On Being a Guinea Pig (Blog #1061)

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This evening I’ve been thinking about being a guinea pig. What I mean is that’s how I see myself, as a walking experiment. For example, over the last few years I’ve tried a number of things to help with a number of things: body odor, acid reflux, headaches, you name it. And whereas some of the things I’ve tried have been conventional, many of them have not. Not that I’m absolutely sold on home remedies and weird shit (because a lot of it is bogus), but–let’s face it–conventional approaches don’t always get the job done. I can’t tell you the number of college-educated doctors I’ve asked about my issues, yes, to be helped some, but also to only be told, “You’re an enigma” or “You’ve got me there.”

Used to, these sorts of answers would cause me to despair. Like, it’s hopeless. I’m fucked. More and more, I’m not bothered when someone–even a professional–says they don’t know what to do. Why? Because that lets me know THEY’RE not the one I’m looking for, the one with the answer. And I don’t begrudge them for this. After all, it’s good to know where NOT to look (or whom NOT to date), and just because someone doesn’t have every piece of a puzzle doesn’t mean they don’t have a piece of it. Dr. Johan Boswinkel said, “I believe that truth has 144 sides.” To me this means that we can’t expect one person to be able to solve all our problems, whether that one person is a doctor, a therapist, or even us. It takes a village to see the entire picture.

To solve the entire problem.

Along these lines, for example, I’ve made huge strides with sinus infections thanks to a blog I found online. Still, last week I asked my primary care physician about ways to deal with post nasal drip, and next week I have an appointment with the ENT who performed my sinus surgery three years ago (which helped with, well, breathing) to ask them the same question. There was a time in my life I would have only sought out one opinion, but now I just don’t believe that’s enough.

How many opinions are enough? However many it takes to get the answer you want. This is what I mean by being a guinea pig. I’m so determined to heal–whatever that means–that I’m willing to ask almost anyone, to try almost anything. Rather than suffer. I don’t know. There’s just something in me that keeps hoping, keeps insisting that life can be better. Better than it has been. Better than it is. Not that the past and present have been completely awful (all of the time), but I’m convinced there’s something more. Not out there, but in here. Inside of me.

I’m talking about potential.

Fortunately, my keep-hoping, never-quit, good-God-I-need-an-answer-right-now-damn-it-because-I’m-exhausted attitude has started to pay off. Over the last few months my body has begun to heal and to change thanks to upper cervical care. Thanks to the new therapist I’ve started seeing (in addition to my regular therapist and whose methods I intend to discuss more fully soon) and the myofascial release practitioner I mentioned last week, I’ve processed and let go of emotions that have been hidden in my body for decades. Ugh. It’s been said that emotions buried alive never die, and I’ve found this to be true. Just because you stuff something down doesn’t mean it’s not there. Sooner or later, all our feelings must be felt, expressed, and assimilated. Otherwise they’ll simply show up as our neuroses (anxieties, fears, compulsions, addictions) or, perhaps worse, our dis-eases (pains, ailments).

Honestly, my discomforts and diseases over the years have been the main reason I’ve worked so hard to “get better” mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. (I believe you can’t separate the four.) My Reiki teacher says our bodies are our sounding boards, meaning they let us know when something in our life needs attention or is out of balance. Of course, achieving balance is a delicate undertaking and seems to require a lifelong commitment. So be it. Perhaps this is why we’ve been given life in the first place, so that both we as individuals and we as a collective can come to a greater sense of harmony.

Perhaps.

Getting back to the idea that it takes a village, when I think about the healing I’ve experienced over the last few years and even the last few months, I’d like to be clear. As much as I love my therapist and wouldn’t be without her, I also wouldn’t be without this new therapist I’m seeing. Nor would I be without my primary care physician, my ENT, or my myofascial release practitioner. Nor would I be without, well, myself, since I’ve figured out a number of things no one on my “healing team” has been able to. Not that I’m so fabulous. For every piece I’ve figured out, I have dozens of websites, books, and YouTube videos (and their producers) to credit.

So. We’re all in this together.

All this to say that if you’re struggling with something, if you’re looking for answers, if you’re, well, human, hang in there. It’s a big universe (with a big internet), and you’ve got more options now than ever. Granted, there are certain things we’re just “stuck with” for life (and we all have to get off this planet somehow), but more and more I believe our bodies and souls are capable of more than we give them credit for, certainly more than we’ve been led to believe. So keep trying, keep searching. Until you find your Self. Keep being a guinea pig until you find Balance. When it comes to others, especially experts, take them with a grain of salt. They are, after all, only human. No one knows everything. And only you get to say what your potential is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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In the Valley of the Shadow of Death (Blog #1027)

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This afternoon I saw my upper cervical care doctor, and we talked about the healing process. Thinking about the sinus infection I’ve been fighting for the last three weeks, I said, “I could use a little pep talk.”

“How long have you been coming here?” he said.

“Two months,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said. “Hang in there. There’s a reason you’re not on a two-month plan. [I’m on a twelve-month plan.]”

Then he showed me a “road to recovery” graph drawn by one of the people who developed upper cervical care (I think). “The top, mostly horizontal line is normal health,” he said. Then he pointed to a line that dipped significantly downward and said, “This was your health before coming here. Things would improve now and then, but overall they were headed south.”

Into the valley of the shadow of death, I thought.

Next he pointed to the bottom of the valley, where the declining line began to slowly climb upwards back to normal (as indicated by the–eekk–“exceptional chronic case” line below). “At two months we’ve got you going in the right direction,” he said, “but you’re still down here. Your posture’s changed because we’ve forced it to. [Get a linebacker to twist your neck around* and see if your body doesn’t respond.] You’re seeing improvements, but it usually takes three to four months for your nervous system to begin working and integrating with your immune system. THAT’S when we typically see the most dramatic results, and that’s when YOU should notice a difference in your sinuses and things like that.”

Fingers crossed.

*To be fair to my doctor, this isn’t exactly what happens. For an in-depth and less dramatic description of what DOES happen, read here.

So I’ve thinking about this graph this evening, about being in the valley of the shadow of death. Not just in health terms, but also in symbolic terms. What I mean is that there are so many times in our lives when things are going down, down, down, getting darker and darker and darker. Like we would if we were playing a game of limbo, we think, How low can I go? But then by some grace we reach–to borrow a phrase I used yesterday–a turning point. One day we see a therapist, get a new doctor, pick up a book, start a class, or hell, get married or divorced. Regardless, we think, Okay, I may not be out of the woods yet, but at least I’m not going any deeper into them.

Having struggled with sinus issues for decades, I can’t tell you how much I HOPE that one day they will be a thing of the past. Or at least be less frequent, more manageable. Technically, I guess they are. Despite the fact that they’ve reared their ugly heads (in my head) lately, they’re not as bad as they used to be. Still, my point is that for all my hoping, I also find the notion that they COULD be significantly better a little hard to believe. Just because that hasn’t been my experience. Ugh. It’s the damndest thing. We WANT better health, better relationships, better finances, and yet it’s difficult to truly envision them for ourselves because we naturally project that our future will be not all too dissimilar from our past. This is why we NEED others who are NOT where we are but are rather where we want to be to keep reminding us that other realities are possible, that–I promise–your viewpoint will change when you’re not in the valley.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

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On Words and How You Change Your Reality (Blog #880)

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This afternoon I painted for two hours, came home and took a shower, and went to the chiropractor. Then I met with a friend for whom I’ll be house sitting soon, bought a piece of carpet for my parents’ garage (for when our cars leak), went to Kinko’s to get a quote for a print job, and went the library to download and test a some new software on my computer. Then, because the software didn’t work because the library is picky about what you can do on their network, I went to a coffee shop to test the software. Much to my delight, it worked there.

Phew.

This evening I’ve been putting off writing the blog. Not because there’s something I need to say but don’t want to, but simply because I don’t want to say anything–period. I’d rather curl up with a book and go to bed. Lately I’ve been go-go-going a lot and not really taking a break. Even on my days off, I find things to do. I mean, there’s always a lawn that needs to be mowed, something that needs to be fixed, or a potential creative project to start.

Somebody make me take a nap.

I know, that’s my job.

This evening I found myself frustrated first because, well, money, and second because I was having such a difficult time getting that software to download and work. You know, life never happens as fast as you want it to. Thankfully, I drove around with my windows down (something I love to do), listened to some of my favorite music, and told myself a few stories and felt better.

What kind of stories did you tell yourself, Marcus?

I’m glad you asked.

This morning my mom was watching Dr. Oz, and I overheard a part when the good doctor was interviewing a professional taste tester. “Do you have more taste buds that most people?” he asked. “No,” she said, “I have the same taste buds that everyone else has. What I do have more of is words. I have more words to DESCRIBE what I’m tasting and feeling.”

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Caroline Myss says that our words shape our reality. For example, how much power have you given the word fat? It’s just a three-letter word, but my guess is it controls you. Now think of how you frame the inconveniences or atrocities in your life. When you think of them or describe them to someone else, do you use words like awful and unfair, or phrases like no big deal or learning experience? Because, guaranteed, how you frame your experiences will determine whether or not they cause you needless suffering.

This is what I mean by the stories I told myself this evening. When I started thinking and getting upset about money (yesterday I had some expensive work done on my car, Tom Collins), rather than wallowing I started thinking of all the blessings in my life–the free books I get to read at the library, the job opportunities that have come my way lately, the fact that I SAVED nearly two hundred dollars on the repair work because I used a private mechanic instead of a garage. When I got frustrated about the software installation, I thought, I’d like this to work as soon as possible, but there’s absolutely no deadline involved here. I have all the time in the world to figure this out. To boil this last example down, you could say at first I thought I HAD to finish, then I thought I COULD finish.

This shift in words–in perspective–changed everything.

Recently I got together with a friend who is a dynamo when it comes to writing and singing music. Like, I’d kill for their specific talent. Well, during the course of our get-together, they said they didn’t think of themselves as a REAL musician because they couldn’t play an instrument (very well). Immediately I said, “Oh, that’s not true.” Now, for ME that’s not true, but obviously for THEM, it is. Like, if they don’t ever change their mind about it, they could go the rest of their life never fully recognizing and basking in the glory of their wonderful talent, never enjoying the label of musician. I mean, I get it. My therapist has been telling me for years that I’m fabulous at this and wonderful at that, and I’m like, Eh, I’m okay.

Well, words matter. There’s a HUGE DIFFERENCE between okay and fabulous.

Getting back to the taste tester lady, I don’t know that she HAS more words than most of us do, she’s simply learned how to use them properly, to know what words go with what flavors and textures. This, I think, is what most of us need to learn to do–to use our words properly, to use them to empower ourselves rather than depower ourselves. This is where a good therapist or self-help book can come in handy. They can introduce a new story, a new perspective. They can say, “Sweetheart, take another look. What you’re telling yourself about yourself or this situation isn’t true.” Then you can reconsider, and if you wish, rewrite your story. (You’re that powerful.) This is how you change your perspective. This is how you change your reality.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

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On Patterns and Parts (Blog #874)

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Today I was supposed to see my therapist then see my acupuncturist. And whereas I did see my therapist, I totally spaced out about my acupuncturist. Well, not totally. I remembered thirty minutes before my appointment. But then I went to the bank and the thought evaporated. I don’t have anything to do until this evening, I thought, so I ended up going to an antique store then to a coffee shop. Finally, forty-five minutes into what would have been my acupuncture session, I remembered. Oh crap, I thought, and called their office. However, no one answered. So I left a message.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what happened.”

After hanging up, my first inclination was to feel bad, to beat myself up for not remembering. But then I reminded myself that you can’t remember what you can’t remember, and it’s not like I on-purpose tried to screw anyone over. I also reminded myself that this isn’t a habit of mine. I hardly ever miss appointments. I’m typically–what’s the word?–reliable.

About an hour later, I got a call back. It was fine, they said, shit happens (my words). “We can reschedule for next week,” they said. “Although it’s possible someone could no-show today.”

“What are the chances TWO PEOPLE would do that in ONE DAY?” I said.

“You’d be surprised,” they said.

Actually, having run a dance studio for eleven years, I wouldn’t be.

But I digress.

Lately I’ve been talking a lot about patterns of thought and behavior and parts of one’s personality. For example, most of us have an inner perfectionist and/or an inner self-critic. These are the voices that started to come online for me this afternoon when I realized I’d missed my appointment. However, and I don’t mean to make this sound like it was easy, I simply wouldn’t let them. You know how sometimes part of you (your inner child) wants to eat a piece of cake, but another part of you (your inner adult) puts its foot down and says no? Well, it was like that. My inner adult said, “We are not going beat ourselves up over this. Clearly we weren’t meant to be there today. We’re always saying things happen for a reason, and now’s our chance to act like it.”

“But what if they don’t like us?” my inner people pleaser said.

“That’s their problem,” my inner adult said. “At least we like us.”

My point in sharing my internal dialogue is to drive home three points. First, patterns and parts that we find undesirable (like perfectionism or people pleasing) never disappear completely. (Only a perfectionist would want them to). This is a good thing. Tonight I bought flowers for some friends and spent ten minutes getting the length of the stems just right so the flowers wouldn’t be top heavy and cause the vase to fall over. Boy was I ever glad to have my perfectionist around THEN. Which leads me to my second point. Patterns and parts need guidance (self-leadership is the term Richard C. Schwartz uses) from you as to WHEN to either show up or shut up. (This takes practice.) Lastly, if you’re wanting to change or transform a pattern or part, you need a different pattern or part to take its place. For example, your adult could step in for your child, and your king or queen could step in for your people pleaser (because kings and queens don’t find their self-worth in the opinion of others–they know their value is inherent).

Other than my missing my appointment, the day went great. Actually, better than great. I had fun at the antique store, I got caught up with an online class at the coffee shop, I chatted with one of my best friends on the phone, and I had dinner with other friends this evening. This is another way to work with patterns and parts you want to gear down. When the day is over, take an objective inventory. Ask yourself, “Would things have gone better if I’d beaten myself up (more)?” In my case, the answer is always no. Self-flagellation never makes things better. However, understanding and accepting ever part of myself does. What’s more, when I understand and accept every part of myself, I don’t have to “force” myself to change. Rather, change happens on its own (over time). This is the power of becoming conscious of your own patterns and behaviors. It’s like, When I beat myself up, that hurts. So you stop doing it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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If You Slip on a Banana Peel (Blog #725)

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When I was a kid, in 1987, there was a commercial for HI-C, the juice box, that featured Harvey Korman and Tim Conway. I didn’t know it was them at the time, I just thought it was funny. I must have watched it a hundred times. In the commercial, Korman plays Mrs. Appleseed, the mother of Johnny Appleseed, who’s played by Conway (on his knees like his famous character Dorf), and is excited about the new HI-C juice box, which he claims is better than regular apple juice. Mrs. Appleseed, however, doesn’t agree, hitting her son over the head and knocking him backwards when he ask her to buy HI-C. But in characteristic Conway fashion, he pops right back up. Then, when threatened with another swat, he falls back down on his own.

After being sick all day yesterday with sinus issues, my body did that thing last night where it starts feeling better in the middle of the night and, consequently, won’t fall asleep. Today, I’ve been in the middle. I haven’t felt like a million bucks today, but I have felt–um–functional. Congested, but not miserable. Tired, but not wiped out. “Maybe you’re headed in the right direction,” my mom said. Here’s hoping. This has been so back-and-forth lately that I’m starting to feel like Tim Conway in the above commercial. Fearful of being swatted back down, I’m tempted to just stay on the floor.

And drink a juice box.

Despite my frustrations with my sinuses, today has been delightful. This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and hit a personal milestone since having my knee surgery three months ago tomorrow–I ran two miles (on the treadmill). Oh my gosh, y’all, I broke a sweat and everything. Hopefully, it just gets better from here. After the gym, we went back to my aunt’s house and ate a late lunch/early dinner with my other aunt. We shot the shit. I drank a cup of coffee. Then my dad and I went to the gas station and Walmart. These memories, I realize, aren’t grand. However, knowing that time with our loved ones is always limited, I hold them fondly. More and more, in my book, it takes less and less to qualify as a good day.

Last night I watched the movie Analyze This. It’s a comedy about a mob boss (Robert DeNiro) who sees a therapist (Billy Crystal) for anxiety attacks. They’re keeping him from killing people. And getting an erection.

No, not at the same time.

There’s a scene in the movie where DeNiro says to Crystal, “No one can find out I’m seeing you. They’ll think I’m crazy.” Oh my gosh, unfortunately, this is true. My therapist says it’s “worse” with middle-aged and older people, but that society as a whole believes seeing a therapist is a sign of weakness. Like, I couldn’t do this on my own. But in my experience, seeing a therapist means that you’re strong. Because you’re willing to fight for yourself. Plus, we all need help, support, and skills from time to time, and god knows our culture does a piss-poor job of educating its members about emotions, boundaries, relationships, and trauma (which we all experience by virtue of being alive). Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. In my opinion, there’s no shame in taking dance lessons because you don’t know how to dance, and there’s no shame in seeing a therapist because you don’t know how to navigate (insert your problem here).

One of the things I appreciate about the movie is that it makes light of topics that are really quite serious. For example, when DeNiro and his thugs keep barging in on Crystal’s private life (like Bob does with his therapist in What About Bob?), Crystal says, “Your boundaries are terrible.” In real life, people with bad boundaries cause us stress. In the movies, they make us laugh. Or, in the sentiment of a famous Mel Brooks quote, if I slip on a banana peel, that’s a tragedy; if YOU slip on a banana peel, that’s a comedy.

I’ve been thinking about this banana peel idea all day long. Call it human nature, but if someone else gets swatted down repeatedly by life, I can see the humor in it. If it happens to ME, well, that’s a different matter. But today I’ve been especially aware that, from the right twisted viewpoint, the life circumstances that I push so hard against are actually funny. Independent, thirty-eight-year-old lives with his parents. Colon-cleansing health-nut can’t get well to save his life. Personally, taking this comedic view makes my circumstances more bearable. Not that I hold this “isn’t it hilarious that I feel like ass?” viewpoint every minute of every day. My therapist says, “Tragedy plus time equals comedy.” That is, if you can’t see the humor in your challenges, maybe you just need more time. (Or maybe you don’t have a sense of humor.)

I hope it’s not the latter. A good sense of humor is a life-saver.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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The Book of Yourself (Blog #112)

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This afternoon Bonnie and I started hanging curtains at Annie’s Pilates studio. (Are you on the edge of your seats yet?) I say started because we only got them hung in one of the two rooms, since we ran out of time because earlier we decided to 1) sleep, 2) pack to move from one Airbnb to another, and 3) eat tacos instead. Anyway, it’s all coming together. Here’s a picture of the reception area. I’m in love with the colors, as well as that awesome  coffee table and the black bowl on it that holds all the chocolate candy (not pictured).

Yesterday we made two trips to the same store to buy an essential oil diffuser for Annie, but none of us could get it to work today. So we made another trip, and while Bonnie drove, I read one of the five books I’m currently working my way through. When we got to the store, the girl behind the counter looked at us like we were idiots and didn’t know how to operate a machine with only one button on it. “You could always call the company and see if they could help you,” she said.

I immediately wanted to pull my hair out.

No.

I wanted to pull her hair out.

“We just bought this, and it clearly doesn’t work. I personally don’t want to call the company and waste any more time,” I said. So the lady ended up calling the for us, but guess what? The company was closed for the day. So rather than take a dumb store credit, we walked out not only with a broken diffuser, but also with higher blood pressure.

Think of Jesus, Marcus, think of Jesus singing Kumbaya. Come by here–me–come by here.

In need of a break, Bonnie and I checked into our second Airbnb for the week and poured ourselves a couple of beers in the frosted mugs we found in the freezer. (Talk about a classy joint!) But on the serious, this place is super duper cutie pie. (Hi, my name is Marcus, and I talk like a junior high cheerleader.) It’s a bungalow behind a main house, so it sits back off the road.

Here’s a picture of the bed, right as you walk in the door. Notice the lamps on the wall are table lamps that have been mounted sideways. (Everyone should be so lucky.) Anyway, I love creative people.

Here’s my “bedroom,” which is also the dining area. That’s a vintage lamp above the table, and the couch transforms into a bed. Also, the vinyl floor is by Allure and comes from Home Depot, which I only know because I installed one just like it once. (It’s okay if you don’t care. I really don’t either.)

Outside there’s an honest-to-god fish pond with a waterfall, which I can hear running now. It’s beautiful and relaxing, but it’s not helping me stay awake to write.

While Bonnie rested earlier this evening, I read more in The Artist’s Way. I’m currently on week four of twelve, and although I’ve been really pleased with the whole program so far, this week’s assignments include something called “reading deprivation,” which is exactly what it sounds like. No reading–for a week–seven whole days. Uh, wait, but I read all the time. I’m currently reading five different books. I’M AN OVERACHIEVER. I can’t–stop–reading. But I guess that’s the point, to give yourself a break, to focus more on what’s going on in YOUR head rather than someone else’s.

Shit. No more escaping into books.

So after a momentary internal temper tantrum (and finishing the chapter of the book I was reading in the car earlier), I stacked up my books, my Kindle, and even a magazine and shoved them to the other side of the table. Honestly, it felt like locking my own offspring outside in the cold. I’m sorry, Daddy’s got other things to do right now. But he loves you–never forget that–and will be back in a week.

For dinner Bonnie and I walked to a place called Haymaker for sandwiches and drinks. Y’all, my Bloody Mary had a Slim Jim and a piece of cheese in it. How cool is that?

Welcome to Texas!

After dinner I’d planned to attend a swing dance while Bonnie went to the first night of the Kizomba (Latin dancing) festival she’s attending this weekend. However, I was pretty wiped out and decided I could use some time to myself, since asking strangers to dance and meeting a lot of new people can take a lot out of me. So instead I went for a walk, learned a little bit more about the layout of Austin, and came back and took a bubble bath in the most adorable little bathroom you’d ever want to spend time in. Check it out.

I actually spent over an hour in the tub, something I rarely do. I dragged a little cabinet over, set my laptop on top of it, and watched the first episode of Will, TNT’s new series about William Shakespeare. Then I dried off and plopped down on the pull-out couch and watched the second. The show’s pretty good, and apparently Shakespeare was a PILF. (The P stands for playwright. Figure out the rest.) I seriously thought about binge watching all the episodes, but I’ve got this blog thing going on, so I exercised self-restraint. (It does happen occasionally, but it’s not currently happening now with regard to the potato chips I’m eating.)

At one point during the show-watching (not in the bathtub), I picked up my phone and clicked on a couple of articles that had been posted to Facebook. But in the middle of reading the second article, I remembered that I’m not supposed to be reading, so I stopped. This could be harder than I thought.

Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to this not reading thing. As much as I enjoy reading, it’s always on my “to-do” list. I see all the books I own and all the others on my Amazon Wish List, and it feels like I’ll never get them all read. (I hate to break it to you, Marcus, but you probably won’t.) So there’s always a slight amount of internal pressure–read more, learn more, grow more, BE MORE! The thought of shutting that down for a week sounds nice. Plus, it will give me more time to do other things–practice yoga, sing Kumbaya, get mounted sideways.

A girl can dream.

The more honest you are about what’s actually happening inside you, the happier you are.

When I first started therapy, my therapist told me she didn’t have any friends with whom she spoke every single day. Even with her best friends, she said, they only spoke once a week, twice tops. “I spend that time with myself,” she said, “I work on myself.” Well, at the time this wisdom was easy enough in theory but harder in practice. I had a number of friends with whom I spoke or communicated with daily, and I couldn’t see that changing. However, eventually, all those relationships failed or morphed into something else. As a consequence, I’ve spent a lot of time alone over the last three years. Sometimes it’s been difficult, of course, but I know myself better now than I ever have. As it turns out, the more you get to know yourself, the more honest you are about what’s actually happening inside of you, the happier you are. If you stay on the right path long enough, I imagine you get to a point when you don’t have to have all the distractions–watching television, texting with friends, reading five books at once. Rather, you simply read the book of yourself, the only book you truly can’t do without.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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This Beautiful Omelette (Blog #92)

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Four years ago I was living with my friends Justin and Ashley and had just started dating my ex, the one that strongly encouraged me to go to therapy, by his actions, not his words. I remember one weekend in June spending most the day in bed with him, watching movies, eating pizza, feeling like we could build a life together. Justin and Ashley had just gotten a new puppy named Artemis, and we all went out on the back porch, played together, ate donuts for breakfast.

Here’s a picture of me and Artemis, taken that day. Artemis is a boy, but he was named for Artemis the girl, the goddess of the hunt in Greek mythology. Obviously something like this can cause a lot of personal and psychological damage, as evidenced by Johnny Cash’s song, A Boy Named Sue, which is about a boy whose father names him Sue in order to make him tough. I imagine Artemis has caught a lot of crap from the other boys around the hood and at doggy daycare for having such a feminine moniker. But I honestly don’t think he’s bothered by it one bit. So way to go, Artemis. Do your thing, honey.

This evening I had dinner at Justin and Ashley’s. They still live in the same place, the place I called home for so many years. Tonight their living room was filled with stuff from their office and my old room because they’re in the process of rearranging furniture, organizing. Justin apologized for things being in chaos, but you know how it goes–you have to break a few eggs if you want to make an omelette.

As Justin was showing me the changes, we came across a poster board that some of my friends and I made when we were on the yearbook staff in college. Justin and I were friends back then, so we put his photo on the board with the words, “Heartbreaker?–Or Broken-hearted?” (Feel free to cast your votes in the comments below.)

Looking at that photo tonight brought back a lot of memories of Justin, like the first time I heard him play Chopin, the time he dyed his hair to look like a leopard, or the time when I finally came out to him and he said, “I know. I was just waiting on you to say it.” Even though all those memories and many more happened over a long stretch of time, it’s easy for me to slam them all together, label them “Justin,” and take all the time we’ve spent together for granted. Considering the fact that Justin’s been working on a Duck Dynasty beard for several years now, it’s nice to remember that I knew him when he had a jaw line, back when his face saw the light of day on a regular basis. It’s nice to be reminded that some people are in this thing called friendship for the long haul.

Normally Justin and Ashley leave their two dogs outside while we eat dinner, but it started raining tonight, so they brought them in. Since Artemis is four, Justin said he’s “well into middle age” in dog years. As that would be twenty-eight human years, I guess that means that I’m well into middle age too. When the hell did THAT happen?

Here’s a picture of me and Artemis now that’s he all grown up and won’t fit into my lap anymore.

When I lived with my ex, I remember being so confused. We used to fight all the time, and I don’t fight–with anyone. I remember raising my voice, even yelling at times. We always ended up arguing about stupid shit. Why wasn’t he in more of my Instagram photos? I tried so hard to have an adult conversation, to explain calmly, Uh–I’m not in ANY of yours, but the only thing that would get his attention was when I’d start crying. I’d be in bed, knees to my chest, and then he’d finally be attentive, listen, and say he was sorry for being such a shit. (I added that last part.) “That’s when he’d act like a human,” my therapist would say later.

One of the things I love about Justin is that he’s an absolute audiophile–he loves music–loves to listen to it, loves to talk about. So tonight after dinner, Ashley went to bed because some people work for a living, and Justin and I sat in the living room and listened to honest-to-god vinyl records. Justin’s got this glorious vintage chair that sits low, pulls you down into it, and refuses to let you leave. It could have belonged to anyone’s grandfather, and for two hours I sat in it, drank beer, and drowned myself in the sounds of Tom Waits, Sting, and Simon and Garfunkel. It felt like going to church. (What! Your church doesn’t have beer and Tom Waits?) Of course, Justin and I continued to talk, that sort of easy conversation that bounces back and forth between the serious and lighthearted, the kind you can only have with someone who’s stood beside you when you were broken-hearted.

When you’re actually in chaos, there aren’t enough words to make it better.

Sometimes I wish I could go back and talk to myself four years ago, tell myself that it’s going to be all right, that I know things seem like such a fucking mess now, but I promise they’ll get better. I remember right after the breakup and starting therapy, my dear friend Tracy said, “Chaos precedes creation,” meaning that out of the turmoil that was my current life would come something beautiful. Sometimes you have to break a few eggs if you want to make an omelette. Of course, when you’re actually in chaos, there aren’t enough words to make it better. So maybe if I could go back and talk to myself, I wouldn’t say anything at all, but instead crawl in bed beside myself and give myself a hug.

They say that time heals all wounds. If that’s true, I think a good therapist helps speed up the process. Of course, I know there are many roads to healing, and that’s simply the one I’ve been on lately. In A Boy Named Sue, the boy in the song searches for and finds his estranged father, intending to kill him for giving him such an “awful name.” But after a tough barroom fight with his son, the father says he understands his son’s anger but “it’s that name that’s helped to make you strong.” In this sense, I’m grateful for the all the fights I had with my ex, all the chaos and shitty things that happened, all the time I’ve had to heal. Of course, I don’t think Sue’s father or my ex deserve any trophies, but someone had to crack the eggs to make this beautiful omelette.

Just like I can look at pictures of Justin and see how much he’s changed and pictures of Artemis and see how much he’s grown, I know that I’ve also changed and grown beyond measure. Physically, I look pretty much the same as I did four years ago. In terms of geography, I’m still in the same town. But on the inside, where it counts, I’ve travelled great distances.

Sometimes I think I’m a whole new person, someone who didn’t exist before, like I went from here to there on a map. But in terms of authenticity, I think “here” is both where we start and where we’re going. Authentic is how we’re born, and we travel to “there” when we start changing who we are, letting people treat us like shit because we want them to love us. In that sense, I think most of my work the last for years has been a returning, a remembering of who I was really born to be. Just before I left Justin and Ashley’s tonight, Justin played one final song by Simon and Garfunkel, and I think they said it best. Gee, but it’s great to be back home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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Free Enough for Now (Blog #90)

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You know how they say the truth will set you free–like that’s a good thing? Well, I’m not completely convinced. For the last thirty minutes–honestly–I’ve been running from the truth. What I mean by that is that every day I sit down to blog and almost always “know” what I’m supposed to write about. Most of the time, that’s okay. But sometimes, there’s a big part of me that really doesn’t want to tell the entire fucking internet that I’m an out-of-work homosexual who lives with his parents or that I’ve spent so much time with chocolate cake over the last several years that we’re about to enter into a common-law marriage with each other. But for some stupid reason I decided to start a blog about being honest and vulnerable, which means–damn it–I have to be honest and vulnerable.

Sometimes I hate that.

Yesterday I started reading a juvenile fiction book called Wonder. It’s written by RJ Palacio and has been turned into a movie starring Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson that will be released this fall. Here’s a link to the trailer (you should watch it if you feel like crying), but it’s basically about a boy with an abnormal face and his search for acceptance, authenticity, and love. I’m not done with the book yet, but the first hundred pages are told from the boy’s perspective, after which other characters, like his sister and a friend from school, share their perspectives. As a reader, I was a bit thrown when I realized someone else had hijacked the narrative, but I was fascinated to get more than one perspective.

This evening I went to dinner with a couple of friends at El Zarape because our friend Jimmy was waiting tables and it never hurts to know the guy pouring your margaritas. That’s us in the above picture, including Jimmy, minus the friend who DOES NOT like to have his picture taken. (I personally have a lot of dislikes but–obviously–that’s not one of them.)

For dinner I had a meal called Molcajete, which is basically steak, chicken, and cactus fajitas, served in a giant, appropriately pig-shaped goblet that I referred to as The Holy Grail. Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Amen.

So here’s the part I know I’m supposed to talk about but really don’t want to. For the last week or so, I’ve really wanted a cigarette. I mean, I quit smoking six months ago, so I sort of thought the temptation part was over, at least when I’m brushing my teeth, driving my car, or blogging. But one of my friends who’s gone through the twelve-step program says temptation doesn’t work that way, that you can go months without a craving, and then–bam–one shows up “out of the clear blue sky.” (If only boyfriends worked that way.)

Well, I’ve been handling all the cravings like a champ, even the ones that have basically been so persuasive and seductive they might as well have been Zac Efron lying next to me in bed saying, “I want you. I don’t want anyone else except you.” It really hasn’t been a problem to say, “I’m sorry. You’re cute and all, but I’m saving myself for fresh air.” But tonight at dinner–out of the clear blue sky–I had a REALLY BIG margarita, something that always lowers my standards, so when dinner was over I ended up saying, “Fuck it. I want you too, Zach–I mean–cigarettes.”

But really. Look at that thing. It would probably lower your standards too.

So I went to the gas station to buy a pack, and I’ll be damned if they hadn’t stopped selling my favorite brand, so I walked out. And went to the gas station across the street. Which had also stopped selling my favorite brand. (My mom later said this was “a sign from the universe.” I hate it when people use something I would say against me.) Anyway, I went with a different flavor and smoked one and a half. I actually quit in the middle of the second cigarette, which, historically, I don’t do. I wish I could tell you they tasted terrible, like sin and regret, but I loved every bit of them. Of course, that’s the part that scares me, so I locked the pack in the trunk of a car because I figured I’d be less likely to smoke anytime soon if they were there.

This is a strategy that may not work, since–you know–it was my car and I have the keys.

The truth doesn’t suck.

Back to being honest, I have a lot of shame around smoking. I’m not exactly sure why, but it’s probably because–at this time in history–it’s rather frowned upon. I’m afraid of what other people will think. Anytime smoking has been on my list of things to talk about in therapy, I’ve always shown up with the sirens on, lights flashing. OH MY GOD, I SMOKED ONE AND A HALF CIGARETTES LAST WEEK! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? MAYBE I SHOULD LIE DOWN ON THIS COUCH. I KNOW–LET’S TRY HYPNOSIS. But no matter how worked up I get about the actual thing, my therapist is always like, “This again? Who gives a shit about cigarettes? You’ll quit when you want to. Now would you stop judging yourself already?”

I’ve been thinking tonight about how I’m a lot like that book I’m reading. I like to think of myself as one central character, like, this is my story. But the fact is that this is our story. What I mean by that is that there’s a part of me who loves cigarettes, who comes out of the woodwork when I drink margaritas the size of crock pots. Likewise, there’s a part of me that hates cigarettes, who came home and immediately took a shower, who’s typing now, who’s usually in charge. And there’s a part of me that judges myself, and there’s a part of me that doesn’t, that accepts that I’m human, that understands I need to break the rules I’ve set for myself–occasionally.

I’m learning that all of these parts, all of these characters, deserve to have their say. I mean, I’ve tried to get rid of some of them, but they’re simply not going anywhere. I might as well listen to all of their perspectives. I know that lately I’ve been listening a lot to the character that says, “Do more. Get shit done,” so I’ve been reading and writing and exercising and eating well and go-go-going constantly.” But that’s only part of the narrative. And my guess is the character I’ve been ignoring and hearing as, “Smoke a cigarette,” was actually saying, “Would you stop being such a hard ass and take a damn break for a minute?” (Must be a problem with my ears.)

I mean, yeah, I could take a break for a minute. I’d actually like that part of the story.

Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I admit it. The truth doesn’t suck. I mean, I don’t know that I feel “set free,” but I do feel lighter, less worried, less ashamed. Hum. Surely that’s a good thing. And maybe–just maybe–that’s free enough for now.

[Lastly, Happy 42nd Wedding Anniversary to my parents. I’m really glad you decided to get hitched, even though Dad said it was possible for me to be here even if you hadn’t. I wanted the blog tonight to be about you and not cigarettes, but that muse wasn’t talking.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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On Creativity, Writing, and Demons (Blog #87)

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Today I watched another play in Fayetteville, ate seventy-five percent of a large chicken and pineapple pizza all by myself, walked for two hours while listening to a book about narcissists and a lecture about consciousness, and read a third of a book called Blessed Are the Weird: A Manifesto for Creatives. So it was a pretty busy day, but–you know–no one proposed. And even though a lot happened, including the fact that the waxing crescent moon, which I like to call God’s Fingernail, appeared out of nowhere in the sky, I’m currently thinking that I have NOTHING to write about.

So–for now–let’s talk about my hair. (I’m currently picturing my therapist throwing her hands up like an Italian grandmother and saying, “Just admit it. You. Are. Vain.” Fine. I’m vain.) Anyway, I took the above picture a few minutes ago. Currently I’m propped up in bed, which is where I usually blog, and I’m loving that swoopy-do thing my hair is doing. Although if it gets any longer, I’m going to look like Peg, that somewhat-trashy-but-probably-fun-at-parties dog played by Peggy Lee in Lady and the Tramp.

The play I saw this afternoon was Visible from Four States, written by Barbara Hammond. It told the story of a man whose hilltop land is coveted by both a cellphone company (for a tower) and a local pastor (for a giant cross). The man’s best friend is a prison warden who’s befriended a young inmate on death row for committing murder. So in addition to covering whether or not God is real, the play also covered the death penalty, forgiveness, and redemption. You know, light-hearted stuff like that.

Having attended several plays over the last two weekends, I’ve been thinking a lot about the process of writing–why some stories are better than others, what works and what doesn’t. My conclusion has been that if the audience is laughing or crying or gets all caught up in the story, that doesn’t happen by accident. Somewhere, I’m sure an author has blood on his keyboard. But I trust that even the stories that don’t work so well were written by authors who were also trying, also bleeding.

Based on my experience with this blog, writing (or any creative endeavor) is partly a crapshoot. You sit down every damn day, almost always thinking there’s nothing to talk about, but there usually is, even if it’s way down there at the bottom of the creative well. You just have to bring it up, which is often done by pulling your hair out, banging your head against a wall, or saying, “Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck.” Sometimes, like a miracle, what comes out of the well is pretty fantastic. But plenty of times it sucks.

The more I think about it, I guess good writing is a lot like a good hair day–it’s something you can hope for, something you can work on, but it’s never a guarantee. (I hate that.) Some days the creative well is simply–dry.

But back to my hair. I really think the secret to the swoopy-do is the fact that I wore a sock cap for a few hours, which straightened out most of my curls, except the ones that were sticking out in the front. (Warning–we’ve re-entered the stream-of-consciousness section of the blog. Grab your inner tube and enjoy the ride. This is also part of the creative process. Don’t you feel–uh–involved?)

Earlier today I read a Buddhist slogan (on the toilet, if I’m being honest) that said, “Don’t make gods into demons.” In other words, don’t take something that’s meant to be a good thing and make it a bad thing. I guess I’ve been thinking about it most of the day because I have a tendency to do just that. Often in the name of overachieving, I’ll start a diet or exercise program and be so hardcore about it for two months that I’ll burn myself out. Then I’ll spend the next six months using the lack of diet or exercise as a reason to beat myself up. I’ve done this same thing with more than one type of meditation. As we speak, I have a book on cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) that my therapist gave me three years ago that I haven’t finished and feel bad about. (My therapist says I have a hangup on completion. Maybe one day I should end a blog mid-sentence.) Anyway, it’s just a book, but I’ve essentially turned it into a demon, something to taunt myself with.

I know that if I let it, this blog could become a demon too. Having set a goal of writing every day (for a year, it’s been suggested), it’s already its own kind of monster. Since I hold myself to a pretty high standard of perfection, nights like tonight–when it doesn’t seem like I’m getting any water out of the well–are difficult for me. There was line in the play today that basically said you’re not the worst or even the best thing you did. Of course, it was talking about murder, but I think it could also be talking about writing. So I’m telling myself, “I am not my worst writing. I am not my best writing. I am not my hair.”

Sometimes you really do have to bang your head against the wall and wait for an idea to come.

Because the moon has been new (dark) for the last few days, when I saw God’s fingernail in the sky tonight, it seemed to have come out of nowhere. And I guess if I didn’t know about the phases of the moon, looking at it each night would seem like a crapshoot. But obviously the heavens have a process. As for writing, I’m finding it has a process too. If I want something to come OUT of the creative well, I have to put something IN it first, which is part of the reason I’ve been going to plays, reading books, and eating pizza. (Okay, the pizza was about carbohydrates, not creativity.) But just because you’re well has water in it, doesn’t mean it’s easy to bring the water up. Sometimes you really do have to bang your head against the wall and wait for an idea to come, just like sometimes you have to put a sock cap on your hair and wait–and wait–for the swoopy-do.

I have to remind myself that hair is just hair. Some days it’s glorious, some days it ain’t. In the same manner, a blog is just a blog. But the point for me is to write, to be honest, to bleed on the keyboard–to dip into the well and see what comes out. (Today, this is it–you’re lookin’ at it.) As long as I’m doing that, this is a god–this is a good thing. As soon as I start demanding perfection or judging myself for not meeting a certain standard every damn day, it’s become a demon, and ain’t nobody got time for demons.

As it turns out, I did have something to write about–writing–although I suppose the thoughts about creativity and not being the worst or best thing you’ve ever done could apply to many other subjects as well. (In the comments below, I invite you to complete this sentence: “I am not my worst/best __________.” For example: “I am not my worst outfit or boyfriend. I am not my best test score.”)

And as for that part about being hung up on completion,

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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Something Shifted (Blog #81)

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Today my friend Bonnie and I drove to Austin, Texas, to visit her daughter Annie. Well, okay, Bonnie drove while I slept and drooled on a pink pillow strapped around my neck. (I only woke up every couple of hours to eat lunch, use the bathroom, or freak out in big-city traffic.) I really think sleeping on road trips is the best thing ever. It’s like time traveling, or at least teleporting. Close your eyes in one city–open them in another.

Beam me up, Bonnie.

Somewhere–I couldn’t tell you–we stopped for a bathroom and coffee break at a Buc-ee’s, which is basically a warehouse-sized gas station/grocery store/Hobby Lobby with a beaver for a mascot. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous and mesmerizing in all my life. I’m pretty sure I could have gotten an oil change and a pedicure if I’d wanted to. The place was so big (everything’s bigger in Texas), I think I met my cardio requirements for the day just walking to the bathroom, which had 34 freaking urinals. (I don’t think anyone minded me tapping him on his shoulder as I counted.) I mean, there were so many toilets, I could only assume they hosted competitions.

Just look at the mouth on that beaver. (I guess the positive side to only having two teeth is that flossing would be super easy. Then again, you wouldn’t make much money off the Tooth Fairy, so there’s that.)

Here’s a picture of what our car ride looked like after I woke up and took the neck pillow off. I’m reading a book called The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning of Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettleheim. It was written by a child psychologist and is a pretty fascinating read about the positive things fairy tales do for both children and adults. Anyway, I think Bonnie was listening to Tracy Chapman about this time, but it might have been STYX or Cat Stevens.

When we got to Austin, Bonnie and I stopped by Annie’s work, a chiropractor’s office where she teaches pilates. After a short reunion and a discussion about whether the bathroom door was green or blue (we still don’t know), Bonnie and I got a key to Annie’s apartment and left to unload our things while Annie finished working.

Like any good nosy houseguest, one of the first things I did when we got to Annie’s apartment was look through her books. One of them had to do with astrology, and although I don’t make a big fuss about horoscopes, I am interested in the zodiac from a personality perspective. Since I’m a Virgo, that was the section I flipped to. The information was mostly familiar, but it said one thing I hadn’t heard before, that Virgos are focused on functionality. Basically, they cut through the crap and get down to what’s useful. Whereas a sign like Gemini seeks out all information (knowledge for the sake of knowledge), a Virgo seeks out only useful information (knowledge for the sake of transformation).

This evening the three of us walked to a local restaurant and sat on the patio for dinner. (That’s us at the top of the blog.) We spent most of our time talking about decorating ideas, since Annie’s about to move her pilates business to a space of her own (!). I’m sure we’ll dance and do other things this week, but Annie’s new space is really the reason for the trip. (Get excited. Tomorrow we look at flooring and paint samples.)

Back at the apartment, as we were all talking about pilates and the new studio, I told Annie that I’ve been to a number of body workers over the years, but there were still things about my body that I wanted to change, like the fact that my right hip always feels like it’s in my rib cage, or the fact that my shoulders are rounded, or the fact that my head constantly turns to the left. Annie said she’d be glad to talk to me about it, and I said, “Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now.”

So Annie had me kick my shoes off and stand in front of her mirror. Then she bent down and started measuring my body with her fingers. It felt like going to the seamstress. Well, within a few minutes, Annie had a plan, explaining that the muscles around my rib cage are tight on the right side (and weak on the left), so they pull my rib cage down into my right hip.

Of course, it’s never just one thing. I have other muscles (in my butt) that are stronger on one side than the other, and all of it contributes to my imbalances. But Annie said we’d start with stretching, so she had me lie on a foam roller for ten or fifteen minutes. At first I was like the Y in YMCA, but then my arms fell asleep, so I ended up like this.

After a few minutes, I could feel some of the muscles across my chest start to relax. Ever so slightly, something shifted. And then Annie gave me some exercises to work on, things to lengthen and strengthen my abdominal wall and help stabilize my hips. Usually my hips feel pretty tight, rigid, like a door that’s rusted shut. But as Annie walked me through the exercise, I actually felt them move–no, I felt them slide. And get this shit. When I got up, I was visibly better. Like a wilted flower that’s been watered, I stood taller, more level, less slumped.

I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings.

Since last year when I decided to close my dance studio, I’ve been telling myself and everyone else that I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings. Like, I think I want to move to Austin, but I’m open to other ideas, other possibilities. I mean, I’ve been at my parents’ for a few months, and although that wasn’t my original plan, I’ve tried to be open to the fact that good can and is coming from that situation (this blog, for example). So since earlier this week when Bonnie invited me to Austin for a few days, I’ve been trying to not make a big deal of it. I knew that I could get down here and absolutely love it, but I also knew that I could get down here and feel like it wasn’t the place for me.

But I’ll say this. Two hours outside of the city today, ever so slightly, something shifted. I can’t say more about it than that. My therapist says when she moved from her hometown, it felt like a lightening bolt up her spine. My experience today wasn’t that dramatic. But my body did feel different, and it felt–good. Now that I’m here in Austin, it just feels good. There are hot people–hot guys–jogging the streets. There was a lady in Annie’s office today–a lady with gray hair–who had a cut off t-shirt with a picture of an old dude on a bicycle that said, “Put the fun in between your legs.” Tonight our waitress (who grew up in Kenya) had a tattoo that said, “The journey is the destination.” She was just cool. Annie told us one day she was at a park and stumbled upon a naked yoga class for pregnant women. Imagine that!

Honestly, I love all of that. I can’t tell you how much I would love to call this place–or a place like it–my home.

One day–just like that–you find something that works.

And then there’s Annie and the little pilates miracle that happened tonight on her living room floor. Talk about finally finding some information that’s functional, information that’s transformational. One of my best friends is always saying, “It’ll change your life,” as in, “This cheesecake will change your life,” or “This hairspray will change your life.” But really, folks, if I could get my body more in balance, get this hip back to where it’s supposed to be, that really could change my life. It could make it better.

I realize there’s a lot of work left to do here. By that I mean, I’m probably a long way from standing taller, holding my shoulders back, sticking my chest out proud. I’m probably also a long way from realizing my dream of being a full-time writer and living in Austin, fun in between my legs, naked yoga in the park, whatever. But maybe not. I’m finding that you can spend years sorting through crap, all kinds of information and possibilities. And then one day–just like that–you find something that works, something that clicks, something that’s useful. Maybe you can’t put your finger on it, but you know for certain–something has shifted ever so slightly, and it feels–good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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