Working on Crowd Control (Blog #188)

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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)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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Insides and Outsides (Blog #182)

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It’s two in the morning, and I just got back from an almost three-hour walk. A friend of mine recently said this sort of thing was dangerous, but I’ve yet to have a problem. Most the town is well-lit, there aren’t any cars out, and so far the animals have left me alone. Plus, it’s Van Buren. That being said, I did have a shirtless guy follow me for about two blocks tonight, so I kept glancing back over my shoulder–not because he was shirtless, but because it’s odd for me to see others when I’m out (and maybe I’m paranoid). Well, the guy must have read my mind because he said, “I’m not following you–I’m just going the same direction you are.” I said, “No problem–have a good night,” but thought, Oh, thank god, he doesn’t want to kill me.

I mean, who wants to die in stretch pants?

This afternoon I read part of one book, finished another (the creativity workbook I’ve been reading for three months), and started another. Then while I was walking, I listened to a lecture, an interview, and the first several chapters of a book on tape. I loved all of it, but my brain is currently mush, so don’t ask me to tell you what any of it was about. I don’t think I could even tell you what my name is at this point. Also, after walking so long, I have a kink in my back and my feet smell like a jock strap. I really wish burning calories didn’t have so many side effects.

Now the house is mostly silent. Mom’s got chemotherapy tomorrow, so she’s sleeping, or at least trying to. Normally she’d be up and the television would be on. I usually think of it all as a distraction from writing, but now that things are so quiet, all I want to do is sleep. Oh, yuck, there’s a big bug, maybe a beetle or a cockroach, crawling across the living room floor. Okay, it’s gone now. (Out of sight, out of mind.) Anyway, maybe I can find a point here somewhere, wrap this up, brush my teeth, and go to bed.

Maybe.

For lunch today–okay, fine, it was breakfast at noon–I met a friend at Friday’s. When I got home, my Dad said, “You ate at Friday’s on a THURSDAY?” I said, “Dad–duh–it’s ALWAYS Friday at Friday’s.” Besides brunch (we’ll just call it brunch), I really can’t convey just how underwhelming the day was. I went to Kinko’s and the post office, and–if it’s not already obvious–I didn’t get laid at either location. Later, in the middle of book number one, I took a nap. Of course, if you’re older than thirty-five, you know–this was actually the most exciting part of my day. Well, that and the meatball sub I had for dinner.

And did I mention I live with my parents?

In other news, my car, Tom Collins, is no longer a Christian. If it’s even possible, he’s lost his salvation. More accurately, I took it from him. I’ll explain. When I got Tom Collins a couple months ago, the previous owner had put a “Jesus fish” (ichthus) on the back. Well, I like Jesus just fine, but I’ve never been one for putting bumper stickers on my cars or advertising my spiritual life on the back of my vehicle. (If you do, that’s fine.) Plus–and I’m not kidding–the ichthus symbol was once associated with the goddess Venus and used to represent the vagina, and I’d hate for anyone in traffic to get the wrong idea about me. Anyway, did you know you can take those things off with hair dryers?

Jesus fish decals, not vaginas. (I think those are permanently attached, but I’ve never personally tried to remove one.)

Now that we’re talking about vaginas (and I can’t believe we’re talking about vaginas), I saw a lot of them last night on an episode of Embarrassing Bodies. According to the medical show, most women who have them don’t even look at them, let alone examine them. Y’all, I learned all sorts of things–what a vulva is (it’s not a car I myself would want to drive), how I would give myself a vulva exam–if I had one. Granted, I’m not sure what I’ll ever do with this information, but I still think it’s interesting. Actually, the big takeaway for me was just how shy and non-intimate most people are about their most intimate parts. So many women don’t go for pap smears. Overall, so many people live with unnecessary health problems because they’re essentially embarrassed about their bodies and afraid to talk about them.

Let’s stop that.

Early in my self-help journey, I read a quote by Louise Hay that said, “The anus is as beautiful as the ear.” Sure, it’s not something you’d likely put on a refrigerator magnet or bumper sticker, but I’ve come to see a lot of wisdom in that statement. As a society we’ve said that certain parts of the body are okay and others aren’t. The truth is that all parts of the body are lovely, mysterious, and full of wonder. Likewise, it’s easy to think that certain emotions or experiences are more “okay” than others. You know, there’s just some things we don’t talk about it. But if I’ve learned anything in therapy, it’s that it’s okay to talk about anything (with the right person). In fact, it’s healthier to get it out than to keep it in.

How exactly I went from a long walk and smelly feet to Jesus fish and vaginas, I’m not quite sure. Maybe this is what happens when I read and listen to so many different things that my mind starts to resemble Malt-O-Meal. But I know that I often get hung up on what’s outside–how I look, how other people look–and I’ve often made the mistake of judging a book by its cover. But the truth is you can’t judge a person’s insides by their outsides. Just because a guy has his shirt off doesn’t make him a punk. Just because someone has a fish on their car doesn’t make them a Christian. Lastly, just because something is wrong with your body or feels embarrassing doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."

As It Turns Out, I’m Normal (Blog #179)

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I got up early today, I have to get up early tomorrow, and I just spent the last hour watching The Voice with my parents instead of writing. We also ate gas station pizza. Today I had lunch with my friend Ray, and he asked if I ever wanted to say, “Fuck it,” and skip a day of blogging. “Only every day,” I said. “Recently I thought, Maybe I could just double up tomorrow and sleep for a change.” Ray said, “That seems like a slippery slope.” I agree, so this is it, this is my life. I write when I’m happy, I write when I’m sad. Most days, I write when I’m tired. I guess this is how parents of infants feel–sleep deprived–putting something (or someone, rather) before themselves. At least my laptop doesn’t require diapers and my blog doesn’t throw up on me.

Now that I think about it, I throw up on my blog.

Last night, unable to go to bed “early,” I started a new Netflix series at three in the morning. The show is called Embarrassing Bodies, and it’s about three British doctors who set up shop in the middle of town so everyday people with medical problems can walk in, sit down, strip down, and get some damn answers. Last night’s episode was about skin disorders, and people showed up with acne, warts, psoriasis, itchy penises, and oversized vaginas. Y’all I was raised in church. I saw more skin than a teenager sees on a porn site. Except for the part when they gave a man a breast reduction and actually cut his nipple off, I couldn’t look away. It was fascinating.

Today I saw my therapist and told her about recently being at a party and comparing myself to other people. I said, “I mean, there is a part of my brain that gets that just because someone is pretty doesn’t mean they have their shit together.” Seriously, my therapist got out of her super comfortable chair she rarely gets out of, gave me a high-five, and did a victory lap around her office. (I thought I was going to have to hand her a water bottle.) But when she sat back down, she said, “When you see someone who’s all put together on the outside, they’re most likely NOT put together on the inside because we only have so much energy to spend on ourselves. The more effort a person puts into impression management, the less effort they have to work on their interior.”

I said, “I’m glad I can recognize that looks aren’t everything, but whenever I’m in those situations, there’s still a part of me that feels like everyone else is a handsome adult and I’m just a teenager with zits on my face.” Then she said, “So why can’t it be both? Why can’t you feel both ways? Our society is so obsessed with black-or-white thinking, but life is gray. It’s okay to feel two things at once.”

Oh. Phew. That’s good to know.

This afternoon I went to a bookstore, bought a book called The Dream Giver by Bruce Wilkinson, then went to the library and read it. I also checked out another book, even though I’m currently reading several others. This is a little game I like to play with myself–always thinking I’ll read more than I actually will. Anyway, The Dream Giver is written from a Christian perspective and–in part–is told as a parable. Specifically, it’s about a guy named Ordinary who is a Nobody but wants to be a Somebody and see his Big Dream come true. What I loved about the book is that it says we all have dreams we are born with, things we were meant to do or be. It also says that dreams are always outside your comfort zone, there will always be obstacles and challenges, and–at some point–you’ll definitely, most certainly, and without-a-doubt feel like giving up.

Uh, accurate.

Here’s a seemingly random picture of me, my friend Jake, and his girlfriend, Karyn. They both live in Canada, and we had lunch recently when they visited. The reason the picture isn’t random is because Jake is the one who told me about The Dream Giver. (Thanks, Jake.)

Last night on Embarrassing Bodies, person after person sat down with the doctors and said, “I’m so embarrassed by this skin tag on my butt hole,” or, “I’m so embarrassed the skin on my legs has cracked and bled for the last twelve years. I never go to the beach.” Watching the patients, I was filled with compassion. I thought, It’s okay, you’re only human. Along those lines, the doctors were wonderful. In almost every case, they said, “This thing you’re worried about is really common. We see it all the time and we have an answer.” But the line that got me was, “People shouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed because we’re all basically the same.”

Honestly, I think this is often what I’m looking for–the confirmation that I’m “normal” or “not alone.” Just seeing one episode of Embarrassing Bodies has already made me feel better about my body. As for my interior, I love that my therapist said it’s okay to carry around two feelings at once. I don’t have to feel just one way–I don’t have to be any different than I am in this moment. Talk about a relief. And in terms of my dreams, it’s good to read about other dreamers, dreamers who have gone before me. Once again, they say, “You’re okay.” Sure, there will be days when you want to throw in the towel, quit writing, eat pizza, and watch The Voice. That’s normal. There will even be days when you think moving back home–or whatever–is a setback. Don’t worry. It’s really just an opportunity to rest and find out who you are and what you’re made of before the journey really picks up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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