head. Slipping through the door, I immediately ran into two delivery men, but I just acted as if I was supposed to be there, on the back loading dock. Quickly, I jumped off the dock and found myself on my desired street, the one with the bookstore. Mission accomplished!

Despite my cloak-and-dagger tales in book hunting, I only bought one book from the three stores I visited. It was eight dollars. I spent more in Uber fares than I did on the book. And whereas part of me considered it all a waste for “just” one book, I had a good time. And when I went back to the hotel (where I’d stashed my bags at the front desk) and drank two beers along with lunch? I thought, Hell, I’m having a GREAT time.

But really–I don’t think the day could have gone better.

Now it’s 9:30, and I just boarded the plane for Tulsa. We’ll take off soon, so I’m rushing. Despite my wonderful day and fabulous weekend, I don’t want to be up blogging late tonight. I’m already ready to crash. But before I wrap up, here’s something–

Well, wait. I had to close my laptop for the flight, which–I guess–went well except for the fact that my bag came back damaged. Shit. One of the handles got ripped off, and the side is torn. So that sucks. But, I talked to an airline agent, and she gave me a travel voucher for $75, which I believe is what I paid for the bag. So thanks to this trip and the airline’s multiple mishaps, I now have $275 in airline dollars to spend. Whoopie.

Anyway, back to the thing I was going to tell you. Last night, about two in the morning, I asked a girl, a stranger who had glitter on her face, to dance. Then after she said yes, I told her I liked her glitter makeup. Her face lit up. “Do you want some?” she said.

I paused.

“Yes. Yes I do!”

Well, the next thing I knew, the girl (who said she was from France) started digging through her purse and covering my face and “little beard” in green glitter that EXACTLY MATCHED my shirt. Talk about fun. Even before we danced, we had this beautiful moment of kindness and creativity. An unexpected surprise. A lightening up.

Oh–by the way–I’m at my aunt’s house now, in Tulsa. It’s one in the morning. I truly am tired, and part of me is so frustrated with this trip. It really was a chore getting to DC and–honestly–exhausting to be there, despite all the fun and wonderful dances and conversations I had. I guess my body just needs a break. Ugh. Things were going so well today, and then the bag thing happened. I mean, I liked that bag. It was a gift from a friend when I announced that I was moving to Austin. And I know–I haven’t moved yet. But still, the bag matched my others. That’s important for homosexuals–matching glitter, matching bags. Okay. I’m letting it go. I’m choosing to look on the bright side. Yes, this too is an unexpected surprise. I have less baggage now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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Getting a Grip (Blog #416)

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It’s 1:45 in the morning, and I’ve been putting this off for over an hour. I don’t feel well. I don’t feel awful, but I don’t feel well. I’m tired, irritable. My body is shaky (it has been for a while now), and it’s driving me crazy. I’m imagining that–on top of everything else–I have a neurological disorder, that I’m breaking down from the inside out. I’ve been Googling supplements all day, a compulsion that typically gets me nowhere. Maybe I’ll give up Google next year for Lent. But then again I’m not even Catholic. I guess I could convert, but that’d just be one more thing to do. Like my plate isn’t full enough already.

Get a grip, Marcus.

I’ve been thinking this would be a good way to start my autobiography, should I ever choose to write one: Thirty-seven, that’s how old I was when Meghan Markle married Prince Harry and my life fell apart. But then I don’t know where I’d go from there.

Get–a–grip, Marcus. (Focus.)

Today I spent the afternoon at Starbucks working on one of my travel writing stories, and that’s about it. I did run into an old dance student (who thought I was in Austin because everyone thinks I’m in Austin except me, who knows I’m not in Austin but instead living with my parents, who, incidentally, are not in Austin either) and had a lovely conversation. It always amazes me when something like this happens, randomly running into someone you haven’t seen in years and jumping right in with each, getting real. In the span of ten minutes, we talked about health challenges, going to therapy, and places where we consider ourselves to be weak. And I really don’t know this person that well. But the whole experience was so–refreshing.

It was the best thing that happened today. Being honest, that is.

Everything is progressing as it should.

This evening I taught a dance lesson to a student who thinks they should be progressing faster than they are. (They all do.) Having worked with hundreds of students over the years, I keep saying (truthfully) that they’re actually progressing faster than average, but you know how people can be their own worst critic. Anyway, here’s what I’ve been thinking about the situation. When you’re a new student, you don’t have anything to compare yourself to. If you do, it’s probably Dancing with the Stars, and THAT won’t make you feel good. But as an experienced teacher that works with everyday people who aren’t spending forty hours a week preparing for a competition, I can stand outside a student’s frustration and see that things are going just fine–they’re normal–everything is progressing as it should.

My friend and I talked about something similar today–the benefit of having a good therapist, someone who’s experienced in human relationships and emotions who doesn’t know you and can stand outside your drama and comment about what’s going on. There’s such a stigma about going to therapy, but who couldn’t benefit from a relationship like that? At one point in the last four years, I was dealing with a particularly difficult person in my life, someone I cared for but who came with excessive baggage (like more baggage than Rose had on the Titanic). “Why do you have this shit show in your life?” my therapist said. Blunt, I know, but no one else I was talking to was being blunt, and it was just the thing I needed to cause me to look at the situation in a different way, to realize that I could–change things.

Imagine that.

I told my friend today that sometimes I felt like the poster child for going to therapy, but it’s only because it’s been such a good and positive thing for me. I don’t pretend that it would be the same for everyone else, but I do think it’s worth trying, just like I think learning how to dance is worth trying. I mean, you already know how to sit on the couch or go to the movies or whatever it is you know how to do. Honestly, I think it’s fear that stops people from trying new things that could help them. Maybe embarrassment. I know there have been plenty of times I’ve actually felt apologetic as a dance student for not knowing something, not being better at something. I felt the same way in therapy when my therapist asked why I was putting up with such bad behavior. I thought, Why didn’t I know this already?

It’s okay to ask for help.

Of course, the answer is simple–because no one taught me. No one taught me how to dance or how to have healthy relationships (before they did)–probably because no one taught them. Likewise, no one (except for my therapist, who’s a professional) is teaching me how to navigate being thirty-seven, living with my parents, and having a health challenge (or two). After all, who knows these things?! Aren’t we all just figuring life out as we go along, aren’t we all just doing the best we can? This has been my experience, so I’m trying to get a grip and remember that it’s okay to admit you don’t know everything, that it’s okay to ask for help.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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