Me As I Am (Blog #976)

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A year ago tonight, as part of a dance routine, I jumped over my friend Matt’s head and tore my ACL. As I’ve joked since, I didn’t stick the landing. But seriously, y’all, it was an ordeal. Although I didn’t feel much pain during or after the injury, it was bad enough that I had to have surgery three weeks later (the day after Christmas) and six months of physical therapy after that. A year out, I’m proud to say I’ve come a long way. I can dance again. I can–sort of–hop. Granted, I still have trouble lowering myself down using only my left leg, but considering the fact that this time last year it took three people and fifteen minutes to change my pants, I’ll take it.

Perspective is everything.

For the last year I’ve wondered exactly what happened that night. The answer I’ve given anyone who’s asked is that maybe I landed wrong, like didn’t get feet underneath me or whatever. Maybe the floor was slick. Maybe it was my shoes. They WERE way too big for my feet. Well, until this last week I never had the courage to watch the video and find out. (That’s right, my disaster was caught on film.) I kept thinking, I don’t want to WATCH my body falling apart. But this last week I finally got the guts. I thought, The worst is over, I can handle it. I want to know what happened.

So I watched the video.

Best I can tell, I didn’t get quite high enough, then my left foot landed before my right one on a bit of an angle. Then the worst happened. Check out the still from the video below. It looks like I’m impersonating Elvis Presley, but in fact my left knee is going out to lunch. Don’t worry–I’m NOT going to share the actual video (but our rehearsal from the night before is posted at the conclusion of tonight’s blog). The injury is honestly not TOO painful to watch, but it’s not comfortable either. The difficult part I have trouble viewing is the rest of the routine, in which my face flinches and my body flops around like a fish out of water. I guess I’m embarrassed to show it. Still, looking back, I’m proud I finished the routine at all. Once it was over, I couldn’t even stand on my own. Matt had to assist me off the dance floor, at which point I sat down and didn’t stand unassisted for over two weeks.

In other words, I’m pretty much a badass for not collapsing as soon as the injury occurred.

I’ve spent most of today lying in bed, resting and watching Lindy Hop videos. There’s a big competition this weekend, and they’re live-streaming the finals for all the contests. Before my injury, I would have been jealous. I would have compared myself to the best in the world and thought, They’re so much better than I am. I wish that were me. Having survived last year’s trauma, however, now I’m just happy to be able to dance at all. Several of the couples I watched today–honestly–screwed up some of their lifts. Nobody I saw limped off the dance floor, but the fact is that even if you’re an awesome dancer and rehearse something a hundred times, things can still go wrong. Shit happens. Your life can change in the blink of an eye.

So be grateful.

I’ve thought about this a lot today, the idea that we spend so much time comparing ourselves to others. And for what? Recently I’ve been culling my Facebook friends, and a number of the people I’m digitally divorcing are people I’ve looked up to, been jealous of, and wanted approval from for one reason or another. Alas, for all my wanting to be seen by and approved of by these people, I’ve gotten peanuts. (They have their own problems.) This is just as well. I could spend the next ten years wanting someone else’s talent, and it will never be mine because it belongs to them. (What’s theirs is theirs and what’s mine is mine.) Absent my judgment of or wanting something from someone else, their talent IS mine, in that I get to watch and enjoy it. This is what I’ve really leaned into this last year–I know what I’ve got and I know what I don’t got, and that’s okay. Talent or no talent, looks or no looks, knees that work or don’t, I have everything I need in order to love, be loved, and be happy. In short, I have me.

Not me as I wish I were, but me as I am.

This is enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t pick and choose what you receive from life, and you can’t always accurately label something as bad.

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It’s Time to Change My Sheets! (Blog #912)

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Phew. It’s been a busy twenty-four hours. Last night I attended a swing dance at an airport hanger/museum in Northwest Arkansas. The best part? A bunch of my dance friends were there, including several who drove down from Springfield. Talk about a party. I had as much fun visiting and dancing last night as I have since I don’t remember when. This is the weekend I always hosted my annual swing dance convention, Southern Fried Swing, so maybe that’s it. Like part of me associates this time of year with, well, a good time. And although I miss Southern Fried Swing, I don’t know, last night might have been better. Only because I didn’t have to foot the bill. Or stay late to clean the floor.

When the party was over, I just left.

Today has been go, go, go. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This morning I thought, I’ll just spend a few hours painting a client’s deck, and that’ll be it. And whereas I did spend a few hours painting, I also spent a few more. You know, I got on a roll. I thought, If I finish this today, I won’t have to come back tomorrow. Well, form follows thought, so that’s exactly what happened. I finished.

Let’s hear it for the boy.

Here’s a picture of the deck half painted with one coat of paint.

Here’s a picture of the deck fully painted with two coats of paint. The light spots are where the paint is still wet. It continues to dry as we speak.

Y’all, waiting for paint to dry is the worst. Waiting for anything is the worst. What I mean is that I really like projects to be “finished,” and although I got a ton of work done today, this project won’t be officially completed until two days from now. This is when the paint will be dry enough for me to put the furniture I took off the deck back on. Again, this means waiting. This means being patient. Currently my laundry is washing, and it’s the same deal. Because I can’t wiggle my nose and instantly make my clothes clean and dry, I simply have to wait the best as I can.

My method of waiting, usually, is to do things while I wait. To be productive. You know, like an American. Tonight while my laundry has been washing I’ve been doing little things around the house–scrubbing a couple stains in the carpet, throwing away expired toiletries, cleaning out my shower drain (it was full of my hair–and a toenail). I’d intended to blog while doing laundry, but the odd job thing started. I kept thinking, While I’m at it, I might as well.

I might as well clean my tennis shoes. I might as well bleach my teeth. I might as well change the sheets on my bed.

It has been a couple months.

I have a journalist friend who jokes that the purpose of time is to keep everything from happening at once. Think about it. If we could wiggle our noses and make everything happen lickity split, it’d be cool, but in exercising the magic to speed things up, we’d also be losing the magic of experiencing the thing–of painting this board then that board, of folding the laundry, of doing the odd jobs. When I think back on my twenty years of dancing, I wouldn’t–even if I could–wiggle my nose and make my nineteen-year-old-newbie-dancer self know everything I know now. Why? Because I’d miss out on the experience of twenty years of learning, twenty years of traveling, twenty years of dancing with my friends. It’s that worn-out thing that everyone says–it’s the journey, not the destination.

Last night I had some fabulous dances. For some of them, I pulled out moves I learned five, ten, and twenty years ago. Seen from this perspective, my dances last night were decades in the making. And although I didn’t know these dances were going to happen, in one sense I’ve been waiting to have them all my life. Didn’t you wait your entire life to do whatever you did today–even if was just eat today’s breakfast, wash today’s laundry? Think about it. Whatever you’re doing right here, right now, has been a long time in the making. And you’ve been oh-so patient. Or not. Either way, rather than making it ho-hum moment, enjoy it. Like, Finally! It’s time to change my sheets.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

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A Whirling Planet Full of Wonder (Blog #367)

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Last weekend while I was in Tulsa, my friend Frank gave me a 2009 High School Musical calendar (I have a relatively mild crush on Zac Efron), and when I got home I hung the calendar above my bed. It’s opened to Zac’s picture, of course. There are actually a few pictures of Zac for the month of February, one really big then a few smaller ones–like a collage. One of the smaller pictures has “some girl” staring at Zac all googly-eyed, and my friend Kara said I should paste a picture of my face over hers, like, staring at Zac “longingly.” For a moment, I actually considered it. I’m almost forty years old.

Since my door is normally closed, my dad just saw the calendar for the first time tonight. It was so cute. He said, “Is that a picture of you?”

“Uh, no–thank you–that’s Zac Efron.”

“Well you’re better looking that he is!”

Y’all, I realize parents are supposed to say stuff like this to their children, but it seriously made my day–well, more like it made my five seconds, since then my dad immediately said, “I don’t have my glasses on.” I haven’t been able to get these two phrases out of my head all night–“You’re better looking than he is,” and “I don’t have my glasses on.”

Talk about blowing up the balloon of my ego then letting all the air out.

Parents.

Last night I did a Facebook Live video (my first ever) to celebrate the one-year anniversary of my blog (the blog you’re reading right now). First, to anyone who tuned in live or watched later–thank you! It was really fun, and getting to interact with several of you and read your comments truly made my day.

For anyone who missed the live video that’s interested, here’s a copy of it (22 minutes). Toward the end I read yesterday’s one-year anniversary post. Also, when I tested it for this post, I had to “hover over” the bottom of the video to un-mute it after hitting play.

After wrapping up last night’s video, I attended a swing dance in Fayetteville. One of the people I danced with last night, another guy, said he’d only been dancing a couple of months. He had the biggest smile on his face all night. Later I told someone else that I remember feeling that way when I first started dancing, that I was a little jealous of beginners because they are “all joy” and not focused on whether they’re doing something right or wrong. They’re not comparing themselves to others. Not that being a “seasoned dancer” means you can’t have fun. Last night I had as much fun as I’ve ever had, mostly–I think–because I’ve gotten more comfortable in my skin this last year. It’s not as if I don’t notice who dances “better” or “worse” than I do–I just don’t care as much anymore. I’d rather have fun.

With the exception of a two-hour get-together with my friend Kara, I spent the entirety of today reading a book called Here Is Real Magic (A Magician’s Search for Wonder in the Modern World) by Nate Staniforth. A memoir, the book is largely about the fact that as we grow older and fill ourselves with facts and figures (knowledge), we lose touch with the beautiful, awe-inspiring, wonderful world around us. Nate, a magician, says this is the magician’s job, not to trick or deceive people, but to help bring them into the present moment and remind them of the mystery of life. As spectators we’re curious how magicians perform their tricks, but, as Nate says, not all questions have to have answers.

To read a beautiful quote by Roald Dahl and the introduction to Nate’s book, click the preview button below.

Y’all, the book really is glorious–a lovely story wonderfully told. I don’t say this about many authors, but Nate is an excellent writer–I read the entire book today, cover to cover, and for all my reading, that rarely happens. Two days, maybe. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this wonder thing today. A friend of mine posted some videos of us dancing last night, and I’ve been watching them over and over. Part of me, the critical part, notices what I don’t like–my posture, the way I shape my arms, the fact that I’ve been sick lately and was completely out of breath after one dance. But I keep telling myself that in that moment, I was like that beginner dancer having fun–a smile on my face, content to simply be alive and (quite literally) kicking.

I’ve had a fascination with the planets lately, and driving home from my get-together with Kara today, I got this picture of the planet earth. It was like I was looking at it from outer space, this big ball with billions of people with their feet glued all over its surface. They say there’s no up or down in outer space, but if there were, clearly the people in the northern hemisphere would be facing “up” and the people in the southern hemisphere would be facing “down.” Thanks to gravity, no one feels like they are “right-side up” or “upside down,” but my point is still the same–WOW, what a world we live in.

What a beautiful world indeed.

Since working through a lot of my personal shit this last year, I’ve actually been having thoughts like these more and more. I’ll be driving along and think, My God, that mountain is gorgeous, or even, Look at that lightbulb–what a great thing–what did people do before lightbulbs? I guess children have these thoughts all the time. For them, the entire world and everything in it is new, bright, and beautiful. When someone gives them a compliment, they don’t have to question if it’s true–they know that they too are beautiful. Beautiful–full of beauty–this is how I’m slowly coming to see the world and all that is in it, including myself. And what a beautiful world indeed, a whirling planet full of wonder, where up is down and down is up and people can dance together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

"

Forgetting (Blog #353)

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It’s 8 o’clock on the last day of Lindyfest here in Houston, and Daddy is exhausted. Last night I danced until 3:30 in the morning. I’d intended to turn in an hour earlier, but my friend Hannah and I started dancing, and one or both of us kept saying, “UH–just one more?” This morning I was up around 9 for breakfast and have been mostly groggy and incoherent all day, despite the fact that I took a two-hour nap. I guess my body has simply had enough. Granted, it might have something to do with all the extra anti-histamines I’ve been taking for my generally itchy skin and specifically itchy rash (located where no one wants a rash).

In addition to being on my body, this rash has been on my mind for the last week, worrying me. I have an appointment to see my dermatologist this coming week, and when I spoke with his nurse on the phone about what was going on, she said it sounded like dermatitis. In medical terms, this simply means an inflammation of the skin, which means a rash, which I already knew. The nurse said to take anti-histamines and apply hydrocortisone cream, but that advice has so far yielded zero results. Frustrated, yesterday I called my former dermatologist (whom I only quit seeing because she stopped taking my insurance), and asked her opinion. Admitting that I was seeing another doctor, I said, “This is the part where I feel like I’m having an affair.”

Thankfully, she seemed to understand and didn’t come back with, “But what about MY needs?”

Since the rash hasn’t been responding to hydrocortisone, she seemed to think I had a yeast problem. (This is fun to talk about, I know.) So after I got off the phone with her, I walked bravely through Houston traffic to the nearest CVS in search of yet-another cream. Y’all, this last year has been hell on my skin. I’ve had so many problems, I literally have a box of creams, ointments, lotions, gels, and pastes, all meant for rubbing on your pits and parts that never see the sun. Anyway, I got the new cream and gave it a shot when I arrived back at the hotel, but haven’t used it again, since I convinced myself last night that my skin is probably just irritated and pissed off because I keep putting so many chemicals on it.

Honestly, I can’t tell if things are slightly better or slightly worse today. Part of me thinks better, but another part of me thinks I’m simply getting used to itching all the time. Ever since The Great Sinus Infection Drama of the Twenty-First Century started last October, my skin has been overly reactive, so this latest problem just feels like “one more thing.” (When it rains, it pours. How true, how true.) Yesterday on the phone my former dermatologist said, “It’s possible you have a pinched nerve in your lower back, and that could be contributing to your discomfort.”

First, are you freaking kidding me? Second, does anyone else ever get the distinct feeling that doctors are many times “just guessing”?

Due to the number of health problems I’ve had these last several months, I almost didn’t come to Lindyfest this year, even though I’m on staff. But I’m glad I did. Not only has it been a great distraction while I wait for my next doctor’s appointment, but it’s also been great fun. Last night while Hannah and I were dancing, another guy came over to ask me to dance. (Several dancers here dance both the lead and follow roles.) Anyway, Hannah said, “Since we all three dance both roles, let’s do a steal dance.” (A steal dance is when two people start a dance, and one or more other people jump in and replace one of the original dancers–it’s super fun.) So that’s what we did–I led Hannah, then I led the guy, then Hannah led the guy, then she led me, and so on.

Before we knew it, we’d drawn a crowd. (This was around three in the morning after most people had gone to bed, so it was easy to do.) And here’s the wonderful part–one-by-one the rest of the ballroom started joining in. Within the course of the minute, nearly everyone was on the floor, all of us taking turns dancing with each other. Y’all it was so fun. This is why I dance. In those moments, I wasn’t thinking about my struggling body or itchy skin. I wasn’t worried about what’s going to happen next in my life. Also, I wasn’t thinking of what I was doing “wrong.” I wasn’t comparing myself to others. Rather, I was having fun–being alive, being present, “forgetting” that there’s anything un-perfect with me, another, or the world we live in.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Anything and everything is possible.

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Moving toward The Middle (Blog #350)

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It’s two in the morning, and I’m in Houston at Lindyfest, the swing dance event I’ve been working with for the last two months. I left Arkansas this afternoon around twelve-thirty, and it took nine hours to get here. On the way I listened to several lectures (on the internet as well as in my head), then music, music, music. For the last week I’ve had a song called “The Middle” in my earphones on repeat, so today was a lot of that. I don’t know, something about it makes me happy. Plus, something about being on the road with Tom Collins. It was a great drive.

If you’re new here, Tom Collins is my car. (Try to keep up.)

But going back to The Middle. One of the lectures I listened to was by Joseph Campbell and was about King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and the Grail Legends. Since I was focused on driving, several of the details Campbell spoke about went in one ear and out the other, but what stuck was a story about one of the knights, Percival. Google says that the name Percival means “to pierce the valley,” but Campbell says it means, “through the middle.” To me, both interpretations are close enough to the same thing, but I’m going to stick with Campbell’s (mostly) from here on out.

Another lecture I listened to (by a different speaker) was about changing tribal beliefs. Tribal beliefs reside in your first chakra (at the base of your spine), are often related to safety or being “grounded,” and are inherited. Usually unconscious, they are the beliefs we have that were taught to us as children that we don’t question, things like “You have to work hard to get ahead in this world” or “People won’t accept me for who I really am.” And here’s where we get back to Campbell, Percival, and The Middle. The speaker said that we usually think of our beliefs as being in black and white. The world is either this way or that way. However, when we think of our beliefs in black and white, they are difficult to change. But the speaker said, “What if you just changed one of your beliefs by ten percent? What if you asked yourself, ‘Isn’t it reasonable to think that someone–anyone–could accept me for who I am?'”

Isn’t that reasonable?

Since I have a strong tendency to think in black and white, I love this suggestion about making slight changes in my beliefs because it introduces an element of gray. It sounds like a more gentle way of being. It invites me to walk down The Middle instead of staying on one side all the time. I don’t know, it sounds more–balanced.

Leading up to this dance event, I’ve had a thousand thoughts running around my head. I haven’t been to Lindyfest in five years, and you know how you imagine how things will go. If they say this, I’m going to say this. Of course, it never happens the way you think it will, but I still do it. Since I’m the marketing director for this year’s event, I’ve mostly imagined myself being “super friendly” with people–talking to as many folks as possible. How are you, where are you from, what do you like or dislike about the event? You know, excited, like a damn puppy. I’m just so happy to be here!

I quickly remembered that I’m not Guy Smiley.

Never mind that even though I love talking to people, it can wear me out. I mean, in conversation there has to be a give and take, which obviously can’t happen with five hundred people at a dance event. (Dancers are weird and awkward–like most humans.) Maybe some people can talk to a wall, but I’m not one of them. Anyway, I quickly remembered that I’m simply not Guy Smiley. After getting checked into my room, I went to the ballroom and said hello to a few folks, but I immediately felt outside my comfort zone. I thought, I’m here all by myself. Where are my friends? What if I don’t make it into the upper-level classes?

Apparently I forgot to leave my insecurities back in Arkansas. Shit. I thought my suitcase felt a little heavy.

For a moment, I thought about completely withdrawing, spending the weekend in my room or “just watching.” But then I decided to Get a damn grip, Nancy. So instead of jumping right into dancing, instead of forcing myself to be social when I didn’t feel like it, I took myself to the bar and ordered a beer and something for dinner. Like, Let’s eat something first, Alice. (Gay guys sometimes call each other, or themselves, by girls’ names, Mom.) This ended up being the best thing. Not only did it give me a minute to get acclimated and meet the event on my terms, but also the food was great and I ended up chatting with both a bartender and the lady next to me (who was here for the dance).

When I finished eating, I went back to the ballroom. I found a friend, then found a couple more. I danced a few dances, but my lung capacity is seriously down lately. So I introduced myself to a few strangers (but not the whole room), then ended up in two really long, lovely conversations with people I knew, but didn’t know that well. And here’s what I’m proud about–I didn’t go all Walmart Greeter on everyone’s ass, but I also didn’t hide out in a corner all evening. I found The Middle. In the process, I got out of my comfort zone–enough–and also challenged some of my tribal beliefs, things like “I can’t strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know.”

Isn’t it reasonable to think that others feel insecure too, that it’s not just me? Isn’t it reasonable to think that someone would respond well to a friendly face, my friendly face?

My hope is that I’ll start hanging out in The Middle more often, challenging my limiting tribal beliefs a little at a time. With any luck, I too will be able to pierce the valley, where I imagine there is a lot more gray.

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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All That Is Best and Broken (Blog #246)

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After eight months of solid blogging, I haven’t quite figured out how to “blog early.” (Perhaps this is not a surprise.) This morning I woke up at 11:30 and completed all my other daily routines (morning pages, chi kung, half a pot of coffee), and Bonnie and I have been shopping in Fayetteville ever since. My energy level is slightly better than yesterday, but now it’s 7:45, we’re at a dance in Northwest Arkansas that hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already worn out. Since the dance lasts for a while and then there’s the drive home, I’m trying to blog now while my brain is somewhat–somewhat–functional. I just can’t stay up late again to blog, at least until I feel better. I just can’t.

Great, that’s 125 words.

Oh wow, there’s a live band tonight–the Prairie Grove Jazz Band–and they just started warming up. It sounds like a bunch of toddlers who found the pots and pans. (I’m sure it will be much better when they’re actually playing a song.) Anyway, I wonder if I’ll be able to concentrate, keep a coherent train of thought going in between all the noise and the dances. Oh well–hang on–this could be a bumpy ride. AND the band just started. Much better, but loud. (YOU’LL HAVE TO TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.)

Oh my god, I just danced and am dying. Where did all the air go? Talk amongst yourselves.

The shopping objective today was to replace holiday decorations that Bonnie recently lost in a house flood. Anyway, we went to several stores and ended up with dozens of oversized tree ornaments, a holiday kitchen towel, and a Santa Claus that looks like St. Francis of Assisi that we’re calling St. Nicolaus of Assisi. Oh–and how could I forget?–we found two little statues–an owl and a squirrel–in fancy circus clothes and top hats! Who thinks of this stuff! Anyway, Bonnie’s gonna stick those suckers next to a little artificial pine tree, and it’s going to be so adorable you won’t be able to stand yourself.

Woodland critters in top hats for Christmas!

I told Bonnie that the best thing about today has been that not only have I gotten out of the house, but I’ve also gotten out of my head. I mean, if it hasn’t been obvious, I’ve spent a lot of time lately worrying about the state of my physical body. Why am I so tired? Am I ever going to feel well again? Maybe I should go ahead and pick out my headstone. This sort of thinking, of course, is exhausting (not to mention dramatic). Still, it’s hard to avoid when I have almost every minute of every day to myself with little else to do or think about. So whereas I think I need to take it easy, I’m reminding myself that I need to get out and be around other people–other people who will let me whine for about five minutes then shut me up with a margarita.

For lunch Bonnie shut me up with a margarita. Y’all, both of us have been on really healthy diets lately, Bonnie for nine weeks, me for four. But today we broke all the rules and had Mexican food. Wow, it was like reuniting with an old friend. I seriously felt like I owed the cheese an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t called lately–I’ve been cheating on you with spinach–I won’t let it happen again. Everything was so delicious; I probably gained five pounds from the chips alone. Of course, it feels like all my hard work just went straight down the drain, just like the flour tortillas went straight to my hips, but I realize that one meal is only one meal. Even even if it weren’t–it was totally worth it.

When we sat down at the restaurant, Bonnie surprised me with a birthday present. Granted, my birthday was over two months ago, but Bonnie made my present by hand, so it took her some time. Y’all, Bonnie knitted me some multi-colored wool socks–just in time for winter! I realize this is totally an old person thing to do, getting excited about socks. But these are homemade socks, and since my feet are always cold this time of year, warm socks really are the perfect thing. Plus, Bonnie designed the socks with a path down each side, sort of like a road, but it’s intentionally crooked and bumpy because Bonnie said that’s how life is.

Having lived for twenty-seven years now, I’d have to agree.

The card Bonnie gave me tonight had a quote by Oscar Wilde on it that said, “Be yourself–everyone else is taken.” Bonnie didn’t know it, but that quote is also used in the musical Kinky Boots–one of my favorites. So again, it was the perfect thing. Anyway, the quote makes me think about the importance of authenticity. I know we all wear masks and play different roles. Some of this, of course, is necessary in a polite society. You can’t tell everyone everything. But having spent plenty of time over the years trying to be someone I wasn’t (for example–straight, interested, or completely fine with bad behavior), I realize now I was mostly trying to be someone who didn’t even exist. Newsflash–there is no straight Marcus. There is no Marcus who’s okay when he’s cheated on. There is, however, a gay Marcus who sometimes falls apart and sometimes gets mad as hell.

Circuitous routes are where the healing happens.

Naturally, the road to authenticity is a crooked, bumpy path, just like recovering from an illness is a crooked, bumpy path. Being yourself, taking care of yourself, takes work. As my therapist says, it’s exhausting to always be the person setting boundaries and speaking your truth. So sometimes you wander as you figure things out. I think that’s okay. Nobody shows up to this life with a map in their hand, and even if we had one, I’m not sure we’d want to travel in a straight line. No, circuitous routes are better and more interesting. Circuitous routes are where the healing happens, since they let you double back and pick up the pieces of yourself you dropped along the way. This is what authenticity looks like, I think, the willingness to gather together all that is best and broken inside you and share it with someone else without apology, to face the world and say, “This is my winding road–this is MY winding road–and this is who I am.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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The Mystery of It All (Blog #181)

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When I first started blogging almost six months ago, the average blog took anywhere from four to six hours to complete. I’d sit at the laptop staring at a blank page and just wait for an idea to show up, sort of like I do now with boyfriends. It was exhausting. Thankfully, the process has gotten a lot easier. Now the average blog takes two hours–about an hour and a half to write, maybe thirty minutes to edit. Honestly, it’s still tough, trying to take an average day and turn it into something funny or profound. Sometimes I’d simply like to eat a damn cheeseburger without having to turn it into a mystical experience. Recently I turned down the opportunity to spend the night with a delightful man so I could come home and blog. Tonight I had dinner with perhaps the most honest friend I have, and he said, “Couldn’t you just take off one night in order to get laid?”

I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.

Still, I’ve come to love the experience. More often than not, I really have no idea what I’m going to sit down and say. More accurately, I have no idea what’s going to be said through me. But I’ve found that if I just start typing, something shows up. That’s why so many blogs start with, “It’s one in the morning, I’m tired, and I can’t stop smelling my armpits.” I’ve found if I just start with the facts–the honest truth–then it’s like a roller coaster ride. Suddenly I’m off and running, and the twists and turns are just as much a surprise to me as to anyone else. Yes, it still scares the shit out of me. I constantly think, What am I going to say next? Despite this fact, I’m learning to trust the process, the mystery of it all.

There’s something about the end of September. For six years, I hosted Southern Fried Swing (a Lindy Hop convention) at this time of year, so all the memories are popping up on Facebook. I can just feel it in the air. It seems like I should be decorating the venue, picking up instructors from the airport, meeting with the band, eating cinnamon rolls from Calico County, and–of course–dancing. It’s the way I used to feel every summer, that I should be at summer camp, teaching kids to canoe and singing “Picking Up Paw Paws.” Now it feels like something is missing, something that I really loved and was good at.

Today, instead of working on Southern Fried Swing (or, as one friend calls it, Chicken Pot Pie), I drove to Fort Smith to pick up a bunch of “cancer hats” for my mom. Since she’s bald, she’s been wearing a sailor’s hat at home to keep her warm. Honestly, it’s not cute–she looks like Gilligan. Anyway, my sister talked to a family friend who’s had cancer, and she and her mom (also a cancer survivor) rounded up some more fashionable options for my mom. As the gay child in the family, I’m not sure why I didn’t think of this first.

After picking up the hats, I went to Walmart to get gas for Tom Collins (my car) and decided I needed to replace my wiper blades. I mean, the ones I’ve had have been “okay,” but not great. Well, anything feels like an expense these days, but I’m going on a road trip in a couple weeks, so I figured it would be a good investment. So I bit the bullet and got two for the front and one for the back. Y’all, either I’m getting smarter or wiper blades are designed better than they used to be. Usually it takes me half an hour, a manual, and a gallon of holy water to change wiper blades, but I changed all three of those suckers in less than five minutes this afternoon.

It really is the little things.

Tonight on the way to dinner, I tested out the blades, and–wow–they were worth every penny. I can see clearly now. When I got home, Mom checked out the hats I picked up this afternoon. She tried a couple of her favorites on, then Dad came in the room and tried a couple on. Ever the selfie opportunist, I threw one on too and took a picture of us. It just lasted a moment, but–at least for me–the whole cancer problem seemed lighter. Maybe I just felt closer to my family.

Also, maybe I should start wearing pink more.

Naturally, I have a lot of plans for my life, things I’d like to see happen. The truth is that life, like writing, is a mystery. You start out having no idea how it’s going to go, or maybe you think “this” will happen, but things simply unfold as the do. Maybe you spend six years doing the same thing every fall, and then one year it’s over, nothing left but memories and old photos. Sometimes I think it’s easy to get stuck in the past, to wish for what was. But whenever I do that, it feels like looking through a windshield that won’t quite come clean, as if looking backwards prevents me from seeing clearly what’s right in front of me. Maybe what’s in front of me is a mom with cancer, or maybe it’s an ordinary day. Either way, life does seem to be getting easier, and I’m coming to see every day and even myself as a black page, full of possibility.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Confidence takes what you have and amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy.

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