Together (Blog #917)

Whenever I’m sick with a sinus infection, like I have been this week, I judge how sick I am by the color of the junk I cough up when I first get out of bed. It’s gross I know. (Don’t worry, I won’t get too descriptive.) But take yesterday for example, I hacked up this stuff that was dark and bloody. I thought, Oh yeah, I’m sick. But this morning I hacked up this stuff that was like, light yellow. So I thought, Okay, all right. Go team. This is progress. We’re on the mend.

As has been the case for the last year and a half, I credit my sinus improvements to probiotics. Not the kind you swallow, but the kind you either swish around in your mouth or sniff up your nose. I get it, it’s weird. But the idea is that sinus infections are caused by “bad” bacteria (I put bad in quotes because I’m sure the bacteria’s mothers don’t think of them as bad), and the probiotics contain “good” bacteria that crawl around in your sinuses, find those critters that are causing your nasty infection (I imagine they have to use teeny-tiny flashlights), and eat them for breakfast (with little forks). It’s sad to think about, I know. All those grieving bacteria mothers. But hey–circle of life and all that.

Assuming the probiotics I bought and started yesterday are the reason for my less colorful mucus, I’ve continued using them today. And whereas my health hasn’t miraculously turned around, I have felt better, more energetic. I’ve been coughing less. This morning I took it easy (I watched a documentary about Pixar, the computer-animated film company, on Netflix), but this afternoon I rallied and did some odd job work for a friend of mine–hauling trash to the dump(ster) and taking donation items to Savers. This evening I got out to teach a dance lesson, but when they canceled at the last minute I ran some personal errands instead. Returned non-used items to Lowe’s and Walmart, that sort of thing.

At one point in time I really flipped shit whenever a dance lesson canceled. Not because I didn’t understand that things come up, but because I get paid by the hour. In a very real sense, I count on that money. Still, these last several years have taught me that things always work out and something else always comes along. So rather than launching into my worry-wart routine this evening when my lesson canceled, I shrugged my shoulders and thought, Whatever. What-the-hell-ever. Now I can run those errands. And whereas running my errands wasn’t as lucrative as teaching a lesson would have been, it was perhaps just as fun.

I’ll explain.

Immediately upon leaving my teaching space, I saw three deer. No kidding. They’d just crossed the street and actually turned around to look at me. Stopping my car, I pulled out my camera. At this point the deer ran off. But then I looked out my other window and saw another deer, and this one let me take its picture. (How polite.) Talk about a magical moment. For this brief instant I wan’t thinking about sinus infections, lost wages, or anything stressful. I was just right there, right then. We were there together.

After my moment with the deer, I went to Lowe’s. There I told the ladies at the customer service desk that I’d like to return an item (a package of nuts and bolts). Well, one of the ladies said, “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s No-Returns Thursday.”

“Oh, no,” I laughed. “Not No-Returns Thursday!”

Then the other lady said, “Don’t worry. We’ll make an exception for you because you have great hair.”

Phew, I thought, my great hair saves the day again.

(For the record, my hair has never saved the day before today.)

I can’t tell you how much this interaction thrilled me. Earlier today I stopped by the bank to reorder checks (which I also did last week, but the checks came back with a spelling error on them–the orderer typed NPRTH instead of NORTH), and whereas the teller was pleasant and helpful, she wasn’t playful. Maybe that wouldn’t be appropriate at a bank, but my point is that we often take ourselves and what we’re doing so seriously that we miss the living, breathing people standing in front of us. We forget that we can make of any moment what we want to. We forget that regardless of our life circumstances we can have fun.

We can be right here, right now together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

For I am a universe–large–like you are, and there is room here for all that we contain. An ego, of course, is small, and it is disgusted and humiliated by the smallest of things. But a universe is bigger than that, much too big to judge itself or another, much too big to ever question how bright it is shining.

"

The Internet, My Ass, and Other Things That Drag (Blog #283)

Currently it’s seven in the evening, the weather outside is cold and wet, and my internet speed is dragging ass, as am I. That being said, things could be worse. Things could always be worse. On the upside, I just took a shower and actually shaved my face. Please alert the media. The biggest news, however, is that I’ve lost weight. A while back I blogged about letting go of the idea that I’d ever be 180 pounds again, that I’d ever lose those last three pounds. Well, since the holidays I’ve been doing “what the hell ever” with my diet, meaning I’ve been eating peanut butter out of the jar. So I’ve been assuming that I’ve been gaining weight, not losing it. But when I got on the scale today, there it was–180 pounds exactly. Go figure.

Of course, my first thought was, Wouldn’t 175 be nice?

Aside from noticing that I’m never quite satisfied, I’ve been thinking that sometimes you just have to stop trying so hard. This is difficult for someone like me, someone who considers himself a do-er, to do. However, along those lines, I’m giving it a shot today. In terms of my diet, I just ate some more peanut butter (while giving my body the silent directive, Let’s metabolize!) In terms of my physical health, I’ve stuck to last night’s decision to stay off the internet, to stop looking up my symptoms and home remedies. Just be sick, Marcus. Just let your ass drag.

I just paused to back up tonight’s progress, and my internet is so slow that it took ten minutes to save and reload. Seriously, this is worse than dial-up. I feel like I’m in high school again, downloading pictures of Scott Wolf and Leonardo DiCaprio to my A drive. (A drives are what old computers used for 3.5″ floppy disks and not a sexual euphemism, Mom.) Anyway, clearly the universe is out to teach me patience–through my physical body, through my circumstances (I’m living with my parents!), through the damn internet. I guess it thinks I need help in this area.

But what American doesn’t?

Now I’m restless, ready to be done with this, go eat some more peanut butter. Maybe talking about patience isn’t the way to acquire it. I keep thinking about what to say next. Last night I watched a Netflix documentary called Holy Hell, about a religious cult led by an abusive, Speedo-wearing, former-porn-star homosexual. Y’all, one of his “disciples” made him a fruit salad–every morning–that looked like The Last Supper or something similar–as an act of service. For over twenty years, this man was able to convince hundreds of adult men and women that he was a divine messenger–like Jesus. And I have trouble getting a dozen people to like my status on Facebook.

Obviously I’m doing something wrong.

I’m not sure how this cult story fits into tonight’s blog, but I’ve been thinking about all the crazy things people think, do, and get themselves involved in. Personally, I’ve never joined a cult, but I have joined some internet forums that are pretty far out there, gone to a few weekend retreats about “energy healing” that would raise some eyebrows. Just with respect to my recent sinus infection, I’ve tried (and blogged about) a number of “crazy” treatments. I plan to try more before the week’s over. Thankfully, I don’t catch much flack for most of what I do, but whenever I do catch flack, here’s what I think about it–If you were in my shoes, you’d understand.

Along these lines, Byron Katie says that we are all believers and have to act out of our beliefs. For example, if you had a sinus infection and believed you had to do something about it, you’d be all over the internet. Or if you felt lost and believed some guy meditating in a Speedo could lead you to God, you’d follow him and make him a fruit salad every day. Likewise, if I believed what you believed, I’d do whatever it is that you’re doing–worrying about my finances, arguing with my partner, getting Botox, whatever.

Patience is about acceptance.

This is something I think about a lot, beliefs and what comes from believing them. Like, I know I can cause myself a lot of grief if I believe that I need to weigh less than I do in this moment or that things in my life need to move faster than they are. That second one is a big hang-up for me–I always think the internet, my ass, and even the universe are dragging along. Ultimately, I think patience isn’t so much about endurance, gritting your teeth and waiting for whatever it is to happen. Rather, I think it’s about acceptance, realizing that you’re pushing against the entire universe if you want right here, right now to move any faster or be any different than it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Freedom lies on the other side of everything you're afraid of.

"

Working on Crowd Control (Blog #188)

Currently it’s after midnight, and I’m house sitting for some good friends who have two cats named Oscar and Riley. Just moments ago I sneaked a selfie with Riley, who’s hanging out on the dining room table. I’ll be here for a while, so expect a lot of pictures of me and cats. I mean, they’re adorable, even though Riley threw up this afternoon, probably to let me know that my stay here isn’t going to be a complete cakewalk. Or maybe the vomit was just a commentary on my outfit. It’s hard to say because I don’t speak feline. Anyway, in addition to having two cats, my friends also have a hot tub, and I’ve told myself I can’t use it tonight until I finish blogging. I figure that’s better than coming in all limp and tired and passing out on my keyboard. But if this ends up being my shortest blog yet, you’ll know why.

I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve spent the afternoon watching so much Netflix that my eyeballs feel like they’re going to fall out and roll across the floor, right past the cat vomit. (Just kidding, I cleaned it up.) I started with an episode of Embarrassing Bodies, then delved into a documentary called The Perfect Physique about the world’s top male fitness models. It was fascinating. One of the guys was the current Mr. Universe, another guy had a backpack specially designed for meal prep, and I’m pretty sure all of them had muscles in their earlobes. Of course, I’m always interested in psychology, so what I found most fascinating was why several of the guys got into body building to begin with. One of them had a wife who left him for a weightlifter. Another got bullied as a child. And even after winning Mr. Universe, that guy said he still wasn’t happy because he had to maintain his title and there’s always more to achieve.

I think what interests me about all this is that I often get pretty hung up on looks. I see someone on the cover of a magazine, and it’s easy to assume they have their all their shit together. But–duh–they’re only humans, each with his own story, motivations, and fears. All of us think we’ll be happy when, but happiness is an inside job. After all, if happiness is attached to having something like the perfect physique, a certain job, or so much money in your bank account, what happens when those things change?

Earlier today I saw my therapist–not like at the grocery store, but for therapy. We talked about the dream I had about her last week and the fact that her hair was unkempt in the dream. Well, over three years of therapy has paid off–my guess was right. Her messy hair had to do with my vanity and concern for outward appearances. I said that lately I haven’t been hyper focused on my physical body, but rather my circumstances–no boyfriend, no job, no place of my own, stuff like that. First, she reminded me that the image I have in my head of a successful man is a heterosexual stereotype, and I should take better advantage of the fact that I’m a homosexual and keep doing things the way I want to do them. Second, she said there are a lot of people who would trade places with me in a heartbeat.

I told my therapist that really, I’m the only one judging me. No one else in my life is giving me shit for anything. (She said this was partly the result of my having “cleaned house” with my relationships.) Then she said, “Yeah, you’re performing for an audience of one, and you’re a tough critic.” Then she added,

“You need to do some serious crowd control.”

After the Netflix documentary about the muscle gods, I went for a run for the first time in several weeks. Normally I would shoot for a solid hour of running, but–in the vein of being gentle with myself–I stopped when my body said to (around thirty minutes) and walked the rest of the way home. Feeling motivated, I sautéed some chicken and spinach for dinner. Well–apparently–it takes more than thirty minutes of cardio and one healthy meal to get on the cover of a fitness magazine, since no one’s contacted me about a photo shoot despite the fact that I’m right here metabolizing as we speak, in my underwear no less.

In addition to Netflix, I’ve been bingeing on self-help reading material lately. For a while I’ve been working through Pema Chodron’s Comfortable with Uncertainty, earlier this week I finished Childhood Disrupted (about how stress in childhood contributes to illness in later life), and I just started a book about a therapy technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). I also have two other books cued up to read, but–suffice it to say–it’s a lot even for me. Anyway, part of this is my love of learning, but another part is the feeling that I need to change or fix something.

Specifically, me.

In this moment, we are all okay.

When my therapist and I talked about this today, she said that the desire for constant self-improvement carries with it a certain feeling of “I’m not good enough the way I am.” Pema Chodron refers to this as a subtle form of self-aggression. So I’m working on my relationship with my inner critic. Clearly he’s had his say, and it’s gotten us this far. But my therapist is right–it’s time for some crowd control. If I want to change something, fine. But I can do it because I love me and want my life to be different, not because there’s a problem with me right here, right now. In this moment, I’m okay. (I’m about to get in a hot tub.) But really–in this moment, we are all okay.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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.

"