On Dancing and Personalities (Blog #1066)

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Currently it’s six in the evening and I’m in Springfield, Missouri, above the Savoy Ballroom. In an hour–I don’t know–a hundred people will be downstairs, dressed in rolled-up jeans and poodle skirts, ready for tonight’s sock hop. In two hours, after a swing dance lesson, the hop will officially begin. At some point, my friend Matt and I will perform a routine to “Good Golly Miss Molly” with our friends Anne and Andy, the studio owners, and six other couples. Matt and I just learned the routine last night. Just before I sat down to blog, we practiced again. Thankfully, everything is starting to make sense.

Late last night and earlier today I went down the rabbit hole of learning about different personalities, according to a system (Human Design) I was introduced to a few days ago thanks to what I believe was fate. You know, that happy little thing that’s beyond our control and places us in the right place at the right time. And whereas I’m a total newbie about all this, the system makes sense to me. The main thing I like about it being that it doesn’t try to squeeze everyone into the same box. Rather, in very clear terms, it espouses the idea that we’re all made beautifully and uniquely different, and for good reasons. What I bring to the table isn’t what you bring to the table.

And we need both things.

Now, I’m not going to try to take my extremely limited understanding of Human Design and explain the whole system. But perhaps by sharing a few things that have resonated with me, I can offer to you what’s been offered to me, the peace of mind that comes through self-acceptance. Like, here’s something. For decades I’ve told people that I’m not spontaneous, that my idea of being spontaneous is to write on my calendar, “Do something unplanned this Saturday at three o’clock.” Well, I’ve given myself a lot of crap for this. I’ve looked at people who fly by the seat of their pants and been jealous. I’ve thought, I wish I could do that. God, Marcus, why can’t you lighten the fuck up and STOP planning? But according my specific Human Design profile, I haven’t been created to function that way. Indeed, the affirmation it offers to my type is, “I am not here to be spontaneous. I am here to be deliberate.”

Deliberate. It’s amazing what freedom you can find in a single word. YES, I am NOT here to be spontaneous. That’s for someone else. Go, live by your fancy. As for me, I’m a planner, an on-purpose-er.

I am here to be deliberate.

I can’t tell you how much I identify with this word. Likewise, I identify with the concept of “just doing it,” of having a thought and making something happen. But apparently only nine percent of the world’s population are like me. The others, the majority, prefer to be invited to do something, rather than initiating it (a conversation, a business, a lifestyle change). I don’t know their official profile, but I’ve always said that one of my friends will NEVER mow their lawn on their own, certainly never PLAN to mow their lawn on their own. But if you (spontaneously) say, “Hey, wanna mow your lawn today?” they’ll be right there WITH YOU. Anyway, that’s what I’m seeing. That I’m a loner, but some people absolutely are not. I’m a planner, but some people are anything but.

And we need both things.

Along these lines, apparently I have my willpower center defined, meaning that I have willpower that’s self-generated and self-sustaining (just do it). For years I’ve looked at people I love and even total strangers in judgment. Like, why can’t you get motivated? And yet anywhere from two-thirds to seven-eights(!) of the population have willpower centers that are undefined. They REQUIRE the motivation of others to get them going. And not that they can’t get things done (in fact, they can get things done REALLY WELL); their actions just aren’t self-initiated. And whereas this may sound like, Oh crap, I don’t have much willpower (you know, it’s all the rage right now), that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Everything has its ups and downs. For example, the trade-off I make for being able to initiate things and having a lot of willpower is that it’s easy for me to burn out. Because I don’t come with an endless supply of energy, the way many people who don’t have as much willpower do.

What I’m seeing more and more clearly is that, well, both things are needed. All personality types are good and necessary. For balance. For harmony. For clarity. It’s not just my way or the highway. It’s our way or no way at all. We need each other to survive. No one can dance alone.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

"

Anything but a Setback (Blog #696)

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This evening I drove home from Springfield, where I spent the weekend. Coming back I tried to take my time. I’m trying to be more mindful and not be in such a hurry all the damn time. This is a challenge for me; I’m always on the go-go. Anyway, when I stopped for dinner, I sipped my tea, read a book. When I got home, I methodically unpacked. This part was easy enough because I’m anal. Everything ALWAYS has its place. Now it’s ten-thirty, and I’m lying horizontal in bed because last night took it out of me. I’m hoping I can get this over with, do some leg exercises, and get straight to bed.

Crap, I’m in a hurry again.

Last night I attended a sock hop at my friends Anne and Andy’s dance studio. They host a sock hop every year, and last night was my third one to attend. Anyway, even though I knew I couldn’t do a lot of dancing, I figured it would be the perfect thing to get out-of-town, see friends, and move, even a little. As it turns out, I was right (this is often the case, ha). Everything about the sock hop was a blast–the music, the costumes, the people. Plus, my friend Matt, who used to live in Springfield but recently moved away, showed up to visit. Talk about a treat. Not only did we have good conversation, but we also laughed, laughed, laughed.

Every time someone asked me if I wanted to dance last night I said, “Yes, but I recently had knee surgery and need to stick to the basics,” which I did. When the dance first started, before I hit the floor, a couple friends asked if it was killing me to watch everyone else dance. Really, it wasn’t. I’ve watched people dance before. Plus, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to watch people with two functioning knees walk, run, and dance over the last three months, and I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m not currently there. That being said, it was frustrating for me to actually dance. For one thing, so many of my movements felt awkward and jerky. For another, there was so much that my body wanted to do (jump, spin, turn) that it couldn’t. That’s what sucked–to feel broken, to not be able to really cut loose and dance up a storm.

So many times over the years I’ve attended dances and wanted to look and dance like someone else. God, you can really get carried away comparing yourself to others. But last night I really just wanted to dance like me, to be able to do what I used to be able to. And I know–I’ll get back there. Baby steps. But until that happens, I’m going to try to be content with where I am and what I have. Ugh. This is the toughest thing, to accept life as it is, to not always be wanting something you ain’t got–to look like someone else, to dance like your former self. Some people say that’s the secret to happiness, to want what you have.

Lately my shoulder’s been hurting. For the most part it’s not dramatic, but it’s something I’m aware of almost constantly. On the way home today I listened to a podcast that said injuries and pain aren’t setbacks, they’re signals. That is, it’s easy when you’re hurting (or not dancing up to par with your former self) to think that you’ve somehow moved backwards in the grand scheme of things. As if life were a board game and, thanks to the roll of the dice, you’ve been asked to go back three squares and not collect two hundred dollars. But the podcast suggested that our problems are simply information, that pain is often the body’s way of saying, “Something’s up here. This could use a little attention.”

In terms of my knee, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, I’m glad I injured it like I did. Not that this has been a pleasant experience, but it has taught me how to be patient, how to accept help from others, how to better care for myself, and how to slow the fuck down. And that’s huge, learning all that stuff. Anything but a setback. But more on learning to slow down. I think that’s a message my body’s been trying to convey for a while now–slow down, chill out, relax. And whereas I hate it when my knee says it can’t spin or my shoulder says it doesn’t want to, I don’t know, lift weights at the gym, I’m learning to trust and listen to my body. Fine, you don’t feel like doing that, we won’t do that. Period. End of story.

Fine, you’re ready to bed. We’ll go to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

"

I Have No Objection to the Twist (Blog #695)

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Things I’ve learned since we last spoke–

1. On caffeine

Yesterday after blogging I got caught up in an episode of Bull. My friends Anne and Andy were watching it. Then, about two in the morning, I went to bed and read a book. When I turned the light off about three, I couldn’t fall asleep. I finally realized it was because I’d been drinking green tea all night. This used to happen when I drank coffee, which I’m currently on hiatus from. (The break is sort of wonderful, sort of wretched.) Anyway, I forgot caffeine isn’t just in coffee and sodas; it’s in tea too.

Lesson learned.

2. On worrying about one’s health

Last night I read in Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs that it’s better to worry about your health (a little) than not worry about it at all. “Overoptimism is probably harmful,” he says. ” You have to be neurotic and realistic enough to go for regular checkups and take your meds.” For support he cites a ninety-year longevity study that found “a low but persistent level of worry” correlates to living longer. This is great news for a hypochondriac like me. Sure, I personally experience a high but persistent level of worry when it comes to my health, but hey–I’ve got the persistent part down!

3. On simple pleasures

This afternoon I strolled up and down Commercial Street here in Springfield. Talk about a darling place–there’s a wonderful used book store and even a steampunk shop where you can buy a leather corset if you’re into that sort of thing. Anyway, I was “oot and aboot” (that’s how Canadians say “out and about,” Mom) for two hours, and–believe it or not–didn’t buy a thing. And yet I still had a fabulous time–walking around (knees are great), seeing the sights, discovering.

4. On the Twist

Currently it’s five in the evening, and tonight’s sock hop starts in two hours. I’m blogging earlier than normal so I can enjoy the dance, visit with friends, and stay up late without worrying about writing. (Let’s hear it for advanced planning.) Anyway, last night Anne and Andy asked me to judge tonight’s Twist contest, so earlier I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube to see how people “Twisted” when the song/dance first came out. Talk about fun. I can’t wait to get my knees and hips moving like that again.

While researching, I came across a quote by President Dwight D. Eisenhower on the Twist. Get this shit, y’all. He said, “I have no objection to the Twist as such. But it does represent some kind of change in our standards. What has happened to our concepts of beauty and decency and morality?”

Wow. If he thought the Twist was indecent, imagine what he would have thought about leather corsets. Personally, I think it’s fabulous, that dances and all manner of things come along to challenge our ideas about what’s acceptable and decent in the world. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–what are those things we choose to be offended about? I say choose because I don’t think anything in life is inherently offensive. Granted, there are some pretty grotesque things that happen on this planet, but nothing comes stamped with a label that says, “Be disgusted when you look at me.” Even if something did, or even if everyone in the world said, “Yep, that is awful,” we as individual thinkers would still have the power to decide our personal attitude about that so-called awful thing. This is good news, that only we can decide whether or not we get our knickers in–well–a twist about something.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"That love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self."

On Seeing More Light (Blog #694)

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Today has been delightful. That’s two delightful days this week. Actually, come to think of it, I’m enjoying life more lately. For one thing, my leg’s been improving. I still have a lot of progress to make, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now. I can see more light, period, now. Spring is in four weeks, and before that, daylight savings. Plus, I feel better. After surgery I was definitely depressed, and I feel lighter now, more like myself. I have more energy. Plus, whether it’s my new diet (which my friend Bonnie recently referred to as Lazy Paleo because I make plenty of exceptions), some new supplements I started, or the fact that I’m exercising frequently, I have less gunk in my system. Normally I wake up with a snotty nose (just call me Marcus Mucus), but the last two days my sinuses have been clean as a whistle.

I’m glad we can talk about this.

This afternoon I had a lovely physical therapy appointment. It was lovely for two reasons. First, my therapist added new exercises, some balance things that really challenged me and caused me to break out in a sweat. This actually felt good, since I’ve been largely immobile for almost three months. Second, my therapist was kind and encouraging. “Good form. You’re really doing well, “he said. “Feel free to call me if you have any questions.” Ugh, it really does make the biggest difference when someone’s–I don’t know–friendly.

At therapy while my leg was being iced, I started a book Bonnie gave me called Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs, a nonfiction story about the author’s quest to be perfectly healthy in every way. Oh my gosh, y’all, I’m only a few chapters in (I kept reading after therapy when I went to lunch), but it’s hilarious. Not only is the author an entertaining writer, but I can see much of myself in his behaviors. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, I’ve tried so many diets, relaxation techniques, and exercises programs it’s not even funny. (Well, it’s a little bit funny.) And whereas I often approach lifestyle changes with an all-or-nothing attitude, I’m learning that moderation still provides results. For example, I’ve been doing Lazy Paleo for almost a month now and can already tell a difference. Not that I’ve lost a ton of weight (a few pounds on a good day), but my body feels better, more vibrant.

This is no small thing.

This evening I drove to Springfield, Missouri, where I am now. I came up for a dance tomorrow and am staying with my friends Anne and Andy. On the way here I listened to a podcast that talked about the benefits of cold exposure–keeping your thermostat set on 62 in the winter, going outside with fewer layers on, taking a cold shower (even for a few moments). This idea is that our bodies need to be challenged, and one way we can work out our cardiovascular systems is by exposing them to a wider range of temperatures. This actually makes sense to me, that we can exercise our blood vessels and capillaries like muscles. So although I still hate winter (I hate winter), I’m now considering hating it less, since the cold apparently has its benefits.

There I said it.

I’ve talked a lot recently about my skin allergies, about how I’ve had to buy special soaps and shampoos because my skin reacts to several common household ingredients. This all started when I had a huge flare-up last year when my parents changed their laundry soap. Anyway, when I got to Anne and Andy’s, Anne said, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t wash the sheets on your bed in cage-free, free-range detergent.” Oh my gosh, is that great or what? I couldn’t stop laughing, both at Anne’s cleverness and the fact that I’m now officially one of those people.

Also, I should say–thankfully–my skin’s not THAT picky.

Now it’s after midnight. Earlier Anne and Andy and I went out to eat, and I’ve been blogging and sipping hot tea since we got back. Well, cold tea because I apparently don’t sip fast enough. Anyway, I’m looking forward to this weekend. I won’t be able to dance much tomorrow night, but I’m excited about seeing my friends, hearing some good music, and simply being on a dance floor. My physical therapist said I’ll be cleared to do some light jogging at my next appointment (in two weeks), so the milestones (running, jumping, dancing) are in sight. Yes, I can see more light now.

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.

"

On Dance Rehearsal (Blog #610)

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It’s two in the morning, and I’m in Springfield, Missouri. After spending the morning packing and getting ready, I drove here this afternoon to practice with my friend Matt for our upcoming dance routine. Matt and I met at the ballroom where he teaches–The Savoy–about five and worked for a couple hours, mostly on our lifts and jumps, as well as one move that I told Matt I would practice this last week but didn’t. (As our performance is tomorrow, I think I’m just going to end up faking it. It’ll be fine, I promise, I’m a professional.) Anyway, then we went out with our friends Anne and Andy for sushi followed by frozen custard. Then we all came back to the ballroom, where Matt and I worked some more.

Y’all, sushi and frozen custard are not the thing to eat before dancing.

Considering the fact that Matt and I just started this routine two weeks ago and have only rehearsed two other times before today, things are coming along well. That being said, we ended up cutting one of our lifts tonight because not only did we think the move didn’t look good enough, but we also kept hurting each other trying to do the damn thing better. Oh well–we replaced it with something less challenging but just as fun, a trick I can practically do in my sleep. And whereas my inner perfectionist wishes we could have nailed that first move, I’m reminding myself that we’re doing this whole thing FOR FUN and NOT for perfection.

Here’s a picture of ANOTHER move we’ve been working on.

Sometime after midnight, Matt and I called it quits. Our bodies pretty much insisted on it. “Stop,” the said. “We’ve had enough. Just who do you think you are, anyway–Superman?” But then instead of going to bed, we decided to run to Walmart to buy undershirts for our costumes so our routine shirts don’t end up with giant sweat stains on them. The only problem was that we left the ballroom DURING a tornado warning. Y’all, this is why men die before women–we do stupid things like running errands in the middle of a thunderstorm. Anyway, we were fine, seriously. (To quote Matt, “I didn’t see a tornado anywhere.”) However, we did get soaked running from our car into Walmart. And get this shit. The manager, who was standing at the front door with two cops when we ran up, told us that the store was closed until the tornado warning was over. “You’re welcome to wait here in our shelter for the next thirty minutes,” he said.

“Do you want to wait here?” Matt said.

Picturing myself locked in a backroom with a bunch of strangers for half an hour, I said, “NO I DON’T WANT TO WAIT HERE!”

So back we ran to our car, then back we drove to the ballroom, which is where I am now (without an undershirt, I might add). Hopefully I can get some rest, then tomorrow Matt and I can go back to Walmart, run through our routine a few final times here at the ballroom, then perform it tomorrow night (back in Arkansas). I’ll let you know how it goes.

Now all I can think about is how everything hurts and how badly I want to go to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

"

In Unexpected Places (Blog #457)

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Because I have other things I’d like to do besides blog, today I’m keeping this short by writing a list of things for which I am grateful. Although all related to the last twenty-four hours, they are in random order.

1. The “Do good” wall

The above photo, me in front of a wall that says, “Do good,” was taken just down the street from where I’m staying in Springfield. I used a brick I found nearby to prop my phone up for a selfie, then spent fifteen minutes trying to take a picture of myself doing a cartwheel. Proof that you don’t need money, Marcus, to enjoy yourself.

But it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

2. Understanding

This morning while reading a book by PL Travers (the lady who wrote Mary Poppins), I came across this phrase–long stretches of nothingness. It reminded me that it’s normal, perhaps necessary, to have times in your life when it feels as if nothing is happening.

3. Recognition

After lunch today, I told my friend Matt that the truth was that all sorts of things are happening in my life right now. They’re just on the inside, where they’re not as obvious to other people.

4. Chocolate Cake

Last night after cleaning the studio downstairs, we all had chocolate cake. Anne let me lick the knife, then this morning while reading my book, I had another piece for breakfast, with coffee. My pants are tight, but life is good.

5. Sleeping in

I slept in until noon today.

6. Dreams

Last night I had a series of dreams, all of which I think are connected. I don’t want to go into them, but the dreams ended with my telling two people in the last dream (who looked good on the outside but were also lying and manipulative) to “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” This was in an office, and I even waved my arm dramatically toward the door. Then the office manager came in and said, “Would you calm down? There are women here.” And I said, “It’s over!”

I’m still analyzing it, but I love this dream because it shows that I’m emotionally and mentally done with bad behavior, even with “acting right” or listening to my inner office manager. And as much as “Nice Marcus” would never scream or slam doors, I’m recognizing that there’s more to a person than “always being nice” or people-pleasing. Anger has its place. Sometimes a good, strong HELL NO is required. Opinions be damned.

As a t-shirt I saw this afternoon said, “If I gave a shit, you’d be the first person I’d give it to.”

7. This cat in my bag

Before falling asleep last night, I noticed Anne and Andy’s cat Frankie sitting in my luggage. Adorable.

8. New foods, old friends

For lunch my friend Matt took me to a restaurant called Van Gogh’s, a dutch place. I had some sort of pancake with gyro toppings. It was stupid, as in delicious. Matt–as always–was kind, a good listener, and generous.

9. This knocker on this door

Walking down a local alley this afternoon, I saw a brass knocker on a teal door. I found it stunning, something beautiful in an expected place. Now I think, What other wonders await in unexpected places?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

"

Any Dancing Jesus (Blog #456)

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Last night I drove to Springfield, Missouri, to attend a weekly dance at The Savoy, a ballroom owned by my friends Anne and Andy. My friend Matt was there, and it was the perfect thing–dancing, seeing friends–a way to get away. Anne and Andy rent The Savoy for weddings and events, so after the dance I helped them and Matt set it up for a local graduation. When we finished at 1:30 in the morning we went for tacos, then I crashed at Anne and Andy’s place, which is above the ballroom.

Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep great, at least at first. Probably too much beer, which was my payment for helping set things up. Also, I apparently got sunburned yesterday at my friend CJ’s farm. My back looks like something you’d find at a Western Sizzlin’ Steakhouse. Point is I must have dehydrated myself, since I woke up in the middle of the night with a headache. But then I drank a glass of water, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed, and things were better this morning.

Phew.

I’ve spent the day dicking around Springfield with Matt. First we went to Chipotle for lunch, then perused a handful of antique stores. Later we grabbed frozen custard, then came back to the ballroom so Matt could work the graduation, which is going on now. Everyone else is downstairs, and I’m blogging upstairs. Whenever the event is over, I’ll help get things ready for a wedding tomorrow (or at least help eat the leftover graduation cake). As I’m pretty beat from all the sun, dancing, and calories, I’m hoping to get a nap in first.

It may not happen.

Before my estate sale, I boasted a modest collection of religious figurines–Jesus on the Cross, the Mother Mary, a Buddha or two–I had all my spiritual bases covered. And whereas I liked all the statues for different reasons, the only one I didn’t sell was Jesus on the Cross, a mid-century modern piece I affectionately refer to as Rock Star Jesus, since his hips and arms are kind of kicked off to one side. In addition to looking like a dancer (and the fact that there’s a story in the Acts of John about Jesus dancing before his crucifixion), Rock Star Jesus reminds me to surrender joyfully to the trials of life.

I wrote a blog about Rock Star Jesus, surrendering, and resurrection here.

When Matt and I were antique shopping today, I bought another statue of Jesus, this one brass, small enough to fit in your pocket. (A travel-sized savior, if you will.) This statue, I guess, implies a cross but doesn’t actually have one. Or perhaps it represent’s the resurrection, the triumphant return, the rising. Regardless, Christ’s arms are raised higher than normal, as if in praise, as if in celebration, as if to say, “Friday was a rather bad day, but now let’s party.” The whole thing made me think of a recent picture my friend Bonnie took of me in Nashville, in which I adopted a similar pose under a sign marked “receiving.” You can read about it here, but my idea was that raising my arms represented my willingness to receive all the good (and even the not so good) life and the universe have to offer.

Your story isn’t about your physical challenges.

All this to say that I thought the new statute with its outstretched arms was the perfect reminder of a hundred things–surrender, resurrection, joy in all circumstances, receiving and abundance, even asking for a hug. (Come to papa.) This is the deal with a symbol. It can mean so many things. After four years of therapy, I look at the statue’s out-turned palms and think, There was a man with good boundaries, someone who could say no–to money changers, to temptation, to compromising his soul. (Or maybe those flicked-out wrists just mean Jesus knew how to vogue.) I know I’m making jokes about a sacred figure. I know that as of this afternoon I’ve effectively started a collection of Whirling Messiahs. But having had a challenging year, I actually take these statues seriously, since they remind me that Jesus had his challenges too and–what’s more–surpassed them. If you believe the story in the Acts of John, he danced passed them. This, I think, is the message of any dancing Jesus, that your story isn’t about your physical challenges, but rather your soul’s rising.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

"

Mystics Aren’t Picky as Shit (Blog #233)

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After a long day here in Springfield, it’s three in the morning, and one of Anne and Andy’s black cats is staring at me from across the room. I’m guessing she’s wondering what I’m going to blog about tonight, like I know. I swear, sometimes writing is so frustrating. Ninety percent of your time is spent staring at the wall, as if good ideas live in the sheetrock and come out when given “the look.” It honestly feels like waiting on Zac Efron to call. Like, what are the chances? But as a writer, you just keep staring at the wall, trusting that a good idea will eventually present itself, then you can spend the other ten percent of your time actually writing.

Of course, by writing I mean hitting the backspace button.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I noticed was that god had not left a miracle of healing under my pillow. Rather, I still felt anything but fabulous, and to top it all off, the weather outside had turned cold and wet. I honestly don’t know how our ancestors survived before things like medication, central heat and air, and indoor plumbing. That being said, I used to live in an old house with gas heaters, only one of which I kept on all the time. So for months I’d come home and see my breath in the living room or trek down the hallway in the middle of the night to use the bathroom only to be welcomed by a cold toilet seat.

As if that were any way to treat a loyal customer.

Still, even though this isn’t my favorite time of year, I try to suck it up and do the best I can. This morning I threw on an extra shirt, trudged through the rain to my car, and headed out for a session with my ninja massage therapist, Rod. Well, anytime I’ve seen Rod before, he’s worked pretty deep, but today he didn’t–everything was nice and easy. I mentioned the difference when the massage was over, and he said, “I didn’t have to work deep today. Whatever you’re doing–living at home with your parents, I guess–it’s working. Your body likes it.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “I’m always picky as shit when it comes to my body, so maybe I focus too much on what’s wrong.”

“I mean, there’s always stuff to work on,” he said, “but from my perspective you’re doing great.”

For lunch my friend Matt and I went to a tea room across from Anne and Andy’s dance studio. Y’all, everything was flowers, chandeliers, and pink dishes. I’ve never felt so pretty in all my life. If you’re ever on Commercial Street in Springfield, you should look for this place–there’s an actual Mad Hatter’s tea party table that’s been turned upside down and attached to the ceiling! Additionally, the food’s great. Matt had a monte cristo with mushroom soup, and I had a tuna salad stuffed tomato with mushroom soup.

Since I’m on a diet, I was really proud of myself for not eating the bread that came with my meal. You know how it is when you’re on a diet, the way you get all high and mighty. You spend thirty years eating whatever the hell you want, then all of a sudden you find yourself turning your nose up at club cracker, like, I would never. Well, I guess our waitress realized I was exercising my willpower because she brought over a dessert tray that was big enough to park your car on and waved it in front of my nose. Y’all, it was filled with cakes, cookies, and macaroons of every shape and size. I swear, even eating one item would have been enough to turn Jack LaLanne into a diabetic on the spot.

It looked delicious.

Naturally, I thought about ordering half the tray, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “No thank you, I don’t want anything.” I don’t want anything? Y,all, I was just as surprised as you are. I spent the summer eating food truck tacos and drinking better, and now tuna salad without crackers is more than enough to satisfy me? What has happened? I mean, it’s practically winter, I’m freezing over here, and this is no time to be losing valuable body fat, and yet I’m on a diet. Where was all this willpower six months ago during swimsuit season?

After lunch Matt and I worked on Lindy Hop for a couple hours, then I took a long nap. When I woke up I felt like a new man–not perfect, but so much better than this morning. It’s amazing what sleep can do. Tonight the lot of us cleaned up the ballroom downstairs, which was used this evening for a wedding. Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m blogging on the futon, covered up with a blanket and wearing my sock cap to stay warm. My eyes are itchy from the junk or allergies (I guess), and I really, really think we were meant to hibernate at this time of year and not deal with all these irritations.

Seriously, who thought winter sinus infections would be a good addition to life?

Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

For all the time I’ve spent poking around in the spiritual section of bookstores and attending yoga classes, I haven’t had many experiences that you could call mystical, moments of utter bliss and serenity. But I did have one such experience in that old house a couple years ago during the winter–in the middle of the night on a cold toilet seat no less. So there I was, shivering, hating it–then I just stopped. It felt like someone wrapped a thick blanket around my entire body. It’s hard to explain, but my sense was that the cold air itself was alive and holding me, not just in that moment, but in every moment of my entire life. Anyway, it seems now as if I spend a lot of my time waiting–waiting for ideas to show up, waiting on my body to look or feel better, waiting on winter to go away. Like most people, I simply assume life will be better and I’ll be happier when whatever it is happens. But clearly life doesn’t need me to boss it around. Rather, perhaps it’s waiting on me to stop being picky as shit, recognize that more things are going right than are going wrong, and remember that even during my most uncomfortable moments, I’m supported in ways I can’t even imagine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s no such thing as a small action. There’s no such thing as small progress.

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Before I Knew How to Believe in Myself (Blog #136)

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When I started Westark College in 1999, I only had a vague idea about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Twenty years later, it’s just now beginning to come into focus. But at the time I was interested in public speaking. As it turns out, that’s not an actual major. Plus, if you want to speak in public, it helps to have something interesting to say, and–well–I was nineteen and mostly concerned about my hair. So I did the best I could for a major–mass communications–and then signed up for a public speaking class, as well as history, biology, and–almost as an afterthought–something called Publications Staff.

Although I didn’t know it until the first day of class, I’d unwittingly signed up to work on the college yearbook. Incidentally, this is not a good way to get laid. But looking back, it was perhaps one of the best decisions I ever made, if you could even rightly say that I made it. I mean, it just sort of happened.

For the next four years, the room where yearbook met was my home. Of the people I still talk to from college, all of them were on the yearbook staff. Because of yearbook I learned about layout and design–how to make anything from pictures on a wall to text on a page look appealing–which has come in handy more times than I can count. Because of yearbook I learned to take pictures, which later led to my working for a wedding photographer, which later led to my opening the dance studio in the photographer’s building. Because of yearbook I learned to write better and to edit, which later led to my work for a local magazine and obviously plays a huge part in what I’m doing right this very minute.

In short, yearbook changed my entire world.

At the center of the yearbook staff was Lori Norin, our adviser. Life is so funny. I can remember where I was sitting when I met her, and there weren’t any signs–any flashing lights or letters from angels saying, “This is an important moment,” but it was. Lori was the one who taught me everything I know about layout and design, the one who taught me about taking good photos, the one who taught me to write better and to edit. She was the one who made me fall in love with red ink pens.

I think after my first year on staff–maybe my second–Lori asked me to be the yearbook editor. So for the next two or three years, that’s what I was. Each semester the staff would change a little, but it was mostly the same people. We’d come in, stay late, and work in a windowless room under fluorescent lights and the wisdom of a sign on the wall that said, “You’re never done, you’re just out of time.” That was the room where I got the nickname “Pants” because I used to wear vintage plaid pants on the regular. That was the room where I coined the phrase “another opportunity to excel,” which I’d say with sarcasm every time a hard drive would crash or Lori would mark up my work with red ink and say I needed to start over.

Living with your parents? Another opportunity to excel.

I think it’s fair to say that Lori and I became friends. Her office was just across the hall from the yearbook room, and I’d run back and forth with questions, edits. I’d work on the spare computer in her office, lean over her desk with page desgins filled with Lorem ipsum dolor sit, which doesn’t mean anything but is used to indicate where text will go once it’s written. Since both of us had stomach problems, Lori and I would share antacids. You’d walk in the yearbook room or Lori’s office, and next to a pile of ZIP drives and undeveloped rolls of film would be a bottle of Mylanta Ultra Tabs–or two.

In addition to all the work, I’m assuming that Lori and I used to talk about our personal lives. We had to have done that. We ate so much Easy Mac together. What else would we have done? Her daughter Alexis was always around, even on the staff for a while. Lori would show us pictures of their family vacations–they loved Hawaii. It’s funny how the specific conversations have faded away, but the facts and feelings are there. I just remember the Mylanta Ultra Tabs, I remember her guidance, and I remember we used to laugh together.

In 2001 I graduated with an Associate Degree, but I kept taking classes that interested me and stayed on the yearbook staff. In 2002 Westark became University of Arkansas – Fort Smith. In 2003 the journalism department was terminated, and so was the yearbook program. And that was that–all good things must come to an end. When that final book was finished, Lori and the staff and I went out to eat, and they gave me two tickets to see the Broadway musical Swing!, which was about swing dancing and was touring in Fayetteville.

Over the years I saw Lori a few more times. I remember stopping by her office once and talking about how “kids these days” considered their cell phones to be extensions of themselves, which is why they couldn’t put them down during her lectures. Then one year Lori and another instructor wrote a book about funny things that had happened in their classes. So I bought a copy, and guess what? She included the fact that I used to say, “another opportunity to excel.” Of course, she changed “me” into a girl, another editor who used to work on staff, but still.

Four years ago, Lori died of pancreatic cancer. The last time I saw her, she was asleep in a hospital bed. Alexis spoke at the funeral. She said one of the things she remembered about her mom was that anytime someone rushed into her room or office with a crisis, Lori would throw her hands up as if she were being robbed and say, “NOT MY PROBLEM.” I thought, Oh my god. I’d forgotten. She DID do that.

I still can’t help but smile whenever I think about it.

A few days ago I posted that I was in Springfield, and Alexis reminded me that she lives there now and suggested that we have lunch. So for two hours this afternoon (that flew by), we caught up. Mostly we talked about our lives now, our jobs (she happens to have one), her dad, her five-year-old son. But of course we talked about yearbook, talked about Lori. I told Alexis that I thought Lori saw potential in me that I didn’t see in me, that she believed in me long before I knew how to believe in myself.

Alexis said, “She was good at that.”

The drive home today was overcast by a thick, gray sky and a steady drizzle. Just south of Fayetteville I stopped for gas and McDonald’s, switched from listening to a podcast to today’s hit music. Back on the road and driving through the mountains felt like a scene from a movie. The clouds hung low on the horizon just above eye level, kind of a mist, kind of a fog. They seemed to float along like a lost ship at sea–aimless.

None of us is ever really lost. At least we’re never really alone.

When I think about my years in college, when I think about Lori, there are times that it feels as if I too were aimless, a lost ship at sea. I look at pictures of myself in plaid pants with blonde tips and remember a time when I was so far in the closet, so stressed out about–something–that I was chucking tablets of cherry chalk down my throat by the dozen. Still, I know now that none of us is ever really lost. At least we’re never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can’t see yourself. And maybe you’re not lucky enough to talk to that person one last time, but there will be days when their memory stands beside you like the tallest mountain and surrounds you like a mist, something you might pass through on your way from one world to another.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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The Bumper Sticker Was Right (Blog #135)

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Today was really great, and I’d love to tell you about it except for the fact that my brain stopped working approximately three hours ago. That being said, I’ll try. I mean, who needs a brain anyway? Look around–they’re like boyfriends. Plenty of people get by without one.

This afternoon I had a massage from my friend Rod, whom I met last year about the time I was closing the studio and selling all of my worldly possessions. When it comes to bodywork, Rod’s basically a ninja. The man gets more done in an hour than most people get done in ten, and I give him a ton of credit for setting my body on the path of transformation and healing it’s currently on. Plus, he’s just a cool guy. I mean, he’s got a bumper sticker that says, “Something wonderful is about to happen,” and he let me pee in his backyard and wash my hands in a rain barrel afterwards. It all felt so–primal. GRRR.

I haven’t seen Rod since last year, so we spent a few minutes talking about the car accident and what I thought was going on in my body, and I told him that–among other things–I thought my shoulders were rotated forward. He said, “Well maybe they were, but from my perspective, you look great. You’ve come a long way since the last time I saw you, so let’s just do a ‘tune up’ today.” Oh my gosh–best tune up ever. I felt things relax in my legs, back, chest, and neck that have been tight for months–years. I walked in with a heel lift and walked out without it because Rod got my hips and legs almost completely level.

Rod said the issues I have with my right leg and hip were almost certainly “an occupational problem.” This afternoon I taught a Lindy Hop lesson, and I could feel certain muscles “talking to me,” so I was like, “Yep. Shit. I wish I had known this ten years ago.” But what do you do? At least now I can move forward with more awareness, more prevention, more time on a foam roller. And thank God we figured it out now instead of in another ten years.

Before I go any further, I need to say this–I’ve always had a fascination with stand-up comedy. I did a little bit in high school, and I still fantasize about doing more. (Once I shared this dream with one of my oldest friends, and he said, “Are you funny?” Insert eye roll emoji here.) Anyway, it’s been on my mind lately because one of my creativity assignments a couple weeks ago was to write down ten things I wanted to do “if I didn’t have to be perfect” or “if I were allowed to.” I’ll spare you the other nine for now, but stand-up comedy was one of them.

Okay, back to today.

When I left Rod’s, something wonderful happened (besides the massage). I went to Chipotle. (But wait, there’s more.) When I walked in the door, a guy sitting at a table said, “Marcus, what are you doing here?” Well, I’d forgotten his name (Chris), but I recognized him as someone who’d taken a lesson from me several years ago when I was in town. We chatted for a while, and he said–of all things–he’s running a comedy club in town, there’s a show tonight, and I should come–for free. I said, “Sure. Maybe I’ll be there.” Then I remembered the list.

“No wait–I’ll be there.”

“Open mic night is every Sunday,” he said.

HUM. “I’m gone Sunday. I’ll have to give that some more thought.”

So I went to the show tonight and had a swell time. Chris sat me down front with a few strangers, and one of the ladies ended up being a dancer who’s taken some lessons here at the studio my friends own. (Small world and so forth.) All in all, it was a hilarious evening. A few jokes fell flat, but plenty of them soared, and there was even a table of people who got asked to leave for talking too much and causing a scene. (As one of my friends said later, “People–you can’t take them anywhere.”) It was kind of awkward when the comic said, “You’re ruining it for everyone,” but at least it gave me something to write about.

As fate would have it, there was a fresh-cookie company right by the comedy club that stays open until three in the morning. I’m just going to say it–I BOUGHT A DOZEN CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES (and a glass of milk). So I sat down at a table outside the store, ate two cookies, drank the milk, and thought That bumper sticker was so right–something wonderful IS HAPPENING. (See top photo.)

Y’all. The couple who got married at the ballroom tonight had a cake topper that looked just like them and their two dogs. Did you people know this was a thing? I didn’t know it was a thing, but then again, I don’t go cake topper shopping–well–ever because I’m single AF. (AF stands for “as fuck,” Mom.) Anyway, look at this beauty.

Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? I saw it this afternoon in the ballroom and got all warm inside. Then tonight I met the couple, and I felt like I was meeting celebrities. OMG, I saw you on top of a cake this afternoon! But seriously, look at these two. Whoever made that cake topper did a great job.

Today I’d told Rod that I’d started to notice other people’s posture, that I’ll see someone walking down the street with their head stuck out in front of them or their back rounded and think, “That’s got to hurt.” Rod said one of the ideas with good bodywork is to get the body aligned properly so it’s working with gravity and not against it. (Hold a book out, let it go, and watch it drop to the floor. That’s the force that’s acting on your body at all times, so it makes the most sense to have everything “stacked up” properly.)

Although I’ve had my doubts about abundance for roughly thirty years (give or take a week), my therapist says it’s what life is all about. I mean, if you look around, there’s more than enough for everyone–more than enough air to breathe, ground to walk on, backyards to pee in. Abundance, I guess, is a lot like gravity–it’s everywhere. She says you actually have to work pretty hard to find scarcity. Sure, I guess you can find it. Like, where have all the cowboys gone? But I’m starting to think of scarcity a little bit like that cake topper of the cute couple–it may seem a lot like the real thing, but it’s not even close. Rather, the real thing is that our needs are met and then some, we’ve all come a long way, and something wonderful is always about to happen.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Being scared isn’t always an invitation to run away. More often than not, it’s an invitation to grow a pair and run toward.

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