Worth It (Blog #1000!)

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Phew. Here we are. Blog #1000. We made it. I made it. Two years, eight months, and twenty-six days ago I began this journey honestly not knowing what I was doing or where I was going. And whereas I’m not sure I know now (does anyone ever know what they’re doing or where they’re going?), I’m nonetheless here with–as of yesterday–892,141 words more than I started with. Granted, not every word or every post has been brilliant. How could it be? And yet all together these words and posts have provided a container, a structure in which something brilliant has happened.

To be clear, I’m not referring to this body of work, this blog, as brilliant. Granted, I’m proud of it, but more and more I don’t have to label it. Recently I’ve watched a couple documentaries about The Sphinx, and one scholar dates it as old as 36,000 years. My point being that over the centuries countless numbers of people have looked upon this sculpture and issued their opinions about it. It’s magnificent, it’s glorious, it’s weird, it’s crap. Whatever. I’m sure those who built it had their thoughts about it too. It’s not good enough; we should probably redo that nose. Meanwhile, the creation itself has existed as it is, quietly knowing that our opinions are powerless to change art. Art, however, is more than capable of changing us if we let it.

This is the brilliant thing I’m referring to, the fact that somewhere in the midst of all these words and posts a glorious, necessary, and humbling transformation has taken place–mine. Now, I know this is a bold claim–look at me, I’m different!–but I’m just stating facts (and I’m not ASKING anyone to look). Even if I were, I could write until I’m blue in the face and not be able to PROVE to another soul that my soul is any different today than it was 1,000 days ago. But it is. Specifically, it has more of a voice in my decisions, my moods, and my relationships. Because I’m more in touch with it. THAT’S what this vessel has provided–a place for me to meet myself. Time and time again it’s given me a space–a virtual therapy office if you will–for me to be my own listening ear, my own compassionate shoulder to cry on, my own caring counselor.

For those of you who have in any way watched, supported, or shared this space and this journey of mine, I am deeply grateful. Truly the path to one’s self is often and by definition a lonely path, and yet–paradoxically–we never walk it completely alone. More and more I’m convinced: both here and “elsewhere,” we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.

Witnesses who happily cheer us on.

Transformation requires more than a charge card.

Perhaps one of the reasons the path to one’s self (the journey of personal growth, the way of spirituality, the royal road) is lonely is because so much of it is internal (where you are, where God is, and where other people aren’t) and not external (where the world is, where people are, and where stuff is). If it were external, it’d be easy to prove to other people how you’ve changed or transformed. This is how most of the world operates. We get a new car, house, or haircut and think that changes US. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Despite what the advertisers and marketers want us to think, it’s not that easy. Transformation requires more than a charge card. At best our outward changes affect others’ PERCEPTION of us, and–as you know, dear reader–the perception of others is a fickle mistress. One day someone approves of us and what we do, wear, and say, and the next day they don’t.

Where’d their approval go? we think.

Well, in the words of the warden in the movie The Shawshank Redemption, it “up and vanished like a fart in the wind.”

Tonight I concluded Christmas at a dear friend’s house, where we ate dinner, toasted each other, and exchanged gifts and stories. Y’all, more and more I believe that a good story is one of the greatest gifts you can give someone, especially if it makes them laugh, comforts their heart, or challenges them to think in a new way. Well, my friend gave me such a gift tonight. They said they once hosted a large fundraiser, and the band for the event showed up–what’s the phrase?–high as a damn kite. And whereas most the musicians managed fine, the bass player either accidentally or on-purpose kept playing DIFFERENT songs than the rest of the band.

“I think he just didn’t give a shit,” my friend said.

Thankfully, the man (the genius) running the sound board turned off the bass player’s microphone, and no one in the audience ever knew the guy was completely stewed. My friend only knew because the sound technician put a pair of earphones on their head and said, “Hey, get this shit.”

Y’all, this is what this journey I’ve been discussing is about–turning DOWN the external voices in your life and turning UP the internal ones. In the last 1,000 days I’ve referred to these voices as your soul, your spirit, your highest self, your intuition, your guidance, your inner wisdom, your angels, God, the universe, the gods, and–I could go on. And whereas I don’t see all these terms as exactly the same, my point is–I just don’t think we’re alone here. Recently I had a friend comment, “I don’t believe in gods.” Fine. It has never been nor will it ever be my intention on this blog to change anyone else’s opinion about anything, least of all the higher mechanics of the cosmos. Changing someone else is NEVER the point of this work. Again and again and all day long until the cows come home, the point is changing oneself.

Transforming oneself.

Joseph Campbell said, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.” To me this means exactly that–that the forces we read about aren’t outside but inside us, that if you can’t read about Sisyphus eternally rolling a giant rock up a mountain or Jesus hanging on the cross and put YOURSELF there and thus relate the story to YOUR life, you’ve missed the point. (Every story is about you. What is in all is in one. What is in one is in all.) People externalize their gods, their beliefs. They say, “Jesus loves the little children. God hates fags.” No, they don’t. YOU do. How do I know? You’re the one who said it; you’re the one who did it. This is what personal responsibility and accountability are all about–realizing that you no longer get to blame someone else (God, your neighbor, or a book) for YOUR actions.

This sucks, I know.

There’s an idea in The Bible about not building your house upon the sandy land but rather building your house upon the rock, where, as a children’s song says, “the storms may come and go, but the peace of God you will know.” And whereas I do NOT intend this as preaching or evangelizing, I DO intend it as SYMBOLIZING.

I’ll explain.

Recently I’ve been obsessed with a song by Maren Morris called “The Bones.” It’s my flavor of the week. In essence the song is about a couple’s relationship, the idea being that when two people have a home with a solid foundation they can weather any storm. Getting back to the idea of symbolizing or being able to relate any story, mythology, or wisdom to one’s self, my thought has been that if I–if YOU–have a solid internal foundation, we can confidently navigate the trials and tribulations of life. This is the path I keep talking about, the path therapy and this blog have been such a huge part of for me, the building of an unshakable inner base. Y’all, I wish I could tell you that the right therapist, doctor, doctrine, or god can and will protect you from life’s hurts and heartaches, but alas, this is simply not the case. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is selling you snake oil. What is true, however, is that if you’ve done the inner work and have your priorities straight, you can best any challenge. Granted, life may bring you to your knees (it will), but as Morris says, “the house don’t fall when the bones are good.”

If the last thousand days have taught me anything, it’s that any time you spend building a solid foundation or working on your interior structure is time well spent. Every minute and every hour, as uncomfortable as it may be, is gold. (Did I forget to mention that being born again is unpleasant? Well, it is. Ask any screaming baby.) Likewise, any time you spend searching for, sharing, or living the truth will set you free. Not just sort of, but really. Granted, the truth may turn your world upside down (it will). Things may get worse before they get better (they will). But if a house doesn’t already POSSESS a solid foundation or structure, isn’t it best to tear it down and start from scratch in order to have something stable, something that will last? Don’t you want something real? I’ve spent almost six years in therapy, nearly three years blogging every day, and countless hours self-improving, and I’m telling you–it’s exhausting. But I’m talking about you here. Aren’t you worth all the effort?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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Written in the Stars (Blog #999)

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Today’s blog is #999 in a row, and I can’t tell you how excited I am about it. For one thing, I’m one post away from 1,000. (Two including this one.) For another, it’s Christmas Eve. For another, my favorite number is 9, so this blog seems–I don’t know–sacred or something. Maybe I should call it The Holy Trinity of Nines. Regardless, although it’s just one in the grand scheme of things, it feels special.

Okay, hang on, I know what it is.

999 days ago I started this project, and at some point decided I wanted to write for at least a thousand consecutive days. (Later I upped the goal to every day for three years, which is an additional three months, but I’m considering anything after tomorrow “a bonus post.”) Anyway, for 999 days in a row I’ve written. Even when I’ve been dog tired, sick with a sinus infection, miserable with a headache, or burning up with the flu. Even on the day I was in a car accident. Even after I tore my ACL. My point being that–to be clear–there have been hundreds of days I didn’t WANT to blog or spill my guts on the internet. Hundreds of days I didn’t know if I had it in me. Because God knows I’ve set goals before and didn’t stick with them. Yes, I know what I’m feeling.

I’m feeling like–WOW–I’m going to make it.

Earlier today I heard Caroline Myss say that if you want to heal or improve your life in some way, JUST DO SOMETHING CONSISTENTLY. It doesn’t have to be complicated, she said. Stop wearing your least favorite color–forever. Go for a fifteen minute walk–every day. Her point being that any action consistently taken (read: any discipline) will force you to confront not only your saboteur, but also every other part of you that doesn’t want to heal, grow up, and change. Like your inner child (who will throw tantrums), your perfectionist (who will insist whatever you’re doing isn’t good enough), and your control freak (who will want to manage how others perceive you and your project), to name a few.

Notice that addictions, which are also consistent actions and address our inner need for congruency, likewise address these points. However, they do so unconsciously, not consciously.

In my experience with this blog, this wisdom about consistency is spot on. Indeed, many of the categories or themes that have developed here, I believe, are ones that any person undertaking a regular discipline will encounter. Things like balance, boundaries, patience, self-acceptance, and transformation. Take balance and boundaries, for example. Earlier tonight some friends had me over for dinner and invited me to stay late to watch a movie while they stuffed stockings for their kiddos. And whereas I would have loved to have lingered and continued to stuff my face with Fritos and cheese dip, I knew I had this blog to tend to.

So I said, “Thank you, but I can’t.”

This is what I’d recommend to anyone working on a goal–make no exceptions. Now, I’m not talking about your typical goals. I want to lose fifteen pounds or whatever. Especially if all you want to do is stop eating cheesecake. In that case, have a cheat day. But if the real point of your goal is deal with your crap, get in touch with your soul and spirit, and find out what you’re really made of, THEN I suggest making no exceptions. Then I suggest being an absolute hard ass with yourself.

If you do decide to be a hard ass with yourself–about anything–my guess is you’ll uncover a part of yourself you didn’t know was there before. Personally, blogging every day, every damn day has taught me that not only am I stronger and braver than I realized, but I’m also more honest and open-hearted than I realized. Since I started this project, a number of people have said, “I could never be that honest, especially on the internet.” Even my therapist has said, “You’ve clearly got really big balls.” And whereas I don’t know about all that, I do know that if I can be strong and brave and honest and open-hearted, anyone can. Because it’s not THAT hard. Yes, it’s hard. It’s scary and terrifying and exhausting and hard.

But it’s not THAT hard.

What I mean is that it’s not impossible. Whatever it is you’re scared of–and anything you’re scared of counts, even if other people don’t think it’s a big deal–humans have been facing their fears and slaying their dragons for centuries. My point being that you’re not alone. Knowing this–that it’s POSSIBLE to transform yourself for the better through the practice of a consistent discipline–the question becomes, why wouldn’t you? A thousand days ago I would have pulled out my favorite excuses. I can’t. I’m not good enough. I’ll fail. I’ll embarrass myself. Someone else is already doing it better. But having come this far, I now know these are just lies, stories. So if the answer to “Why won’t you do something to improve your life?” is that you simply like the stories you tell yourself about who you are and what you’re not capable of, fine. That in itself is some level of honesty. But don’t expect me to believe your excuses just because you do.

Because I know from experience–all of us are capable of WAY MORE than we think we are.

This is one of the greatest gifts my therapist has given me–she’s staunchly refused to believe my excuses. No matter how many times I’ve campaigned for them, she’s never voted for my limitations. Now, she’s honest. “You’re almost forty,” she says. “I don’t think you should be an Olympic gymnast.” Still, within reason, she’s never stopped rooting for me. With respect to my talents, career, and relationships, she’s always been in my corner. The result being that–between her and this discipline–I’ve gotten back something I didn’t know I’d lost–myself.

Also, I’ve learned how to hope again.

Last year for the Winter Solstice I blogged about how, from the Summer Solstice until the Winter Solstice, the sun rises and sets more and more toward the south in the northern hemisphere. (This is the cause of our progressively shorter days from late June to late December). However, for three days, from December 22 (the typical date of the Winter Solstice) until December 25, the sun appears to stop moving toward the south OR the north. To the ancients, this was terrifying because they thought the sun had died.

Don’t worry. The good news is coming.

On December 24 at midnight (ish)–and you can check this for yourself–you can follow the three stars in Orion’s Belt (sometimes referred to as The Three Kings) to Sirius (the brightest star in the sky), and they’ll point the way the eastern horizon. There you’ll find Virgo, The Virgin. (See above.) Overhead you’ll find The Beehive Cluster (not labeled), sometimes referred to as The Manger. Next to it, Cancer, whose two brightest stars are often called The Two Asses. Six hours later, The Manger and The Two Asses will be on the western horizon, The Virgin will be straight overhead, and the sun will be rising not just on the eastern horizon, but also toward the north. (See below.)

Hooray! The sun didn’t die.

For as long as we can remember, men and women have feared. We’ve watched our days get shorter and shorter and felt our nights get colder and colder. We’ve thought, We can’t do this. We’re not going to make it. Our hope is gone. And yet we’ve consistently persisted. We’ve kept at it, hung on. And time and time again, right out of our darkest night, the light has reappeared. The light reappears. From Christmas until the Summer Solstice, our days get longer and longer, brighter and brighter. This is a universal law. It’s written in the stars. Just when we least expect it, things start to turn around. Life comes flooding back. Letting out a sigh, we think, I’m going make it.

Just like that, our hope is reborn.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Since 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.

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The Results (Blog #998)

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Today is blog #998 in a row, it’s two days before Christmas, and I don’t know where to start. I wish I had something profound to say. The closer I get to 1,000 blogs, the more I feel like I should. This has been a huge project–it’s changed my life–and all I can think to utter is, “Thank you for being here, I’m going to bed now.” Bed–that’s where I wish I were right this minute. Well, okay, fine, I am, but I wish I were asleep. I’ve been fighting a headache for several hours; the last thing I want to do is think and attempt to be pleasant.

Alas, I’ll going to try.

Getting back to the idea of reaching 1,000 blogs, I keep imaging something big should happen when I do. Fireworks, a parade, an apparition of the Virgin Mary. Something. More than likely, the day will come and go without fanfare. In the grand scheme of things, my 1,000th blog will “only” be one of a thousand. Granted, there will be parties, gift-giving, and plenty of celebrating, but these things will be for Jesus, not Marcus Coker. And whereas I’m not above stealing a little limelight, something tells me to let the lord have this one. It is, after all, his birthday, and it’s just one day a year.

Although to be fair, Jesus gets Easter too. The whole Holy Week if we’re being technical.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson. And whereas the couple’s been progressing slowly, things are starting to come together. This evening I drove all the way to Fort Smith to look for a particular book I’m almost a hundred percent certain I saw at a thrift store last week, but when I got to the store it was closed for the lord’s birthday. (Some people like to drag their celebrations out). Anyway, the project I wanted the book for will simply have to wait. My point being that just like the couple I’m teaching will learn when they learn, I’ll get the book when I get it. Things happen when they happen.

Or they don’t happen at all.

More and more, I’m learning to trust the timing of things. Earlier today I was thinking about some of the most influential people in my life–my mentors–and how I came to meet them. And whereas I won’t go into all the details, suffice it to say that with each person there was a whole series of random events and connections that caused our paths to cross, things I could have never planned. For example, I had to go through hell before I found my therapist through the recommendation of a counselor friend of mine. Once I met my therapist, I thought, I should have done this sooner. And yet had I asked my counselor friend for a recommendation even a year earlier, I’m sure they would have suggested someone else–because they’d only recently met my therapist. Indeed, they originally did recommend someone else, but that person was full. At the time, I was disappointed. What if I’m missing out? I thought.

But then I met my therapist and knew–I’m right where I need to be.

It’s easy for me to look at the significant relationships in my life and think they didn’t happen by accident. But more and more I think little does. When I think of how I met and stayed in touch with my friend who recommended my therapist–wow–we’re talking about relationships that go back over thirty years, relationships that started before I was born (because my parents are–obviously–involved in this whole setup). We’re talking about me having to be in a certain place at a certain time in order to say hello to a family acquaintance I barely knew so that we could become friends and they could introduce me to their friend who eventually recommended my therapist and so on. Plus all the things that had to happen to get my therapist in the same professional circles as my friend.

Seriously, when I think about it, it boggles my mind.

What boggles my mind even more is that this sort of cosmic dancing goes on constantly. This morning I spilled a bottle full of pills and was three minutes late to a doctor’s appointment. Who knows why? Maybe I avoided an accident. Or maybe I just HAD to be part of that conversation my doctor’s secretary started with the few of us in the waiting room about what to get her male relatives for Christmas and that wouldn’t have happened three minutes earlier. I mean, I’ve been the beneficiary of someone else’s recommendation before, so who’s to say someone else can’t benefit from mine? That’s the deal on this planet. Sometimes angels are sent to you; sometimes you’re the angel that’s sent to others.

Now, you might think your two cents can’t make a difference in someone else’s life, but you’d be mistaken. Remember the widow’s mite. Remember the mustard seed. Remember God works in mysterious ways.

When I started this blog nearly 1,000 days ago, I had lots of hopes and dreams for it. I still do. But the difference between then and now is that more and more I’ve given up trying to control the whole damn thing–who reads it, what they get out of it, what they offer me in return. Like, a praise, a criticism. (So far no one’s offered to sleep with me. Kids, go to medical school. Bloggers don’t get laid. Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be writers.) But seriously, it’s precisely BECAUSE of the mysterious intricacies of life–this had to happen and this had to happen, or this couldn’t have happened–that I’ve come to the conclusion that even everyday accidents and encounters–a spilled bottle of pills, the choice to say hello, who reads my blog and what they do with it–are laced with magic and grace.

Even if we don’t see it.

Especially if we don’t see it.

Getting back to the idea that I think something big (the appearance of the Blessed Mother) should happen when I hit 1,000 blog posts, I’d like to be clear that this is purely egoic and runs counter to the traditional story of Christmas. That is, Jesus was born in a manger–with little fanfare. This is how the divine works–not by pulling up in a Mercedes Benz (or on a Mercedes Benz camel) and rolling out the red carpet for itself, but by slipping in the backdoor unnoticed. My point being that we may look at our lives and think nothing is happening. And yet all the while the gods are at work behind the scenes, setting this up, working that out. More perfectly than we ever could. This doesn’t mean we don’t have to play our part, of course. It simply means that the more we listen to our hearts and act from our souls, the less we have to worry about the results.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house—it takes time.

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About to Step into the Ring (Blog #635)

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Today I’ve felt ick and nauseated. For one thing, it’s Christmas Day and my immediate family doesn’t celebrate, and that’s not fun. It feels like all those weddings I used to work as a single, in-the-closet photographer. Like the whole world’s happy and together, but not me. Whatever, the holidays are complicated for a lot of people. So many memories, so many emotions. Plus, I’m having surgery on my left knee tomorrow to repair my ACL, and that’s got my stomach tied up in knots.

Ugh.

This afternoon I put the knee brace my surgeon’s office gave me in the back seat of my car, Tom Collins. They said I’d wake up in it after surgery. The brace, not my car. I also un-decorated my crutches, which for the last few weeks have been decked out in Christmas tinsel, ever since I was in that tacky holiday variety show at the local theater. Anyway, I put those in the back seat too, as I’ll be needing them again starting–soon. This is part of what’s got me upset. For a week and a half now I’ve been crutches-less and walking on my own. Granted, my walking has been slow and not always pain-free, but at least I’ve felt independent. But starting tomorrow it’s back to square one, hobbling around and asking people to bring me things. I guess it just feels like I’m going backwards.

I realize this isn’t the case. Tomorrow’s surgery is an important step (pun intended) in this whole process and absolutely necessary if I want my “world of movement” to look anything like it did before. But it’s a lot, emotionally. Sure, the surgeon does this every day, but I don’t. I’ll be going under. There will be scars. And whereas the surgeon said the scars wouldn’t be a big deal because I have hairy legs, it’s still a big deal to me to be both cut open and permanently marked.

Also, sometimes I shave my legs.

Now it’s nine at night, and I’ve got to be up at six in the morning. I can only have food and liquids for the next three hours. I still have to shower, pack a small bag, and make sure I have my shit together. Honestly, I don’t imagine I’ll get much sleep. For one thing, I’m not used to going to bed before midnight. More like two in the morning. For another thing, my mind is racing.

I wish I knew how to make it stop.

People do these things every day–have surgery, go through rehab, get through the pain. People walk again. People dance again. So part of me knows it’s possible. And whereas I know I’ll do as I’m told, push through, and probably overachieve (because it’s one of my things), I’m honestly not looking forward to it. You know how sometimes you’re ready for a fight, and sometimes you’re not? Well, I’m not. This isn’t a fight I was looking for or even wanted once it found me. And yet here I am about to step (sort of) into the ring. So I’m taking deep breaths and preparing to do my best.

Here we go.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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On Humble Beginnings (Blog #634)

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It’s an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, and I’ve spent most the day cuddled up in my favorite chair, reading. For me, today has been like most any other, since our family stopped celebrating Christmas over twenty years ago. It’s a long story. Part of me wishes I could go back and rewrite it, since I think traditions are important and my thinking around this particular tradition has changed a lot. But, of course, it’s hard to wind back the clock. Plus, once you’ve lost the magic of something, it’s difficult to regain it.

But not impossible, perhaps.

Really, I’m fine with this. Sure, when I see pictures of others celebrating with friends and loved ones and opening presents, a part of me misses that. But I’ve been with my family all day long, and I haven’t had to spend a dime on presents. Which is good, since I don’t have a dime. But I do miss the sparkle around the season. I used to adore decorating the tree and putting up lights on the outside of the house. Really, looking back at how I’d climb on the roof and meticulously unscrew and re-screw every bulb until they were perfectly arranged–green, red, green, red–someone should have told me a long time ago that I was a homosexual. Anyway, the last few years I’ve made an effort to participate and celebrate, if only a little. This year I helped a friend decorate the outside of their house. I was in a holiday variety show.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

I think one of the hardest things to do is accept your life both as it is and how it’s been. Especially in today’s world of social media, it’s so easy to compare yourself to others. Just scroll through your phone for a minute–one minute!–and you can see everything you’re not in terms of looks, friends, prestige, and holiday celebrations. But to really sit with your story, with all your humble beginnings, this is a tough thing to do. My mom’s been depressed since I was a child. Our home burned down when I was four. My dad went to prison. As if this weren’t enough to make us different, we stopped celebrating Christmas, and (years later) I came out of the closet.

This evening my sister, her husband, and their boys went to a friend’s house for dinner. A friend of theirs and their family ended up being there–because their home burned down tonight. The family was okay, but their pets died. This went on while my parents and I went out to eat at Chili’s and I shoved down a plateful of fajitas, two beers, and a chocolate molten lava cake. Granted, it wasn’t extravagant in terms of “what’s expected,” but we were together. Anyway, this is the world we live in. The worst things happen alongside the best things.

Back home from dinner, I returned to my reading chair. After my sister and her crew got home, my older nephew, who spends most his time in his own world and really isn’t into socializing, crawled up in my chair and read his comic book alongside me. Didn’t say a word. Just snuggled up between one armrest and me and turned his pages. It was the sweetest thing; I wouldn’t trade the thirty minutes he sat there for the world. Who’s to say if this would have happened in a living room full of packages? I mean, I’ve seen my nephew around presents.

It wouldn’t have happened.

Yesterday my friend Bonnie gave me a pack of positive affirmation cards called AFFIRMATORS!, and they’re my new favorite thing. There are over fifty cards in the pack, and the idea is that you shuffle them “like a three year-old” and pull one out at random. Well, get this shit. Three times today (out of four) I pulled out the same card–Magic. I’m including a picture of it here, but the idea is that life is a great mystery, and we’re surrounded by serendipity and wonderful, inexplicable happenings. Anyway, on a day that used to be filled with magic for me, during a time in my life that’s so difficult, it was the perfect reminder that miracles can occur in the most unlikely of places and circumstances.

Just after I pulled this card for the first time, I got a text message from a friend from high school that I haven’t talked to in–I don’t know–five or ten years. I guess they were last-minute shopping; they wanted to buy some dance lessons. This ended up being the perfect thing. They got a gift to give to someone they care about, and I got some cash (which I really needed). Anyway, I kept hearing my therapist’s voice in my head, since a couple weeks ago, after having injured my knee, I was bemoaning my financial prospects and suggested I could liquidate a few things. “Naw,” my therapist said, “let the universe do something.” And so it did. Talk about a Christmas miracle.

Magic.

In other good news, the skin rash that I’ve had for the last few weeks is finally getting better. Like, not just a little; a lot. I’ll spare you the details, but I figured out the right cream to use on it. Maybe this seems like a small matter, but when life’s knocked you down over and over (and over) again, it’s really delightful to be on the receiving end of a win. And in light of the fact that I’ll be having knee surgery in a day and a half, it’s nice knowing my body isn’t completely falling apart and that something’s on the mend. It’s good to be reminded that with a little persistence (and not a little magic) things can improve.

God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings.

Despite the fact that I’m not currently surrounded by the trappings of Christmas, I keep thinking about the mythological image of Jesus being born in a manger. I love that part of the story, since it reminds me that God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings. Shit, I can only imagine what Joseph and Mary must have felt like that night–worn out, tired, pregnant, no room in the inn. Surely one of them must have thought, God, I could use a break tonight. I could use a little magic here. Personally, I would have been pissed. Especially if I were Mary. I would have been looking everywhere for Gabriel, and when I found him I would have said, “You mean to tell me that first The Divine knocks me up, and now he wants me to deliver his kid in a barn?!” But I’m reminded tonight that The Divine is into this, into stories that don’t make sense from a human perspective, into “what seems small is big.”

With these things in mind, I’m doing my best to honor my story, including my past and present, as it is and not as I wish it were. Because no matter how humble or challenging and no matter how it compares to another’s, this is my life–my one, unique, and precious life. And no matter what, being alive is a gift. No matter how dark the night or bleak the circumstances, if you’re alive, you’re alive, and you’re story’s not over. And who’s to say what The Divine will make of your humble beginnings?

Who’s to say what magic lies ahead?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

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The Point of No Return (Blog #603)

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It’s almost midnight, and my body is worn out. I’m not sure why. My energy level has been up and down lately. I’ve been sitting here in the living room for the last three hours, unable to drag myself away from a documentary my mom’s watching about Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. It’s weird, I remember when all that happened, but now all the major players are twenty years older. Which means I’m twenty years older too. Weird how time flies by like that. Recently I told my friend Matt that I started dancing when I was 19; now I’m 38. Matt said, “That means you’ve been dancing for half your life.” I said, “Thanks for pointing that out–I think.”

Half. My. Life.

This afternoon I went to a friend’s house to help them set up a new television that they bought this morning. It was a Black Friday deal. Anyway, I ended up spending the day there, working on their television, eating dinner with them, helping them with a few Christmas decorations. We laughed a lot. It was kind of the perfect thing. Unplanned, but perfect.

Now I’m really ready to go to bed. I wish I had something profound to say, but I don’t. Last night I dreamed that I was looking through the mementoes of a dead blues singer and–earlier in the dream–driving with a friend toward Division Street, a street in Fort Smith that crosses Midland Avenue. I read recently that if you keep a dream journal, you can name or label your dreams in order to help you get an idea of what they’re about. I called this one “Getting My Past in Order,” since it “felt” like what I’ve been doing lately going through old photos, at least the looking at mementoes part. As for the dead blues singer, I took that to mean that I’m working to put the sad events of my life behind me.

I’ve been chewing on the Division Street part on and off all day. On the way home from my friend’s tonight, I actually drove down Midland Avenue and Division Street to see if that would reveal anything profound. It didn’t, but my sense is that Midland has to do with “the middle,” as in balance or a mid-way point. It’s how I feel right now–in stasis–stuck in Mid Land. Like it’s too late for me to go back, but I’m not sure how to move forward. As for Division, I think it’s that “getting my past in order” thing. That is, in any hero’s journey, there must be a line drawn in the sand. A point of no return. The past, with all it’s sadness and limitations, must be left behind you. Because you can’t take it with you wherever you’re going. It’s just too heavy.

And have you seen what the airlines charge for baggage these days?!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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That Which Isn’t Broken (Blog #294)

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Last night I went to bed at six in the morning. Two hours later I woke up in order to clean house because my parents were at the doctor’s office and I work better alone. That is, without my father looking over my shoulder. You know how it goes, too many cooks in the kitchen. Anyway, my plan was to spruce the place up for company coming tomorrow and be back in bed before my parents got back home–like a surprise, even though I’d told my mom this was my plan. So not like a surprise at all. Well, three hours later I was almost done. I just had a little vacuuming left, and–boom–in walk the parents. Busted–caught in the act of cleaning.

Okay. How do I say this? So I’m pushing the vacuum around, basically because my dad asked me to earlier this week. And I wish I were a saint and didn’t need any gratitude for fulfilling such requests, but I’m not, so I’m thinking a little “Thank you, Marc” would be nice. I mean, a lot of things would be nice, like 20/20 vision or winning the lottery, but sometimes the world isn’t a nice place. Well, you’d just have to know my dad, or know my dad and me, because he skipped over the whole gratitude thing and said, “It doesn’t look like you vacuumed under this rug over here–see how there’s a wrinkle right there?–that was there when we left.”

Wash the dishes, Cinderelly.

I said, “See, this is why I waited until you left to start cleaning.”

“So I wouldn’t be telling you what to do?” he said.

“Right.”

I’d like to extend as much grace to my father here as possible. This type of back-and-forth has gone on with us about one thing or another since I was a child, and I know he comes by his part honestly. I remember watching my grandfather come in behind my dad and redo things “his way” even when my father was an adult–like I am now. Also, I know that I’ve come in behind others and redone things in an effort to get everything “just so” or “perfect.” But it sucks to be the one it happens to, to be told whatever you didn’t wasn’t good enough, especially when you’re trying to do something nice for someone else. Maybe this is why everyone gives gift cards anymore–we hate it when our gifts are returned.

I promise.

This afternoon I took a nap. That helped. But then I got my blood work back from the doctor’s office. And whereas there were no major problems, my cholesterol was high. It’s always high, but apparently now it’s even higher, despite my mostly healthy diet. (I know, cholesterol is inherited, but I hate that.) Anyway, I already feel like my body is falling apart and that I don’t have any answers, so it was a letdown. I just feel like everything in my life is so–broken. To his credit, my dad said, “Marc, don’t worry about that–we can get that under control. And everything else is going to work out, I promise.”

Oh, and he thanked me for cleaning.

The rest of the day has been jam-packed. I worked on some therapy material, journaled, meditated, and spent an hour composing an email for a business meeting tomorrow. Around midnight I went to Walmart to buy groceries for both me and my parents. The cart was full. Midway down the juice aisle, I noticed that I felt absolutely wiped out, depleted. For a moment I started to push, to bear down and just “get shit done” in my usual fashion. The word that kept coming to my mind was “grit,” and I can’t quite explain it, but I know I’ve been doing it for a long, long time. It’s like my body tenses up ever so slightly, and I start to shut my feelings down, like, I just can’t do this right now.

This method of walking through the grocery store or life works for a while, of course. But the problem is that after twenty or thirty years, you’ve walled off so much of yourself that even you don’t know who’s inside you. There’s this whole range of emotions you no longer have access to. You end up being a mere shadow of who you could be. So tonight on the juice aisle, I told myself it was okay to feel whatever was there, to even cry if I needed to. I mean, I was wearing sweatpants in Walmart, so clearly my standards had already been relaxed. Oh hell, I thought, let’s go a little lower.

Well, I didn’t cry at Walmart. When I got home, Mom and Dad were asleep, so I put the groceries away solo. Then I futzed with the jigsaw puzzle we worked on over Christmas. Earlier today I glued it together in order to get it off the kitchen table. Wouldn’t you know it, the glue kind of clumped up in one corner, and a little fleck of the puzzle got ripped off. I fixed it with a black marker, but for a moment it was more than I could take. The straw that broke the came’s back or whatever. Maybe that’s how Dad felt about the wrinkled rug. Like, life ain’t easy and his wife has cancer, and can’t one fucking thing go right? Can’t I even control this rug?

Can’t I even control this puzzle?

I don’t know if y’all do this, but sometimes when I listen to a song I pretend someone else is singing it to me. Sometimes it’s a past or future lover, and sometimes it’s even God. For the last year or two, sometimes I pretend I’m singing to me, or like a part of me is singing to another part of me. I guess it’s like affirmations (you’re good enough, you’re smart enough) set to a steady beat. Anyway, my favorite song to do this with Rick Astley’s biggest hit. Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.

What can I say? I love the eighties.

After I got all my “chores” done, I put a chicken pot pie in the microwave because I’ve heard those are good for cholesterol. Then I put my headphones in and put the song “Lego House” on repeat. I fell in love with a new version of this song earlier this week, and it’s got a great “to me/from me” vibe. So I’m looking at my reflection in the microwave, the lyrics start to break my walls down, and the tears come. It’s dark in a cold December, but I’ve got ya to keep me warm. If you’re broken, now I’ll mend ya, and keep you sheltered from the storm. I’ll pick you up when you’re gettin’ down … I think I love you better now.

Brick by brick, everything will change for the better.

I can’t tell you how important I think this is, promising yourself that despite all the things in life that are beyond your control, you’ll never fully abandon yourself, seeing to it that the walls you’ve built up are brought down once and for all. It’s like you think you’re protecting yourself by putting up barriers, by stiffening your upper lip and gritting your way through life, by not feeling. However, you end up living life a stranger to yourself, and that sucks. But I truly believe that the more you let your walls down, the more you’ll like the person who’s been hiding behind them. Brick by brick, everything will change for the better–I promise. Then one day while looking at your own reflection, you’ll finally know–of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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It’s SNOT the Holiday That Matters (Blog #270)

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Last night I stayed up until 1:30 in the morning working on the puzzle my family started yesterday. It’s the American flag made out of smaller images, and I finished the blue section. Since I’ve been feeling like crap, it was a nice distraction. This morning I may have experienced a Christmas miracle–I woke up feeling better. Not over the moon, but certainly better. I’m attributing this to a new jar of kimchi I got yesterday, only the fourth I’ve bought this week. As I understand it, kimchi can contain bacteria to help fight sinus infections, but it depends on the brand and how far along it is in the fermentation process. Since most companies don’t print the manufactured date on the jar, it’s kind of a crap shoot.

Anyway, regardless of whether it’s that, all the vitamins I’m taking, or the six-pound baby Jesus, I’m not coughing or congested today. My allergies are still acting up, and I’m paranoid because my snot is green, but I just read that green snot can actually be a sign that your white blood cells are hard at working fighting an infection. (Go get ’em, guys.) Mostly I’m trying to not overthink this but rather be grateful that for the first time in a week I’m experiencing a modicum of relief.

Obviously, today is Christmas. For the last week or two, I’ve been thinking that I’d write an essay about my experience with Christmas, about how as a child I was so meticulous about putting up lights and decorating that I really shouldn’t have had to announce my sexuality all those years later, and about how my family stopped celebrating Christmas when I was a teenager because of its pagan origins (winter solstice rituals, etc.). Anyway, at some point I’d like to process all that, but I haven’t had the energy for it lately, nor do I today. Maybe later. Still, I will say that at this point in my life, I don’t take a strong position on the celebration of holidays. I used to really enjoy them and even decorated my house a couple years ago for Christmas, but when you give up all your traditions for a decade or two, it’s hard to go back to them, especially when your family doesn’t recognize them.

To be clear, I’m not making an argument for or against anything. I understand why people celebrate Christmas, celebrate something else, or don’t celebrate anything at all. Some years I miss the magic of this season. There are years when I see families getting together, eating big meals, and exchanging gifts, and it’s just another day for me. That can be lonely. At the same time, it’s easier on my wallet. (For every down there’s an up.) But this year, even though there’s not a tree with a bunch of gifts underneath it, my family is here. We spent the day finishing the puzzle, my mom has been playing and laughing with my nephews, and now my sister and brother-in-law are getting ready to grill burgers. All things considered, it’s been a wonderful day.

The main reason my sister and her family came to visit was to see my mom before she has her mastectomy next month. Since the boys are out of school for the holidays, this was clearly a good time to do that. But I for one am glad it worked out the way it did, that whether for a holiday, an illness, or a puzzle, we’ve made a point to come together. Currently I’m sitting in a chair, and my nephews are crawling all over me. The older one took away my laptop for a while, and I just got it back and he’s swinging a sword in front of my face. (It’s actually a piece of cardboard, but he’s pretending it’s a sword.) Now it’s time for dinner, so I’m gonna go. Whatever you’re doing today, I hope it’s a good day. Mostly, I hope you know that it’s not the holiday that matters, but those with whom you spend it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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What I’m Gaining (Blog #268)

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It’s two days before Christmas, and my sister, brother-in-law, and their two boys are on their way here from New Mexico. They’re bringing their own food because they’re healthy eaters. They actually have a food cooler that plugs into their car’s cigarette lighter. Mom’s been cleaning out our refrigerator, throwing away old deli meat and unused packets of hot sauce from Taco Bell, clearing every square inch she can in order to make room for my sister’s unhomogenized grass-fed milk and organic tortillas. The whole affair has my dad in a tizzy, a little too much change too fast. “Don’t throw that jar of pickled beans away, Judy!” And it’s only going to get better. This time tomorrow the boys will be running around underfoot, scattering Crayons and Legos all over the kitchen table and living room floor. Hell, I’ll probably find some floating in the toilet. It’s going to be glorious mess.

But don’t worry, I’m sure there’s some whiskey here somewhere.

My sinus infection/cold continues to persist. Ever the dramatic, I’ve been thinking about writing my own eulogy and preparing myself for the afterlife. I mean, if this were the Middle Ages, I’d already be a senior citizen, so I think I can say I’ve had a good run here. Yesterday I read that some people have cured sinus problems by sniffing probiotic powder. So last night I picked up a bottle of probiotic capsules from my aunt then went to The Vitamin Shoppe to pick up a different brand, just in case. But before I went into the store, I emptied the contents of a single probiotic capsule onto a sheet of paper and snorted the powder up my nose like a cocaine addict. Honestly, it wasn’t the smoothest experience. The powder kind of clumped around my nostrils. Maybe it would have gone better if I’d put the powder on a mirror and chopped it up with a credit card.

I can’t believe I’m telling this story. A thirty-seven-year-old man snorting probiotic powder in a parking lot. What would I have said if a cop had seen me? I swear, officer, it’s acidophilus!

Walking into The Vitamin Shoppe, I had so much white powder on my face it looked like I’d been eating a funnel cake with both hands tied behind my back. Paranoid, I wiped my face with my shirt, got what I needed, and got out. Chill out, Marcus, no one thinks you’re a drug user. As of this moment, I’ve tried the treatment a few times, and I can’t tell that it’s making a difference one way or the other. Maybe it’s not supposed to be an instant cure, or maybe it’s just more internet crap. Either way, I’m still sick, still coughing up junk, still as frustrated as ever.

I’ve been slowing working my way through the book I have about holistic sinus health. Last night I read the section of vitamins and minerals, and apparently I’m not taking enough to kick an infection. The book says it takes 15 supplements to do the job, not 12. But then it also says an air filter, a negative ion particle generator, a humidifier, and the Archangel Gabriel would be nice. (I made up that last part.) Regardless, there are million helpful hints, a veritable shotgun approach of ideas. And whereas I appreciate all the thorough suggestions, I can only afford so many of them. But for crying out loud, it’s not like I’m not trying over here. Seriously–mad props to this infection for being such an indestructible bastard.

Mad props means extreme support or high praise, Mom.

Now it’s three in the afternoon, and I’m considering cleaning up and running some errands when this blog is done. I need a few food items (and maybe more supplements!) and have no desire to brave the streets and stores tomorrow. Today will be bad enough, but it is what it is.

Last night as I was sniffing probiotics up my nose, I laughed at how crazy it was. At the same time, I realized that I actually enjoy this whole process of experimentation. Let me be clear, I want this thing to go away. But there’s part of my personality that enjoys digging my heels in, trying one more thing, continuing to look for an answer long after many people would have quit. To me this feels like an act of self-care, of not giving up on myself and the idea of something better. At the very least I’m gaining patience, endurance, and compassion, three things I’m finding to be hard to come by, high-priced, and, most importantly, worth whatever you have to go through to get them.

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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