Well, This Is the Pits (Blog #53)

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I’m just going to say it—I think I have a yeast infection—probably everywhere on my body that doesn’t see daylight, but mostly in my armpits. (I’m sorry if this is gross to talk about.) I think it started in December when I was prescribed antibiotics for a sinus infection, but it took me a while to figure out what was going on. Well, in February, when I seriously cleaned up my diet and started taking some supplements I found in the feminine hygiene section of the natural food store, it went away.

It felt like a miracle. You know, a miracle that doesn’t last very long, since the stuff came back sometime during the last month while I was taking two additional rounds of antibiotics for cellulitis and an upper respiratory infection. I mean, I’m assuming it’s a yeast infection—I’m not a scientist—but that would make sense.

I’ve really tried to have a good attitude about the whole thing, fight the good fight, and keep a stiff upper lip. This last week I’ve been taking some of those feminine hygiene supplements and watching my diet, but I’m not being nearly as strict as I was before because diets take a lot of mental energy and frankly, damn it, I’m tired and am starting to wear down. So it’s more like I’m fighting a mediocre fight and keeping a stiff-ish upper lip.

Do they make Viagra for upper lips?

Sometimes the universe can really kick you in the balls.

Sometimes I think the universe can really kick you in the balls and make you drop to your knees. Maya Angelou says there are times when life makes you cry uncle, and on days like today, I’m just about there. This morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and to make matters worse, when I rolled over, I could smell my own armpits. It wasn’t sexy. (I don’t know why I’m worried. It’s not like anyone else has their nose down there.) Anyway, every time I smell myself, it’s the most frustrating thing because it feels like (or smells like) things are never going to get better.

After I took a shower, in the midst of trying to accept the fact that I’ve become a traveling playground for fungi, I put my phone on the bathroom counter and applied athlete’s foot powder to every crevice of my body. Still irritated about my phone because the charging port is broken, I then put the powder back on the counter, and it fell over, spilling the powder on my phone’s speaker, filling up a hundred little holes with white dust.

Uncle.

There’s a saying in the self-help word—no feeling is final—so I keep thinking that my bad mood about everything going on with me will eventually pass (or I will). Wayne Dyer says, “In all of nature, no storm can last forever,” so I’m reminding myself that I’ve been through storms before, especially storms dealing with health issues I didn’t think would go away. A couple of years ago, I had little warts on my face (also not sexy), and I made monthly trips to the dermatologist for over a year. The doctor kept saying that one day they’d go away, and one day—they did. It just took a lot of time and a lot of patience.

So I know the yeast thing will level out at some point. This morning I felt like quitting, but this afternoon I went to the natural food store and talked to one of those weird natural food store people about what’s been going on. I thought, I can do this—I can try something else.

The lady at the store said my body was worn out (and all God’s people said Amen) and recommended a probiotic with at least 50 billion (!) bacteria, but she said it had to be refrigerated, so I said I’d have to come back when I wasn’t on my way to the library to use the free Internet. But the lady also said that I could up my garlic, to which I replied, “UP YOUR GARLIC, Lady!”

Okay, I didn’t actually say that.

Lastly, the lady said that I could apply coconut oil topically. So while I was at the library, I looked up coconut oil and garlic for yeast infections because I was intrigued. Honestly, I’m not sure the Internet was a lot of help, but I did come across an interesting article about a woman who put a clove of garlic up her who-ha in order to get rid of a yeast infection. (I guess that would also be a creative way to ward off vampires.) Anyway, I’ll try just about anything once, but I draw the line at vegetable suppositories.

So this evening before I went for a walk, I got out the coconut oil and rubbed it under my armpits. And actually, for a while, things didn’t smell so bad. But that was a few hours ago, and as I sit here in my tank top, I keep getting a whiff of myself and am not amused. It smells like a dead animal. And by it, I mean me. (Things not to put on a dating profile.)

However, I’m determined to get this problem figured out, and that’s one of the reasons I believe in the soul. (Bet you didn’t see that coming.) What I mean is that no matter how hard life kicks me in the balls and no matter how frustrated I get about it, there’s a part of me that never seems to be fazed, and I don’t think that sounds like the human ego. I don’t think that sounds like anything made of flesh. Maybe stardust. Of course, if it is the soul, it’s just a whisper, a still, small voice reminding me where I came from and what I’m really made of. “Keep going,” it says. “You’ve got this. The storm will pass soon enough.”

[My friend Matt from summer camp did the drawing, at least his wife and I think he did. I’m assuming that was the year I taught tennis, so I would have been sixteen. Apparently I’ve been having rough days for a while now.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."

a higher perspective (blog #38)

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Wayne Dyer tells the story about a memory he had during a spiritual experience. The memory took place before his birth, and his soul was deciding under what conditions it would be incarnated. He says that during his life on earth he wanted to teach others about unconditional love and finding their inner strength, so he knew that he first had to develop those qualities in himself. The best way to do that, he reasoned, was through a difficult circumstance. So it was at that time, before he was even born, that he decided his father needed to be an alcoholic who would later abandon him to an orphanage.

I think about this story a lot. There are a number of spiritual teachers who propose that we choose our parents, that our souls map out major players and events in our lives long before they actually happen, that there are no such things as accidents. Most of the time, I’m inclined to believe this way. Of course, the bitch of the whole thing is that once you’re here on earth (and not wherever you were before you came here), you forget all the reasons your soul had for picking out your family, your partner, your job, and even your body (you know, the one with the receding hairline).

Many people who have had out-of-body or near-death experiences say that in between lifetimes, our soul has counselors, other souls who advise us on how best to set up our life here on earth. I guess those counselors are pretty sharp, and they say things like, “I know it’s been a while since you’ve been in a physical body, and you’ve probably forgotten how miserable it can be to have back problems. Maybe you don’t really want to go to earth this time. Take another look. It’s a fucking mess down there.” I also guess our souls are pretty determined, like they can look at the plan for a painful life, decide that the positives far outweigh the negatives, and say, “Sign me up. I can take it.”

Personally, I haven’t had a spiritual experience during which I’ve remembered why my soul decided to come to earth. But I’m constantly attracted to literature and teachers that talk about unconditional love and the idea that life is kind, so it probably has something to do with learning more about those things. As a result, I can usually look at even the most terrible events that have happened in my life and see that those are the times when I grew the most. So the older I get, the more reluctant I am to label any experience as bad. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I enjoy the difficult times, but it does make them more bearable.

These things have been on my mind today because this afternoon I went to a walk-in clinic. I’ve been coughing for a week now, and last night during a fit of coughing, I think I actually levitated and I know for certain that my chest vibrated. I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think that’s supposed to happen. So I went to the doctor and found out that I have an upper respiratory infection, probably brought on by “allergy season.”

Even as I’m typing now, I’m fighting the urge to not get frustrated because I’ve been on so many antibiotics lately (and I hate that) and because I just had that sinus surgery and it’s easy to look at the mucus that I cough up every morning and think that it didn’t do a damn bit of good. I’m so tired of getting sick (again) that my knee-jerk reaction is to label the whole thing as “bad.”

Now, that being said, I’ve done a pretty decent job today of not letting that frustration overwhelm me. Rather, I’ve thought a lot about the fact that everyone at the clinic and pharmacy was extremely kind and helpful. Insurance took care of the majority of charges, and the doctor was gentle and attentive. When I told him I taught dance, he asked if I had a studio, and when I said that I’d closed mine and wanted to move, he said, “I hope you find yourself in a place you love doing what you enjoy doing.”

I imagine that he has no idea what a simple sentence like that means to me. Most days, I keep my chin up. I can look at my life the way it is—living with my parents, in a town I’m grateful for but not in love with, having no definite plan for what’s to come next, worried my dreams won’t come true—and keep putting one foot in front of the other. But when I get sick, especially with a sinus infection, I tend to lose hope. And I’ve spent so much time being scared of and intimidated by life as a whole, that it’s a really big thing to sit in a doctor’s office comfortably and recognize the moment for what it was—kind.

I spent this evening reading another hundred pages in Andrew Solomon’s book about depression, so my parents and I talked about it, and my mom told my dad how grateful she was that he’d stuck by her for all these years. (It’s common for depressives to lose their jobs, friends, and spouses.) The conversation made me think of just how hopeless depression must feel, especially chronic depression like my mom’s. Comparatively, my sinus issues are nothing, although they do bring up that feeling of hopelessness.

When I look at my mom, I see someone who is really strong, although I’m sure she doesn’t feel that way most of the time. But she was probably one of those souls that said, “Sign me up. I can take it.” I wouldn’t presume to know what her journey is all about, but when I think about why my soul might choose a mom with depression, I imagine that it would be because it’s teaching me to be gentler with myself and others, to be more compassionate, to be less demanding. As Mom said once, “You don’t have to excel every day.”

And when I think about why in god’s name I might choose a body with tendency for sinus infections, I imagine it would be because it’s been the perfect vehicle for me to learn to love myself—no matter how I feel—no matter what condition. Additionally, it’s helping me see the world as a kinder place, a place where there is help, a place where there is hope, a place where there is rest for the tired.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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up on the desk (blog #30)

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Wayne Dyer once said, “Refuse to let an old person move into your body.” Well, when I went to bed last night, my hips and back hurt so bad that I couldn’t roll from one side to the other without moaning. So I thought, Crap, a senior citizen has somehow sneaked in the back door. It’s official. We have a squatter. I seriously wondered if I’d be able to dance, or even walk today. So I did what any Christian would do. I prayed to Jesus and took a Hydrocodone.

Ya’ll, Jesus and Hydrocodone is a great combination. (You should try it.)

When I woke up this morning, I was convinced that Jesus answers prayers because I could walk. I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but I’m sure he’s been busy with Easter and everything, so I was still grateful. I managed to get around without too many grunts and groans, and then my aunt and I went to an estate sale. When we walked in the front door, there were chocolate-covered donuts for free, which I figured Jesus sent to make up for any hard feelings regarding The Aching Back Half-Miracle of 2017.

After the sale, my aunt and I had brunch where my cousin works, and she told me stories that I’ve heard about my mom probably three or four dozen times but never get old. And I didn’t take a picture with my aunt, but she took a picture of our food (and my hand), so I’ll put that here. And don’t let the healthy-looking kale fool you. My cousin said it was deep-fried in butter, cream cheese, and pizza dough (or something like that).

I spent this afternoon with my friend Kara. Kara and I graduated high school together, and we were both voted most likely to succeed, so I think it’s neat that that prediction came true. I mean, she’s succeeding at home ownership and being an attorney, and I’m succeeding at eating frozen waffles and being a blogger.

Anyway, Kara and I get together to visit a lot, but today we got together to hang pictures and such on her bedroom walls. (She said that after three years, it was time.) Here are a couple of pictures of all our hard work. My two favorite things are the three-dimensional golden starburst that we put inside a frame above her gray chair (first photo) and the framed quote we put below her window (second photo). I always think each room needs something a little unexpected. It makes me think of that scene in Dead Poets Society when John Keating stands up on his desk and tells his students it’s because he wants to remind himself to always look at things in a different way.

I spent this evening swing dancing, effectively undoing the half-miracle Jesus and His Twelve Pain Killers performed. For the last few years, I’ve been working on following more, which not only helps me with developing new dance skills, but also helps me with courage and not being intimidated and asking other guys to dance. So at one point tonight, I danced with my friend Walt, another teacher. After our dance was over, a lady I didn’t know–a total stranger–jumped up out of her seat several feet away and kind of yelled in my direction, “NOW you know what it feels like to be a girl.” And my gut reaction was that she was being sarcastic, so I just smiled and said, “I think it feels great!” (Don’t rain on my parade, lady.)

After the dance, Gregg and Rita and I went out with some of the other dancers. This is what I loved about it–there was this big mix of talent in the room, and everyone was sitting eating pizza or burgers or whatever, and everyone was on equal ground. At one point my friend Hannah (top photo), who’s an absolute badass on the dance floor, said that she often compares herself to other dancers and has plenty of insecurities about her dancing. Then one by one, everyone around her, including me, started nodding his or her head, like, Me too, Me too. And although it was this simple thing, it reminded me that we all have so much in common.

Before the night was over, Gregg and Rita and I (along with their two sons, Mason and Cody), moved to a bar called Kilkenny’s. It’s one of favorite places on God’s Green Earth, as I have a lot of memories there–long conversations with wonderful friends. Well, Rita started telling stories about how we used to travel together, about who snored louder, Marcus or Mason. So we were all laughing, and someone said something about the extended family, and I knew that included me.

At some point today, my aunt made the comment about people who are “professional complainers.” I’m sure you the type. So all day I was thinking I could somehow work that into a blog, maybe find something to complain about, but it just hasn’t happened. Some days, like today, are just good days. There’s nothing really to process or working out, and you simply get to enjoy all the hard work you’ve put into life so far. You get to eat a good brunch, you get to dance with your friends, you get to spend time with the extended family.

So even though I just had to have another talk with Jesus about my lower back, I don’t think there’s anything to complain about. And as far at that old guy who seems to have moved into my body, well, I think I can get him to move out with the promise of a hot bath or two. And really, I think that comment Wayne made wasn’t about your body’s aches and pains; I think it was about your mind and your heart. Obviously, sometimes life can be a real bitch. And it’d be easy to stay down on the ground, complain, and find everything that’s wrong and everything that hurts. But I think the goal is to climb up on the desk, to look at things in a different way, even if it’s a simple thing like realizing we all fight the same emotional battles and that a lot of wonderful things can happen even though you’re in pain.

Oh, about that conversation I had with Jesus. He said to take another Hydrocodone and go to bed, so I said, “Yes, Lord.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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learning to be aggressive (blog #5)

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When I got the idea last week to start this blog, I was thinking it was going to be a pretty cheap endeavor. But I have this problem with perfectionism and wanting things done a certain way. My therapist says I’m “fussy.” (She also admits to being fussy herself, and I recently decided to join her in “owning” my fussiness, which looked like my sitting on a couch and literally saying, “I’m okay with being fussy.”) What that means is that the blog did not end up being cheap, at least by my current standards. During the design process, I purchased a design template for 49 dollars, thinking that would be it. Oh no, apparently purchasing a design template is a bit like buying the plans for a house but not actually building it. So there was another option to install the design (for 99 dollars), which I ended up buying. Conveniently, the install INCLUDED a credit for a design theme.

Which I didn’t freakin’ need because I’d already paid for one.

Oh well, I told myself. At least I’m on the internet–I’m blogging! (Tell all your neighbors.)

A few days ago, a guy named Zach contacted me via email to follow-up on the installation of the website theme, and I thanked him, kindly explained the ordeal I just explained to you, and asked if it would be possible to get a refund on the twice-paid-for theme. Well, Zach wrote back a very nice response–offering to sell me another upgrade for 150 dollars–and not saying anything about the refund.

For a couple of days, we go back and forth, and I offer to call in and talk to him on the phone. (My therapist says this is always a preferable way to communicate.) So I woke up two days ago, and there it is, this email from Zach that says he’s looking forward to going over how he can help me build a more complete website.

Well, I’m sure this is just something he’s been taught to say, the same way everyone at Chick-fil-a is taught to say, “My pleasure,” but I immediately got angry, like, why is it so hard to answer, or at least acknowledge, my damn question?

For the longest time, I thought it was wrong to get angry, like it wasn’t a spiritual thing to do. Consequently, someone could treat me like shit, and I’d think it was my problem. Like, you do whatever you need to do–hell, you can even cheat on me–I can find the zen here somewhere. (Serenity now!) Then one day my therapist pointed out something obvious. She said, “You’re not a monk.” It took me a couple of days for my ego to get over this revelation, which probably just goes to prove her point exactly. (Let’s all say it together–I–am not–a monk.)

I recently read a book by the psychologist Peter Levine that referred to emotions as “practical action programs that work to solve problems often before we are even aware of them.” (I think that’s pretty close to the exact quote.) What that means to me is that our emotions are there for a reason. Focusing specifically on anger, which is sometimes referred to as aggression, it usually shows up to let us know that a boundary has been crossed, that something is not okay.

Along the same lines, Chinese medicine looks at all emotions as equal. There aren’t good ones and bad ones, even if some of them seem more presentable or socially acceptable. And whereas we usually only think of anger as a problem when there’s too much of it, it can also be a problem when there’s too little of it. The example my chi kung teacher uses is–think of an abused person who won’t leave their abuser–that’s a person who could use more anger because it would get them out of that situation.

Lately, that’s been my experience with anger. Like, a couple of years ago, I was in a yoga class with an instructor I had just met. So things were going pretty well, and I’m just stretching and relaxing and generally congratulating myself for being out of bed before 6:30 in the morning. Then all of a sudden, the teacher starts talking about her preacher and some story about the guy’s nephew, and, as Wayne Dyer says, I went from “blissed to pissed.”

When I analyzed the situation with my therapist, it became clear that the anger and aggression I was feeling was letting me know that a boundary had been crossed–yoga class wasn’t an appropriate place for the teacher’s personal stories that had nothing to do with yoga. (Uh, people are trying to relax here!) At the very least, the strong emotion let me know that I needed to find another class, one more inline with my particular intention for yoga.

I realize that my yoga experience is not quite the same as being in a physically abusive relationship, but if something isn’t good for us, something isn’t good for us. And whether we need to leave a yoga class or a relationship, the point is the same–we need to leave. And often, anger is the wakeup call that gets us to pack our bags.

Getting back to Zach the Website Guy, I interpreted the anger I felt as my body’s way of letting me know I needed to either brace for a confrontation (fight) or go in a different direction (flight). In this instance, I chose flight, meaning I just called the general customer support number and started fresh with someone else. I ended up talking to a nice guy named Tyler who pretty quickly refunded the money for the design theme. And guess what? Not only did I get what I asked for, but the anger went away too.

Had I not been willing to listen to the anger I was feeling (like had I stayed in the yoga class or continued to email Zach back and forth), I can only assume the anger inside me would have increased. In the past, I was pretty good at ignoring my anger, so it usually just showed up in other ways (upset stomach, anxiety, depression). And whereas I used to think that people who screamed, or slammed doors, or flipped the bird, or told people to “Go to hell, asshole” were anything but healthy, I’m starting to think those are all completely acceptable and healthy behaviors, especially if they help you do what anger wants you to do–establish a boundary. In other words, if someone isn’t respecting you, don’t walk out and slam the door just so you can walk back in it the next day. Slam the door and stay gone until the respect shows up. And if it never does, at least you respected yourself enough not to stay.

I read recently that ideally the anger (or whatever emotion) we feel should always be in proportion to the current moment. That means that if you get cut off in traffic and you totally lose your shit or pull a gun on someone, you’ve got a big problem. More specifically, it means you’re probably not dealing with the anger you’re feeling in other circumstances in your life, anger that might be there for a legitimate reason (like your partner cheating on you or your boss taking advantage of you). So you deal with those situations, and then you’re not yelling at little old ladies in big Cadillacs.

I really like looking at anger and aggression in this way. I guess for the longest time it’s felt like my emotions were something to overcome, something to not feel, something to shove down. But now I’m seeing them as my allies and friends, practical action programs that scout out each and every situation like radar detectors, letting me know not only what yoga instructor or customer support representative to interact with, but also what relationships to scale back or even walk away from.

Honestly, even now I’m not all that comfortable with anger. When I took the picture for this blog, I couldn’t help thinking, I don’t know about this–I never flip the bird–and I NEVER do it in pictures. But a lot of my dreams in the last couple of months have involved my yelling at people. And I can only assume that means my conscious mind is becoming more comfortable both with feeling anger and actually doing something about it when necessary.

And if other people don’t like it, you know what they can do (see above photo).

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

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