On Gays and Egg Salad (Blog #1038)

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It’s almost midnight, and for the last thirty minutes I’ve been staring at my laptop trying to figure out what to write. (I got nothing.) Honestly, I’m dog tired. My bed is six feet away, and I’d much rather be over than over here. Indeed, my body is crying out for sleep. This evening I went out for Mexican food with my friend Aaron, and my head almost fell into the cheese dip. That being said, I still had a wonderful time and managed to stay more than alert for the drive home. But seriously, as soon as this blog is over, I’m out like a light.

I guess part of the reason I’m exhausted is because I didn’t get much sleep last night and have been going all day. Plus, I’ve eaten a lot. My insulin is working overtime. This morning I ate at a brunch buffet with friends and had three helpings. You know, to get ready for the Super Bowl, the official favorite holiday of gay men. (That was a joke, Mom. The official favorite holiday of gay men is Halloween. Because we get to pretend like we’re someone we’re not. Ironic, I know. You’d think all those years in the closet would have been enough pretending.) Anyway, after brunch, me and one of my friends ran around to a couple antique shops and one bookstore, where I bought an old book about nautical astronomy (how to navigate ships by the stars) for a dollar.

Something I’ve been thinking about tonight is how every book is a world unto itself. For example, the book I bought today includes charts and tables that if correctly read, understood, and used, would allow one to sail a ship around the globe using only the stars (and sun and moon and horizon, I’m assuming) for guidance. Talk about amazing. I can barely get to an out-of-town shopping mall without a GPS and three Hail Marys. But I digress. My point is that any book, fiction or non-fiction, has the power to open to you new and (hopefully) exciting ways of seeing the world. New ways of understanding. New ways of believing.

Along these lines, lately I’ve been thinking of individuals as books, each with his own way of perceiving, each with her own story to tell. And whereas our lives obviously overlap with the lives of others and we’re written into the chapters of our friends and families, no two books–er, no two lives–are exactly the same. Byron Katie says that each of us lives on a different planet, in a completely different solar system than everybody else. Meaning that in your book, in your world, gay people may be hated by God (or you rather, since we’re talking about the God in YOUR head) and condemned to hell. In mine, not so much. At one point this afternoon my friend’s sibling offered them egg salad, which the sibling obviously loved. “Ick,” my friend said. “I could never.”

See? Two different novels, two different stories. The story of “egg salad is delightful,” the story of “egg salad is shit.”

More and more, it’s becoming important for me to let people have their story and let people have their world. What I mean is that I have less and less interest in trying to change people, in trying to convince anyone that gays and egg salad are fabulous. This afternoon I stood amid thousands of books, and only one of them seemed so interesting that I reached for my wallet. But what? Am I going to insist that the other books be banned? Certainly not. Every book has a right to exist. Likewise, so does every person have a right to exist. Exactly as they are. With all of their experiences, opinions, and judgments. However contrary to mine or yours. This is love. It doesn’t demand that the people around us change one iota. Rather, it appreciates the fact that every book reads differently.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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On Answers I Need (Blog #879)

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Yesterday I read in Gayle Delaney’s Living Your Dreams that you can incubate your dreams, or rather, ask your subconscious questions and get answers in the form of dreams. And whereas I’ve tried this before with little success, Delaney suggested a technique I hadn’t tried, so I gave it a shot last night and asked about my tension headaches. “What’s causing them and what can I do about them?” I wrote in my dream journal. Then I thought of everything I’ve tried to help my headaches, reasons I might find them “useful” (because they help me slow down), and whether or not and how I’d be willing to change so they could go away. Then I concentrated on my question until I fell asleep.

The theory behind dream incubation says that even if you don’t dream about your specific subject in question the night you ask about it–and you probably won’t–assume that whatever you do dream about is you answer. (Why, Marcus?) Because your subconscious, which speaks in symbols, is smart, is listening, and wants to help.

That’s the theory, at least.

In response to my asking about my tension headaches, what my subconscious offered me was a series of four or five dreams, which at first blush had nothing to do with one another. However, again, dream theory says that one night’s dreams usually amount to one topic or message. In other words, your subconscious repeats itself (because most of us don’t get it the first time). Sure enough, after waking up this morning and writing down my dreams, I realized they all dealt largely with one subject–men. And whereas for time’s sake I’ll spare you ALL the specific dream details, I will share some highlights and what I’m taking away from them. Before I do, since my dreams fit this pattern, I should say that another facet of dream theory says that a series of dreams will often communicate–this is what’s been going on (past), this is what’s going on (present), and this is what will go on (future).

In terms of the past, my first dream took place in a forest, a place I felt lost. There I was taking pictures, which I sometimes associate with watching other people live their lives and not really living your own. Specifically, I was taking pictures of Patrick Swayze, whom I take to be the quintessential talented, hot man. Also, he happens to be (or was) a dancer, like I am. This commonality between one’s self and a dream figure/celebrity is a clue, Delaney says, that the figure represents part of you that you haven’t fully recognized, owned, or integrated (talented, hot). Lastly, I should say that in my dream Patrick Swayze had a naked butt.

If only your dreams were so good.

In terms of my present, my second dream involved my speaking to some friends about housesitting, which I’ve been doing a lot of lately. During the conversation I mention that as a house sitter I sometimes put the mail in the wrong place. As I do, I notice I feel embarrassed. (See Patrick Swayze above: em-bare-assed). Later I’m at a tennis court, which I associate with waiting (and a lot of back-and-forth), something I definitely feel I’m doing a bit of lately, especially in terms of healing. Anyway, then I’m back with one of my friends that I’d describe as a hard worker (and sometimes sick), and I put my head in his lap. As I do, I imagine that he feels somewhat uncomfortable.

In terms of my future, my third dream involved me waiting (waiting again) on a pilot (someone who helps things “take off”). Eventually, one comes, someone I’d call passionate and confident. Later, one (hot) straight man is congratulating another because he (the second one) is about to go to the moon. As this is going on, I have my hand on the first guy’s right shoulder. (Incidentally, my right shoulder has been hurting for a while now.) Then this guy and I have a conversation about straight guys and gay guys, and it feels like there’s mutual respect and understanding between us.

I said earlier that for me the theme that ties these dreams together is men. What I mean is that for the longest time I felt like straight guys were “real men” but gay guys weren’t. That I wasn’t. This is evidenced in my first dream about watching other people live their lives and not recognizing my own gifts and abilities but rather being embarrassed by who I am. I could go on for a long time about this because I don’t think I came to this I’m-less-of-a-person-because-I’m-gay idea on my own. Indeed, having grown up in the south, in the church, and in a Christian school, I know I didn’t. But it’s not just these groups. Our society as a whole teaches that straight men are simply better than gay men in every way (well, except maybe decorating and–I don’t know–keeping our nails clean). Even better if you’re straight, white, and rich. Robert Ohotto says that when he intuitively reads a gay man’s energy system, they almost always show signs of being abused even if they haven’t been abused physically or sexually. Why? Because when a society systematically teaches a person that who they are is wrong, shameful, different, strange, bad, embarrassing, and less-than, that’s abuse.

This would, of course, apply to almost all minorities, including women.

For me, my second dream is about my beginning to make peace with the misconceptions I grew up with. This is evidenced by my saying that I sometimes put the mail (the male) in the wrong place. That is, sometimes I think that because a man is straight or rich (productive) while I’m gayly house sitting or, um, waiting for something else to come along, that somehow makes him more of a human, more worthy than I am. I often mention my thinking I need to always be productive, and I think my putting my head in the lap of my friend who’s a hard worker is indicative of the part of me that needs to rest and the part of me that needs to work coming to terms with each other. Like my friend in the dream (who’s me, really), I’m not always comfortable with this because–again–the idea of productivity has been pretty drilled into me.

“Real men are productive.”

My therapist says that one nice thing about my being gay is that I don’t have to play by the same rules as the rest of society. I can say, “Fuck you and your productivity, straighties!” Ultimately, I think the answer for me is in my third dream, the one that featured the guy who goes to the moon, which I associate with the feminine. Not that I’m going to GO to the feminine, but I am working on integrating my masculine and feminine sides. This is something I think everyone should do–because we all have them. Also, I’m working on having a mutual respect and understanding for not just straight guys, but also for all guys–because if you think there aren’t “better” and “less-than” in the gay world, you’re mistaken. (As Jack McFarland says, “No pecs, no sex.). I guess we all create hierarchies. But the truth is we’re all equal, we’re all even.

Now, will any of this help my headaches? Hell if I know. I’ve had a killer one all evening. But whether or not my dreams have the answers to MY questions, I am convinced that they have answers, answers I need.

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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A Long-Lost Friend (Blog #783)

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Yesterday I took a nap at the house where I was house sitting. (Today was my last day.) And whereas the nap was wonderful, I was up until almost four this morning. First I exercised. Then I read. My brain wouldn’t turn off. Eventually I passed out, but then I woke up to go to the bathroom (I’m over thirty), then to let the dog out. Finally, at nine, I stopped trying to go back to sleep. Instead, I made breakfast then read a book while I did laundry, then I started packing. This is one thing about house sitting I don’t like–moving all my things in, moving all my things out. Granted, I could just take one bag, but I’m gay.

Gay men have–so–many–bags.

While staying up last night I listened to a podcast about somatics. As I understand it, somatics is a mind/body approach to healing that encourages tuning into outer and inner physical sensations. Here’s another way of explaining it. Recently I asked a friend, “Where do you live in your body (your chest, your head)?” They said, “I try not to. Like, if I have a pain, I ignore it.” I get this. My go-to response with pain is to push passed it. To hyper focus on whatever task is at hand and hope the pain will go away. But because everything I’ve been reading and leaning about lately (like somatics) has encouraged drawing closer to and even welcoming your pain, I’m doing my best to change this habit.

In my experience, drawing closer to my pain doesn’t always make it go away, but it does make it less than it was before. I suppose one reason for this is because when I’m in pain, there’s the pain, then there’s the fear I have about it. For example, my shoulder has been hurting for months now, and when I get in certain positions, I automatically tense up in order to protect myself. Of course, this doesn’t help my tension headaches or encourage relaxation. But by drawing near and approaching my pain with curiosity, the fear I have dissipates. The tension lessons.

One somatics exercise the podcast recommended was to either sit or lie down and simply notice how your body feels. Is there more pressure on one side than the other? Then notice if you’re uncomfortable at all and if there’s any way you could adjust to feel even slightly better. This was the best thing for me to hear, since I often force my body into uncomfortable positions for the sake of better posture. However, according to the podcast, creating unnecessary tension or pain, for any reason, triggers the body’s sympathetic nervous system, which is associated with fight or flight mode. But if you can position yourself in such a way as to alleviate tension or pain, you can trigger the body’s parasympathetic nervous system. Consequently, so the theory goes, your body will relax on its own.

As last night was the first time I tried this technique, I can’t speak to it definitively. That being said, I have been playing around with it for the last twenty-four hours, and it works as well as anything else I’ve tried. For example, I normally carry a lot of tension in my right neck and my gaze is ever-turned in that direction. Because I obsess about it, I often force myself to look straight on. (This always feels like a fight.) But last night and today I’ve been letting my neck go where it wants to. And here’s the cool thing–not only does my neck feel better, I notice that my entire upper body relaxes and my breathing deepens. It’s like this chain reaction. Calm down one part of the body, and other parts follow.

This afternoon I got a haircut from my friend Bekah, who was babysitting her nine-month-old grandson. After the haircut was over, I thought I was about to leave, but Bekah got a phone call and–just like that–handed me her grandbaby. Y’all, he was the sweetest thing. Often children cry when I hold them, but not this boy. He just hung out. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about how smart babies are. Not because they pee on themselves, but because of the way they move, sit up, crawl, and walk. No one has to teach them. They just know what to do. Said another way, their bodies just know what to do.

This is something I’ve really been working to get back to–the inherent wisdom of the body. For so long, because my body’s been sick or in pain, I’ve made it The Enemy. I assumed it hasn’t had The Answers. Consequently, I haven’t been fully present in my body. I haven’t been fully present FOR my body. And yet still it’s continued to work for me, to do its best. Now, as I do my best to approach it as one would a long-lost friend, I absolutely believe it has much to tell me. The Answers. As much as I believe a gay man has many bags, I believe the body has many secrets, secrets it’s willing to share if we will simply draw near to it rather than push it away. No, we don’t heal by pushing any part of ourselves away.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

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People and Possessions (Blog #509)

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Last night I worked until three in the morning helping my friends pack for their upcoming move, then came home and went for a mile-and-a-half run. It’s weird how you can be absolutely exhausted and still feel like you’ve got to burn off some energy. Anyway, I went to bed about four-thirty, slept for four hours, then woke up to meet my friends at ten. (The movers came this morning to evaluate our progress, since the big “load up” is later this week.) And whereas the movers said we packed the dishes wrong (we stacked them like you would in a cabinet , on their bottoms, instead of on their apparently sturdier sides), they said we pretty much had it licked and that they could prepare the rest (furniture, lamps, etc.) on the day of the move.

Phew.

Running strictly on willpower and caffeine, my friends and I spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon finishing up. As we’ve been working in their bedroom and therefore dealing with their personal things, I’ve spent most the day looking under and behind furniture for lost whatevers, taking items to be donated, and hauling trash to the dump. (I snagged the sweet red bandana in today’s selfie from the giveaway pile.) This really is a fascinating gig, seeing what people choose to hang on to and choose to let go of. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure and all that. Of course, having been through this process, I get it. Possessions are personal.

Until they’re not anymore.

By far, the SWEETEST thing I’ve come across in over two weeks of helping my friends pack, I found this morning. Check it out. It’s an honest-to-god Jazzercise record that promises to condition your body, lift your spirits, and put a smile on your face and a bounce in your step!–pretty much everything except send you to heaven. Plus, it says it’s a “wild and woolly” workout. Talk about exciting!

That being said, “woolly” and workout are two words I would never use together if I were trying to promise someone a good time. But then again, I’m not into bears. (Extremely hairy gay men are called “bears,” Mom. Slightly hair gay men–now that we’re talking about it–are called “otters.”)

“The more you know.”

Now it’s nine in the evening, and I’m barely holding my head up. I’m still at my friends’ house working, although I’ve obviously taken a break to blog. I know I’ve been saying it for the last week, but we really are almost done. I think all that’s left to pack is their toiletries (probably not a job for me), then all the tape, tape guns, and magic markers we’ve been using TO pack and label everything.

(Oh shit–I just realized–however will we seal up and label THAT box!?)

For me, today has been bittersweet. On one hand, I’m happy this huge project is coming to a close. It’s been tough stuff, and my body is tired. But on the other hand, it’s been good–fun–working and being around my friends. Having spent most of my adult life working alone, I’ve really enjoyed laughing “on the job” and eating lunches WITH other people. Mostly, I’m simply grateful. These friends of mine started off as dance students. Some random day they wandered into my studio, and we’ve been in and out of each others’ lives ever since. I don’t know. I guess a part of me wants to hang on. But, of course, people and possessions have this one thing in common–

You can’t hang on to them forever.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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No Goose Is Worth Chasing (Blog #226)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the morning, which I guess means I met my goal of starting tonight’s blog before 3:00. As we speak, the house is cold, so I have a comforter wrapped around my shoulders like an old lady. I’m pretending the comforter is John Stamos. I’ve heard he likes to cuddle, and this is the perfect weather for it. Earlier I took a nap on the futon, and when I woke up, the television was screaming, the microwave was beeping, and Dad was belching. This is my life, I thought. Now the television is off, my parents are asleep, and all I can hear is the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the clacking of this keyboard. Silence never sounded so good.

Isn’t that right, John?

Yesterday I wrote about waking up on the wrong side of the bed and the fact that I was in a piss-poor mood all day. Well, today things have considerably improved. My body’s felt better all the way around, and I’ve actually been happy. This, I think, is one of the benefits to daily writing and self-reflection. It’s not that I don’t have “bad days” anymore, but fewer days get labeled that way (because they’re not “all bad”) and fewer bad days bleed over into the following days because they get analyzed and silver-lining-ed every night.

This afternoon I met my friend Lorena for coffee and watched her eat a cherry pastry while I ate a salad that tasted like air. Considering the salad was made of greens and grilled chicken and not a quarter pounder with cheese, it also wasn’t very filling. Plus, I’m pretty sure that half the salad got stuck in my teeth, so I basically spent eleven dollars to floss with kale and rinse my mouth out with hazelnut coffee. But perhaps all the dieting is worth it, since Lorena said my waistline looked fabulous.

And oh yeah–I almost forgot–I feel better too. (Yippee.)

For about three hours, Lorena and I did a lot of laughing. In an otherwise quiet restaurant, I’m pretty sure we were “those people.” When I told Lorena about a straight woman who used to have a crush on me (and pursued me even though she knew I was gay), Lorena said, “Did she think you were going to put your chocolate in her peanut butter?” Oh my gosh, y’all, I nearly died. Now all I can think about is peanut butter–but the real kind, not the euphemism. To be clear, I never think about the euphemism. (That’s what makes me gay.)

Lorena and I talked about this for a while–women who go after gay men. I mean, I get it–we talk about our feelings and like to go to the opera–some girls like that in a man–I know I do. But having had a woman pursue me more than once over the years, I can’t tell you how exhausting it is, since to me it always feels like, It’s never going to happen, Alice. Of course, if it’s exhausting for me, it’s got to be exhausting for the other person, to want something you can’t have. At least that’s been my experience, having several times crushed on gay and straight men who simply weren’t interested. So I have compassion for anyone whose heart leads them on a wild goose chase.

My friend George says crushes like these start off as fun, progress to fun with pain, then end with just pain. Think about it–how could they not? And anytime someone’s gotten carried away with me or I’ve carried away with someone else, the only answer that’s ever worked has been a boundary that looked like time and distance apart. It’s never been enough to say, “Cheryl, I’m gay,” or, “Marcus, he’s straight, can’t spell, and isn’t old enough to legally rent a car” then continue seeing the person as friends. I guess this is because feelings usually don’t respond to logic, especially when the object of their desire is paraded in front of them on a regular basis.

This is why I don’t keep cherry pastries around the house. My willpower is only so strong.

Of course, this is a lesson I’ve learned (and am learning) the hard way. I can’t tell you the number of female friendships I’ve had over the years that went south because attraction got involved and no one said anything until it was too late. In those situations, I almost always asked for time and space because it’s not fair to anyone for two people to be approaching a relationship of any kind with two different and opposite expectations. Likewise, in situations where I’ve been the infatuated person, I’ve had to either be shut down or shut myself down by stepping away from guys who–for one reason or another–weren’t good for me. Okay, Marcus, no texting, calling, or creeping on him, him, and (definitely not) him. John Stamos just doesn’t like you like that. Rules like this can be difficult to enforce, but I see them as acts of self-respect and self-care, since I know from experience that I’m protecting myself from further trouble and heartache down the road.

Often a little silence is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance.

I think what’s good about time and space is that they give you a perspective you simply can’t get when you’re too close to something or someone. We all like to think that we can see clearly a hundred percent of the time, but when our chocolate and peanut butter get involved, that’s obviously not the case. It’s like trying to think when your parents are awake and making noise–it ain’t gonna happen. Honestly, I think infatuations are a lot like addictions, little habits like smoking or junk-food eating we let ourselves slip into from time to time and think we can’t live without. So we get carried away. But (duh) we can live without those things, and often a little distance–a little silence–is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance, to remind us what we’re really looking for in ourselves and other people, and to remember that no goose is worth chasing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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