The Lost Art of Moseying (Blog #946)

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Earlier this week a friend called and asked if I wanted to ride with them to Tulsa today to pick up an antique lamp they recently dropped off to have repaired. And whereas I knew I’d be going to Tulsa tomorrow for both business and pleasure, I said, “Sure, I want to spend time with you.” The older I get, the more it’s important to me to spend time with the people who really count, even if it means getting up WAY earlier than usual, which I had to do this morning. Like, my alarm went off at seven, when it was still dark out. Y’all, I know my waking and sleeping hours are often turned upside down, but c’mon, it’s just arrogant getting up before the sun. What, you think you’re better than the center of our universe?

Despite my not being a morning person, believe it or not, I can–literally–rise to the occasion. Today I got myself together and managed to get to my friend’s on time. Well, fine. I was eight minutes late. And whereas my friend seemed a little put out, they quickly joked, “You’re ALWAYS late.” As my therapist would say, at least I’m consistent.

Marcus Coker–you can count on me to be there–five to ten minutes after I said I would be.

That’s me, predictable.

Thankfully, I wasn’t in charge of anything today. All I had to do was tag along and be a sidekick. Well, I take that back. I was in charge of deciding our lunch spot, but I ended up having some help. After my friend and I picked up their lamp and went somewhere else to buy a shade, we roamed around an antique store. The owner was super friendly, a real hoot. My friend said, “Your shop is freezing! I’d buy more if it were warmer.” The guy, who was wearing shorts despite the fact that it was fifty degrees outside (and inside I’m guessing), nearly died. Anyway, I asked him where we should eat. “Go to Vista at the Boathouse. It’s part of the Gathering Place [a new park],” he said. “I think you’ll say, ‘I’m glad we did this.'”

Boy was he ever right. My friend and I went to Vista at the Boathouse, and the atmosphere was great, the food fabulous. Just the right thing. After I downed two brisket tacos and a plateful of jerk chicken pasta, I wiped my lips, looked at my friend, and said, “I’m glad we did this.”

After lunch, my friend and I check out another antique store. And whereas I didn’t buy anything, I had fun strolling up and down every aisle, taking my sweet time.

Then we came back home.

Back in Fort Smith and still in the mood to shop, I visited ANOTHER antique store. This time I hit pay dirt. Well, sort of. I collect books and statues–and I found a bowl. I know, woo. But not just any bowl, a silver mid-century modern bowl with green enamel on the inside. Y’all, I kept thinking, I have absolutely no use for this. I don’t own a single mint or nut to put inside it. And yet every time I tried to walk away from this bowl, I couldn’t. I was simply spellbound by its shape, shine, and beauty. So I thought, What the hell, and bought it. After all, why must everything be useful or practical before I buy it? Isn’t it enough that something attracts me, that something mesmerizes me?

Yes, Marcus, yes it is.

One should be mesmerized now and then.

Now it’s 6:15, and I’m getting ready to have dinner with another friend, so I need to wrap this up. Yesterday I blogged about resting and slowing down, and I’m really trying to implement this by blogging sooner and not filling up every minute of every day. You know, I’m trying to breathe, to enjoy not only the main moments of my day but also the moments in between the main moments. Recently I made plans to have lunch with my aunt out of town and told her, “After we eat, I’ll mosey on home.” She said, “Moseying, that’s a lost art.” How true, how true. We rush around constantly, and yet there’s no hurry here in our universe. The sun takes an entire year to make its way around the sun, the sun and entire day to make its way across the heavens. All the more reason for us to pump the brakes, enjoy each other, and appreciate beauty wherever we can find it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing you can do to change the seasons or hurry them along.

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On Half-Assing (Blog #491)

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This morning my parents and I woke up in Oklahoma City, where we stayed last night with my cousin. After a quick breakfast, we packed the car, said goodbye to my aunt (who’s staying in OKC to be with her son), and hit the road for home. Having no reason to be back, however, we took our time, stopping once for gas and once for lunch. My dad, the foodie in the family, picked the place–The Hen House in Okemah, Oklahoma. Honestly, I should have known. Dad LOVES The Hen House. It’s like sacred ground to him. The way he talks about the food there, you’d think Jesus Christ himself were in the kitchen.

“The meatloaf is WONDERFUL,” Dad said for the hundredth time today.

Honestly, my dad’s pretty easy to impress when it comes to food. Give him a hamburger–any hamburger–and he’s happier than a pig in shit. This to say that I didn’t know what to expect for my first trip to The Hen House this afternoon. Well–I was pleasantly surprised. First, the meatloaf WAS wonderful. Second, the peanut-butter pie was out of this world. I mean, I won’t go so far as to say that the lord himself could have baked it, but I’m convinced that SOMEONE divine did.

I think we got home about three this afternoon, and after I did some light unpacking, I took a nap. I mean, my family and I have been running around the country for the last two weeks, and as my therapist says, “Vacations are exhausting.” Since waking up about six, I’ve spent the entire night getting settled back in–unpacking, doing laundry, cleaning out the car, opening mail, sorting through trip receipts, planning the rest of the weekend. I’d told myself I was going to save all “work” for later and just rest, but–I don’t know–something came over me.

When I was little and we used to travel, my dad did the same thing. It didn’t matter if we got home at midnight, he’d stay up putting everything back in its proper place. Now that’s what I do. At least, that’s what I did today. Dad, however and ironically, sat on the couch with mom and binge-watched fourteen (14!) episodes of Days of Our Lives. As I was buzzing around the house, Dad said, “Maybe if I’d taken a nap, I’d have as much energy as you do.”

Whizzing by him with my dirty-clothes hamper in hand, I said, “I think it’s all the sugar that was in the peanut-butter pie!”

I mentioned a couple days ago that I left my phone charger in California, a fact that really ticks me off. Not because I don’t have another charger already (I do), but because I really LIKE owning two chargers (one for my room, one for my car). I know this is a first-world problem. Anyway, I went to Walmart tonight to replace the cord that I left in Fresno, but they didn’t have one AS LONG as I wanted.

Nothing is ever as long as you want it, Marcus.

Y’all, I stood in the electronics section for over ten minutes trying to figure out what to do–go with the shorter cord or order a longer one online and wait. Then I started getting overwhelmed, thinking, Just how long do I want this cord to be? And what color? There are SO MANY choices. But finally I thought, Why am I making this complicated? The shorter cord is good enough. Just buy the damn shorter cord and be done with it, Marcus.

So I did.

Another problem solved.

Look at me.

Once a girl I worked with said she painted an entire bedroom in a couple hours. Well, my inner perfectionist flipped shit. “You mean you didn’t use TWO COATS OF PAINT?!” I said. “Oh no,” she replied without apology, “I’m a half-asser.” Hum. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about this, the number of times I’ve silently judged her and people like her for rushing through projects and not doing them “right” or “well” according to MY standards. I apologize. (Like you’ve never judged anyone for something.) Obviously there are A LOT of different ways to live and get by in the world.

Regarding my shorter cord, sure–it’d be nice if the cord reached all the way to the other side of my bed and I could lie on my left side and browse at night. But it’d also be nice if I didn’t spend so much damn time on my phone, so maybe the shorter cord is not only a good-enough thing, but also a good thing. Plus, since I half-assed at Walmart earlier and didn’t do the one-million-choices-online nightmare, now I have MORE TIME to do other activities like blog, or read, or brush my teeth.

AND!

If I half-ass this ending,

I can go to bed now.

So let’s hear it for half-assing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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We All Have Elephants (Blog #361)

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This morning I woke up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. In no real hurry to get back to Arkansas, I spent a couple hours reading a book I bought this last Saturday, which, by the way, was the four-year anniversary of the first day I saw my therapist. Talk about a wild ride.

The book I read, The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo, is about an orphan boy who is searching for his long-lost sister, whom a fortune teller predicts he will find by following an elephant. Said elephant literally magically appears in the boy’s town when a stage magician tries to produce a bouquet of flowers and produces the elephant instead. (Everyone, including the magician, was amazed–except for the lady whom the elephant landed one when he apparated. To put it mildly, she had a very bad day.) I believe the book was intended for children or young adults, but I personally found it delightful.

Toward the end of the story (spoiler alert), there is talk about making the elephant disappear, sending it back to wherever it came from (probably Albuquerque), which the magician says he cannot do. However, the narrator of the story says, “If the world held magic powerful enough to make the elephant appear, then there must exist, too, magic in equal measure, magic powerful enough to undo what had been done. There must be magic that could send the elephant home.”

This is something I’ve been chewing on today, something that speaks to my soul. So many things in my life historically and recently have felt like these giant, unsolvable problems, like elephants that show up in my living room and refuse to leave. (Hey, get your dirty feet off my coffee table!) As an example, four years ago I couldn’t see my way out of a bad (really bad) relationship. God, things were such a mess, I didn’t even realize what a mess they were. It was like I was drowning and didn’t know it. But stumbling across my kick-ass therapist, I lucked out. The universe threw me a lifeline.

Also, I don’t mind saying, it’s been a long journey to shore.

Sometimes when I tell people I’ve been in therapy for four years, I imagine them thinking, You must be really fucked up. Maybe they aren’t actually thinking that, but if they are, I honestly don’t believe I deal with issues that are all that different from anyone else’s. We all have relationship problems, family problems, work problems. We all have elephants. In my case, I know that a big reason I had relationship problems is BECAUSE I had other (childhood) issues that hadn’t been properly addressed. (For one, I’d never learned about boundaries and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d hit me in the face.) My point is–it’s taken some time, but my therapist and I have dealt with every all of my “elephants in the room.” With hard work, courage, and what my therapist calls “sitting in truth,” we’ve effectively made all my elephants disappear. At the very least, we’ve shrunk them down to a manageable size.

The universe is full of big answers.

As I look back at the last year and this blog, it’s been a lot of ups and downs. Based on how I’m feeling this very moment (worn out and tired), it’s been A LOT of downs. Feeling well or normal has been a struggle, believing that I’ll be back on my feet physically and financially has been a struggle. But surely these are just elephants too, and surely all is never lost. For me, it’s important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad your circumstances, they can and will turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe is full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

[Thanks again to my friend Frank for the High School Musical calendar. I hung it on my wall as soon as I got home today! Talk about daily inspiration.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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Me, The Moth, and The Eyeball Oracle (Blog #285)

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Currently it’s 9:15 in the morning, and I’m in Somewhere, Oklahoma, waiting to see The Oracle.

Let me back up.

I woke up at five this morning, although my alarm wasn’t set to go off until six. You know how it is when you’re both eager and anxious about something. You can’t sleep. Plus, the waterbed was especially hot last night, and my legs kept jerking. They do that sometimes, go into these violent, sudden twitches just as I’m starting to nod off. It’s startling, maybe related to my magnesium levels. Of course, the internet could be wrong–it’s been wrong before. The body is a mystery. Anyway, at five-thirty I decided there was no point in continuing to try to slumber, so I got up, got dressed, meditated, wrote in my journal, and made breakfast and a full pot of coffee in preparation for my big day.

Last week my friend Elisabeth messaged me and said she’d been hearing a lot about a woman near Tulsa who practices iridology, a field of alternative medicine that basically identifies problems in one part of your body based on the appearance of another–specifically, your eyeballs. Like–I don’t know–that fleck there means your liver is broken and is in need of repair. (Take this vitamin, do a colon cleanse, and call me in the morning.) Elisabeth said four different people had recommended this lady, that she was thinking about going, and that I should go too. (If I wanted.) “Maybe she could help with your allergy and sinus issues,” she said. Well, on the scale of weird things I’ve tried over the years, eyeball gazing actually ranks pretty low, so I said, “I’m in. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Since the vitamin shop where the iridology lady works ended up being closed last week, I’ve been on pins and needles ever since, just waiting for today. I’ve spent a lot of time reading reviews online, and everyone that talks about this lady absolutely raves. They call her The Oracle. (Personally, I like The Eyeball Oracle.) They say they’ve been seeing her since they were a child, she’s always spot on, she helped when no one else could–shit like that. So I’m hopeful. That being said, this isn’t my first alternative medicine, stranger-things-have-happened rodeo, so I’m trying to keep both feet grounded in reality. I’ve mentioned recently that I’m seeing a new medical doctor this week, and that’s still happening. I’ve been telling myself, Do your weird shit first, get all the information you can, then go talk to someone who went to college.

Like, “Doc, a Native American told me my liver was broken. Fact or crap?”

On the drive here this morning, I listened to my new favorite podcast, The Moth. If you’re not listening to it, you’re missing out. It’s basically real people telling stories about anything and everything, without notes, in front of a live audience. It’s delicious. This morning I heard a story about a girl who grew up with a mom who was both a nudist and a stripper. The story started when her mom stripped for her and her brother one evening as her step-father manned the music. This reminded me that there is no such thing as normal–there’s only “normal for you.”

Another story I heard earlier was about a gay actor and writer in California who had two different psychics tell him that Montgomery Clift, the famous actor, was trying to communicate with him from beyond the grave, trying to get the man to write his story. (Clift was closeted, and apparently both he and the man had had facial reconstruction following respective accidents.) Whether you believe that something like this is possible or not, the story really is fantastic to hear, and as the host of The Moth pointed out, is true to the person who told it.

Now I’m inside the shop, waiting. The lady isn’t scheduled to be here for quite a while, but the online reviews said to show up early, so that’s what I did. At first, I was the only one waiting. Now there are two other ladies, and Elisabeth is on her way. We’ll see what happens. Originally I’d intended to blog after this person looks into my eyes, looks deep into my eyes, but I’ve decided to make this a cliffhanger and post about the results tomorrow. But I’ve been thinking, This is a little crazy, but the universe is a big place. How do we know what’s possible? Who’s to say what’s “normal”? Maybe a dead movie star can talk to a stranger. Maybe a medicine woman can look into my eyes and reveal my body’s secrets. I’m open to it. After all, the universe, like the body, is a mystery. Of course, I’m trying to stay grounded in reality, but am more and more open to what reality can look like.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

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