On Being Not So Bad (Blog #1005)

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Last night my throat got scratchy and I started coughing. It’s nothing, I thought. Probably allergies. Alas, I woke up sick today, weak and junky. Currently my head hurts, maybe from spending too much time in bed. Who knows what’s going on, either in my body or in American politics? But seriously, it could be sinus crud (it’s always sinus crud), a cold, the flu. Let’s hope it’s not the flu. Or the black plague. I’ve heard that’s awful. Something that can really put a damper on your plans for New Year’s.

Speaking of plans, I was supposed to have a day full of appointments today–a dance lesson, a checkup with my dermatologist, some odd job work. And whereas I thought about pushing myself and doing these things anyway, when I coughed up crap this morning decided to listen to my body and intuition instead. “Cancel your appointments,” they said. “Stay home. Rest.” So that’s what I did–made a few phone calls and went back to sleep. Each time I woke up, I went to the bathroom, drank a glass of water (I’ve heard fluids are important), then went back to sleep again. Finally, at five in the evening, I woke up, turned on my bedside lamp (which because I’m so gross is probably the only thing I could turn on today), and binge-watched Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

I haven’t finished yet, so keep your mouths shut about any spoilers.

Having dealt with (what I feel is) my fair share of sinus (and cold and flu) crud over the years, more and more I’m getting okay with it. Sure, it’s frustrating as hell, especially when I go down the rabbit hole of feeling sorry for myself, of thinking, This nonsense again?! Or when I blame myself. I should have known better, I should have done something different, and all that. But when I take whatever’s happening moment-by-moment, it’s not so bad. Like, Now I’m lying in bed. Now I’m coughing up a lung. Now I’m praying to God to get me out of this.

I mean, I’m in bed, I’m warm, I’m full, and I have people who love me.

Not so bad.

To be clear, it’s not so great either. I’d much rather feel like a million bucks or be at Disney World with Zac Efron on my arm. Or both. But these aren’t current options for me. So more and more, “not so bad” is good enough. Because although I’m in a certain amount of physical pain and discomfort, I’m not adding to my suffering by constantly telling myself a “woe is me” or “isn’t it awful?” story.

And when I do tell myself a tale of “and this sucks and this sucks and this sucks”? Well, I try not to believe me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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On Others’ Beliefs and Two Left Feet (Blog #951)

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Well hell. My home internet (hotspot) is running slow tonight, and it just took me thirty minutes to get online, download today’s picture, and start a new post. I swear, at some point in my life I must have made the mistake of asking God for patience. First he made me a dance instructor (just imagine teaching an uncoordinated married couple how to samba), and now this. Seriously, if you ever want patience, come try my hotspot on a night like tonight. And no, I didn’t mean for that to sound dirty. Unless, of course, your name is Zac Efron.

Awe, it’s been a while since I’ve made a Zac Efron reference.

Recently I read an article in Psychology Today about boundaries. And whereas it was mostly focused on what we choose to share online, it brought up a good point–if you wouldn’t take out a billboard with whatever you’re saying on it, maybe you shouldn’t put it on Facebook. Because that’s essentially what you’re doing. Telling all your friends, neighbors, and God knows who else–I’m heartbroken, my bowels are WAY off today, Trump can suck an egg. This morning I saw my therapist, and she said, “That’s right. If you wouldn’t print it on a t-shirt and walk down Main Street, don’t say it.”

One idea the article presented was that Facebook and other social media platforms by design create a false sense of intimacy, that it FEELS like we’re sharing the personal details of our lives with a select few, but in fact we’re not. We’re sharing them with EVERYONE. (Don’t tell me you haven’t creeped on a stranger’s feed. Well, someone’s creeped on your feed too.) Another phenomenon that happens online is that whenever you read or watch something, it FEELS like it just happened. People watch dance videos I uploaded to YouTube years ago and respond as if whatever I did just occurred, as if they were right there in the room and I’d asked for their opinion. Don’t wear flip flops when you dance!  Get off your heels! The blonde hair was a mistake!

Of course, few of us would be so bold–so fucking rude, frankly–in person, especially with strangers. But there’s something called cyber courage (cyber rudeness) that makes us lose our boundaries and our manners. It makes us lose our patience with our fellow humans.

Something I’ve been chewing on the last few days is having sympathy and empathy for other people and their experiences. What I mean is that–like we all do–I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about myself, trying to understand me. And whereas this has been extremely helpful, it’s also often left me scratching my head when it comes to others. Part of this head-scratching, I think, is simply a matter of what comes easy to one person doesn’t necessarily come easy to another. This is why teaching dance has been good for me. I pick up on dance things fairly quickly, so any time I run across someone who doesn’t, especially if I’m hungry or in a bad mood, it’s a chance for me to consciously practice patience. A chance for me to take a deep breath and remind myself that this person isn’t tripping over their two left feet IN ORDER to piss me off.

There’s a popular idea that people are doing the best they can in any given moment. I once had a friend who told me some of the most intimate details (traumas) of their life the very first time we ever hung out. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this should have been a red flag–because when you have good boundaries, you reserve the intimate details of your life for those who have earned the right to hear them. My point being that I don’t believe my friend was intentionally having poor boundaries; they simply had never been taught them. My therapist and I talk about this a lot. Most of us (including me and my therapist) didn’t grow up being taught to set limits with ourselves and others, being taught to be direct (and kind) in conversation.

Getting back to the idea of a thing being easy for one person but not for another, I often make the mistake of believing that simply because I’ve learned or have started to learn something, the entire world has. Of course, this isn’t true. Today I told my therapist that I wished people could be more straightforward, and she said, “Marcus, for some people, being straightforward would be as terrifying as you walking out that door, suddenly being in China, and not knowing a lick of Chinese.” This is what I mean about having sympathy and empathy for someone else’s experience. In writing there’s the idea that even if a character isn’t the hero of YOUR story, they’re most certainly the hero of THEIR story. My point being that you may get upset with people in your life for having certain political leanings or–I don’t know–being bad dancers, but for them, their beliefs and two left feet make perfect sense. Absolutely perfect sense. For them, you’re the odd one.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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A Lot Can Happen in an Hour (Blog #883)

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Phew. Today the dogs I’m taking care of this weekend woke me up at five-thirty. In the morning. After I let them out and fed them breakfast (and stepped in a piece of shit), I promptly went back to bed. An hour later, one of them woke me up whining, panting, and shaking–because it was thundering outside. “She’s a real drama queen,” her owner said later. And whereas I’m glad that’s her standard operating procedure, it still kept me from resting. Thankfully, the storms eventually stopped, she stopped, and I was able to go back to bed. Until one of the dogs started whining again, of course. We’ll see how tonight goes.

Fingers crossed.

Today itself has been all–what’s the word–choppy. Like, it’s happened in small segments of time. This afternoon I had a lunch with a friend of mine (lovely), then painted for two hours. Then I came back to where I’m staying to let the dogs out (they’re on a very tight schedule), then I went back to where I’m painting, then I came back to where I’m staying to let the dogs out AGAIN.

If anyone ever asks, “Who let the dogs out?” it was me.

This evening I went to dinner with my friends Aaron and Kate and their son, and afterwards we went back to their place to watch High School Musical 2. The best part? Zac Efron–and I swear we didn’t plan this–ended up in our group photo at the end of the night. Check it out above, y’all. He’s standing RIGHT beside me. Zac Efron and I got our picture together!

But I digress.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I know that, thanks to these precious puppies, every minute I spend blogging will be a minute I don’t spend sleeping. So I’m promising myself I’m going to keep this short. Earlier today I wondered if it was even worth it to paint for two hours, or, later, one-and-a-half hours. But it was. I got almost the entire second coat rolled on. Because I want things to be “finished,” I so often want to spend hours and hours working on a project–painting, writing, reading–and yet everything gets done eventually if I just keep showing up–a little bit here, a little bit there. Hell, therapy has absolutely turned my life around, and that’s happened in fifty-minute blocks. So I know a lot can happen in an hour. This is my encouragement for the night. Even if it’s for just fifteen minutes, consistently show up for your project. Consistently show up for yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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Your Best Is Good Enough (Blog #852)

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This afternoon I saw my chiropractor, the one who works with the mental/emotional/energetic causes of physical problems. This continues to be a trip. Today was my third appointment, and the man’s gotten more done with me than a handful of other chiropractors have in six times the visits. For the longest time I’ve been constantly aware of tension in my neck. And whereas it’s still there, now there are days I don’t even think about it. This is progress. This is good progress. That being said, the guy’s methods are weird.

I say weird but I only mean they’re weird compared to most medical people’s methods. I’ve spent a lot of time in the alternative healing community, and I’ve seen some really strange shit. Compared to that stuff, my chiropractor’s methods are really quite benign. Today he used muscle testing to get at the underlying emotions behind my long-time struggle with sinus infections. The positive word that came up (the emotion I feel before a sinus infection) was RELIABLE. The negative emotion (during and after a sinus infection) was INADEQUATE. Phew. There’s a can of worms. The last two years, which have been full of medical tests (that have basically said I’m healthy as a horse), have been filled with my trying to decide whether or not me and my body are reliable or inadequate.

The jury’s still out.

In truth, inadequacy is a pervasive emotion for me. Recently I blogged about my feeling like not enough, and I suppose this is the same thing. There’s a scene in Mr. Holland’s Opus when a former student of Mr. Holland’s, now a grownup, is shutting down Mr. Holland’s music program due to budget cuts. He says, “We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Holland,” and Mr. Holland yells, “Your best is not good enough!” Both of these characters are firmly entrenched in my psyche, the part of me that says, “Dammit, I’m doing everything I know to do,” and the part that is always demanding more. You know, The Perfectionist. The Hard Ass.

The one who’s real fun at parties.

This afternoon I read Transforming Fate into Destiny: A New Dialogue with Your Soul by Robert Ohotto. It’s glorious. Read it and give it to all your friends for Christmas. But really. In a New Age/Self-Help culture that claims you can manifest or have whatever you want, this book is a breath of fresh air. Robert explains that, yes, we can create magnificent things in our lives. Each of us is more powerful than we give ourselves credit for. However, each of us also came into this life understanding that there would be certain limitations (or boundaries, I love a good boundary), so we have to work within those fated guidelines.

For example, no matter what I put on my vision board, I’m never going to be the first female President of the United States. (Crap.) Because I’m a man. Likewise, I’ll never be straight (sorry, ladies), be six-foot-two (dang), look or sing like Zac Efron (dang again), or have different parents. Because my sexuality, height, looks, and parents have already been decided. And so have yours.

So get over it.

Now, what I do with what’s already been decided, that’s a different story. As I understand it, if I do nothing but sit on the couch every day and eat bonbons, that’s my choice. However, in choosing to not be an active, conscious participant in my life, not only will I not mature, but I’ll also feel as if my life is out of my control. Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will run you life and you will call it fate.” Robert says, “If you don’t access direction from within, your life will be directed from without.” (Oh snap.) However, if I choose or anyone chooses to do The Hard Work and grow the eff up, well, now we’re cooking with gas. My therapist says her job is to support me in reaching my highest potential, and your highest potential is another way of talking about your destiny. What’s actually possible for YOU? Not that guy over there, but you. What, exactly, is inside you that’s eager, waiting, and willing to be born?

This, of course, is the million dollar question, and only the gods and your soul have the answer.

Also–fair warning–because all things worth having require sacrifice (of your time, talents, and ego), should you choose to pursue your highest potential, some days are really gonna suck.

I still recommend it.

Getting back to my chiropractor’s weird ways, I repeat, they’re only weird because they’re not conventional. It’s becoming more in vogue to discuss the mind-body-soul connection, but in my experience, it’s mostly lip service. I mean, when I get a headache, give me a Tylenol. And yet I know there’s more to it. This is what I’ve run into hundreds of times along The Path. This is what you’ll run into when reaching for your highest potential or working to transform your fate into destiny. You’ll know there’s more inside you that’s wanting to come out. But because your path is different from everyone else’s, it will feel weird, you’ll question it, and you’ll feel inadequate.

Keep going. You are not alone. Your best is good enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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The Uncomfortable Position (Blog #774)

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It’s ten at night, and I’m house sitting. My friend’s dog, who’s been “asking” to go in and out all day (make a decision!) is curled up by my legs on the ottoman. Last night she slept in the exact same spot except we were in bed–a twin bed. This means that I had to morph myself into the shape of a question mark to make room for both of us. This afternoon my friend sent me a text about their dog that said, “Did she sleep under the covers?” I said, “I am NOT the kind of boy who lets someone under the covers on our first night together!”

Unless your name is Zac Efron, of course.

Other than letting my friend’s dog in and out, the day has been uneventful. I’ve read in a couple books, listened to a program about shadow work. It’s all personal growth/psychology stuff. I’ve been in a phase lately–grow, grow, grow. This is my general tendency, of course, but I also know it’s a season. At some point I’ll get distracted by Netflix or get into some television show and stop being so serious. As one thing I read today said, “The bow cannot always be drawn” or it would warp the bow and take away its tension, or that which gives it power.

Tension. There’s something we can talk about. I have a friend who’s a personal trainer, and she says when you do crunches, you want to get your body in “the uncomfortable position.” You know, the one that burns. The point being that the uncomfortable position is where you’re going to do the most good. Maybe it won’t feel good at the time, but you’ll like how your stomach looks in the mirror later. This is what I mean by tension, allowing pain to transform you. So many times over the last five years in therapy I’ve sat with emotional tension to the point I thought I was going to explode. Recently I had a heart-to-heart with someone I care about, and leading up to it was hell because I knew we needed to talk but was worried it wouldn’t go well. (It did.) And whereas I HATE that feeling of tension, that uncomfortable position, I’ve always enjoyed where it’s propelled me to.

What I mean is that on the other side of every difficult conversation, my relationships have improved. Even when the relationships themselves have been dissolved or put on hiatus, that’s still been an improvement from my perspective. Because, for example, there’s less drama, less fighting in my life. More than anything, the biggest improvement has always been my being able to speak my truth, whatever that is. (Examples–I’m hurting. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what happened. I love you, but this isn’t working for me.) This is the greatest benefit that I’ve had from the tension in my life. It’s forced me to speak up and grow up. If I hadn’t been so frickin’ miserable in my last long-term relationship, I never would have sought help in therapy or started this blog.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this, that we often (as in, all the time) have to experience tension in order to experience a release. I hate that “the uncomfortable position” is the one where growth happens. But of course it is. Because when we grow, by definition, we’re going somewhere or doing something we haven’t done before. We’re entering into the land of the unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar is always uncomfortable because we’re not used to it. But the good news is that the first time you speak up (or whatever) is the hardest, and then it gets easier from there. With all things, practice is key. Personally, I’m learning to lean into that which is uncomfortable or painful. Not because I’m kinky like that, but because I’m finally realizing that if I’m uncomfortable, if my bow is stretched, that means there’s a lot of potential power there if I use it right.

Recently I was reading that life operates according to the principle of polarity. That is, for every up there’s a down. For every period of activity, there’s a period of inactivity. For every bit of tension, a release. According to this viewpoint, the greater the down, the greater the up. Because life balances itself. This is what I mean by there’s a lot of potential power that comes from being in an uncomfortable position. Once when I was agonizing over a difficult situation, my therapist said, “I know it’s tempting to binge watch Netflix and eat chocolate cake, but you need to have a conversation. You need to speak up. I’ve been where you are, and if you really wanna be free, I’m giving you the playbook.” This is what I mean by if you use your difficult circumstances right. Anyone can run away from tension or just let it dissipate on its own. But USING that tension to propel yourself, to change yourself, that’s another matter. That’s how growth happens.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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On Life and Spoiler Alerts (Blog #738)

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Currently it’s two-forty-five in the morning, and my stomach and brain are empty. My heart, however, is full, as I’ve spent the entire day in the company of good friends. This evening I had dinner with my friends and former roommates Justin and Ashley, and Justin and talked until well past one in the morning. (Compared to our average chats, tonight’s discourse was rather short.) And whereas I’m tired now, I’m grateful for all the benefits that a deep-and-wide, open and honest friendship provides, to be able to sit in the company of another human and not feel judged, to never feel as if you’re going to be discovered a fraud. That is, to be accepted for who you are.

At one point tonight Justin talked about something that happened when we were both in college, well over fifteen years ago. Honestly, I’d forgotten the incident, although it sounded vaguely familiar. I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought, God, that feels like forever ago. Like it happened to two other people. Maybe it did. Justin and I navel-gaze about this sort of thing a lot, the idea that we’ve both grown as people and aren’t the same as we used to be–either as individuals or as friends. Although we currently contain our former selves–there are similarities–we aren’t them. Each of us has–what’s the word?–evolved.

I’ve been thinking about this idea of evolving lately, about growth. Personally, I’ve experienced a lot of growth of the last five years (from therapy) and the last two years (from this blog). I imagine some of it is obvious to others, and some of it isn’t. What’s important is that I know I’ve grown. (Or that you know you’ve grown if you have.) At the same time, I’ve become keenly aware lately how important it is to consciously give other people in our lives latitude to grow or evolve. I told my dad this morning that I NEVER thought I’d see him join a gym. But two months ago he did, and he’s been more consistent about going than I have. So I was in the wrong–to make assumptions and judgments, to think that life nudges me toward positive change but doesn’t do the same for others.

This afternoon I met my friend Frank for cookies and a soda at Subway in Alma. Frank’s from Tulsa and was just passing through. Over a year ago Frank gave me a Zac Efron calendar (I have a very benign, very innocent celebrity crush on Zac Efron), so last week when he (Frank, not Zac Efron) said he’d gotten me a belated birthday present, I couldn’t wait to find out what it was. “If you want, I can hold it until your next birthday,” Frank said. “Oh no,” I said, “I could be dead by then.” There’s no time like the present for the present. Anyway, once again, Frank knocked the gift giving out of the park. Y’all, he gave me a giant rainbow-colored fleece blanket that says (in big, bold letters)–BORN THIS GAY.

My thoughts–Accurate, although I have had time to get better at it.

This reminds me of a Billy Crystal line I recently heard on the old television show Soap. Crystal’s character Jodie is asked, “Are you a practicing homosexual?” and says, “I don’t have to practice. I’m very good at it.”

Just before writing tonight’s blog, I read that the spiritual path (or personal growth path, if you prefer) is FILLED with uncertainty, that as we live honest, authentic lives, we actually INCREASE the amount of uncertainty if our lives. Eeek. Talk about scary. That being said, I know that nearly every good thing that’s come into my life hasn’t been planned for–my friendships with Justin and Frank, for example. Rather, one fine day certain beautiful people showed up in my life the same way one fine day my dad decided to go the gym or I received a belated birthday gift. Surprise! Nobody ever shows up and says, “We’re going to be thick as thieves in twenty years.” They don’t know, and you don’t know either. We never know anything for sure. Life doesn’t offer spoiler alerts. Still, it seems to work out. More and more, I’m learning to trust that it always will.

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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Get It Over With (Blog #681)

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This afternoon I went to Starbucks to work on a writing project I’ve been dreading tackling for weeks. Truth be told, I always dread writing. I make it out to be this big thing in my head. I probably won’t know what to say. It’s going to be awful, worse than drinking a bottle of cough syrup. With respect to today’s writing project, this monologue has been building momentum for days, and earlier today I almost convinced myself to procrastinate this thing until next week. After all, I do have an ingrown fingernail on my right pinky, and since it smarts every time I hit the enter key, I figured I had a legitimate medical reason for staying home and watching Netflix.

Alas, I ended up telling myself, Marcus, you’re never in the mood to write. No writer is ever in the mood to write until they start writing, and dragged my happy little ass and not-so-happy ingrown fingernail to Starbucks. Still, despite the fact that I was there, I stalled–ordered a drink, checked my Facebook, took forever organizing my papers, went to pee. Finally, after staring at a blank page and thinking real hard for fifteen minutes, I wrote my first paragraph. Then my second, then my third. Then I was on a roll, and just like that, two hours flew by. Two hours, that was my self-imposed time limit. Just work for two hours, Marcus. See what you can get done in two hours.

When two hours was up, I’d finished over half of my project. What’s more, I’d actually had fun. Not only had I gotten out of the house (and run into a friend), but I’d also created something I was proud of. There was all this buildup about it not turning out well, but at some point during the process I thought, Hell, Marcus, YOU ARE A WRITER.

After packing up my things at Starbucks, I came home for a snack then headed back out to the gym. They close early on the weekends, so that was part of the reason I limited myself to two hours of writing. Plus, I figured I didn’t have to burn through the entire project in one sitting. It’ll be there tomorrow. Anyway, I’m actually starting to enjoy the gym. I have spent quite a bit of time there “in my younger days” and have started to remember what it’s like to push yourself and see results. Today while working on my shoulders, I rolled up my sleeves because they’re starting to get a hint of definition (my shoulders, not my sleeves). Oh my god, how exciting, I thought, I have muscles!

GRRR.

While at the gym, I noticed a teenager in a knee brace. I wonder if he’s had surgery, I thought. Sure enough, there was a red scar on the front of his leg. I don’t know, maybe having knee surgery is like that deal when you buy a new car then suddenly notice EVERYONE ELSE has the same car you do, since I’m beginning to spot people of all ages who’ve apparently been through the same thing I have. Hell, last night I found out that my celebrity crush, Zac Efron, recently tore his ACL and had surgery. (He’s currently on crutches.) But really, is that bizarre or what? He even injured his left knee, just like I did.

When I told my mom about this fascinating coincidence, she said, “Well if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.” (Everyone’s a comedian.) “I know,” I said. “It’s meant to be.”

You can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings.

Now it’s nine in the evening, and I’m excited about finishing this blog and having the rest of the night to myself. Maybe I’ll read a book, maybe I’ll watch a movie. Either way, I’m really leaning into this idea of being able to make progress by spending an hour here, an hour there on something. For example, it’s been just over six weeks since my knee surgery, and I really am getting around better and growing stronger, and it’s all happened an hour at a time. Likewise, I made noticeable progress today with my writing project, and it was just a small slice of my day. Now I’ve got six hundred words that I didn’t have before. Also, I’m learning that you can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings. That is, if there’s something you’re dreading, guaranteed, you’re going to think and feel differently about it after having done it. So whether it’s a creative project, a trip to the gym or doctor’s office, or a hard conversation, just get it over with. You’ll be glad you did, I promise.

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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All These Things Neatly Arranged (Blog #459)

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It’s one in the morning, and I’m worn the fuck out. My hips hurt, my legs hurt, my back hurts, my head hurts. Everything is throbbing. That being said, I have a distinct feeling of satisfaction, as I’ve spent the entire day organizing, decorating, and cleaning my room.

(I’m a neat freak.)

As I’ve mentioned dozens of times before, over a year and a half ago I had an estate sale and sold most of my possessions. I kept a few things, of course, mostly books, a handful of pictures, knick knacks, and can’t-live-withouts. As my original plan was to move to Austin (I’ve recently run into several people in Fort Smith who think I’m “back home,” but–joke’s on them–I never left), I’ve essentially been living out of a suitcase since moving in with my parents last February-ish. Granted, I hung my clothes in my sister’s old closet, put my underwear in a spare chest of drawers, even set up a small bookshelf. But–until today–I haven’t hung anything on the walls.

I guess I didn’t want to get too comfortable.

Sometime last year I went from sleeping in my sister’s old room to sleeping in my old room because I hoped a different bed would help my sore back. I don’t think it did, but I’ve stayed here anyway–in my old room–where I am now. Consequently, for over six months I’ve been living in two places, some of my stuff in my old room, some of my stuff in my sister’s. However, because I’m anal retentive and love order, this situation has been wearing me the fuck out. Every day I walk into this room and notice all the chachkies that aren’t mine and I don’t like looking at, all the shit hung on the wall in the wrong place “because there was a nail there,” all the family junk that’s stored in the closet.

Until today, that is. For whatever reason, this morning I had enough. I thought, Marcus, you’ve been here for over a year. You might as settle in. So that’s what I did. For over twelve hours starting this afternoon, I moved (almost) everything that wasn’t mine to another room, gathered all my worldly possessions into this one, and went to work sorting, grouping, and arranging.

My first major task was decorating the built-in bookshelves that frame my window. This was a major frustration point, since I kept looking for little collectables to decorate with but couldn’t find any BECAUSE I FUCKING SOLD EVERYTHING I USED TO COLLECT! (Whoops.) Still, I managed, and after the bookshelf project, I cleaned out a box of old birthday cards and letters I found in the closet (where I used to be). (That was a gay joke, Mom.) This was really strange, looking at twenty-five-year-old birthday cards from friends and relatives, some of whom are no longer alive. Having just been reminded that I don’t own much anymore, I wanted to hang on to every slip of paper, every fond thought and signature. But I didn’t. I kept a few things to take pictures of tomorrow, but that’s it. The rest went in the trash.

The past is over.

Of all the framed pictures and artwork I used to have, I only kept nine (my favorite number) when I had the sale. Y’all, it took me at least two hours to figure out how to hang them on the wall, but I finally did. And here’s what’s great about having these nine pictures on the wall–I love, absolutely adore–every one of them. Each one has a story, each one “made the cut” for a different reason. Even now as I type, they are hanging around me, bringing a smile to my face, helping me feel at home here.

Enjoy where you are.

I suppose this is something I haven’t wanted to admit–that I’m home again, that I’m here now. But I am here now, so I might as well act like it. That’s what today was about for me–acceptance, admitting that even though I’m not where I thought I would be at this point in my life, I can still enjoy where I am. I spend so much time in this room, so much time staring at these walls–why shouldn’t I like what I’m looking at? Currently I’m propped up in bed, and across the room is my Zac Efron wall calendar, my collection of magnets, the typewriter and cup of coffee drawing I blogged about yesterday, my vision board, and an antique swag lamp I’ve had for two years but haven’t used until tonight. All these things neatly arranged truly inspire me. Why didn’t I do this sooner? (It doesn’t mean I’ll be here forever.) Already I feel more creative, more relaxed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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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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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

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The Cave You Fear to Enter (Blog #364)

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Tonight’s post is number 364 (in a row). That means it’s the next-to-last post for “year one.” Wow. First of all, what a trip. Second of all, tomorrow is the big day. To use an analogy I got from my friend Bonnie, I feel like a high school senior. Like, I’m graduating. (I feel like I should have a ceremony with a cap and gown to celebrate, but I’ll probably just drink a beer instead.) And yes, just like a high school senior, everyone is asking me, “What are you going to do next?”

My answer: Hell if I know.

As I’ve contemplated my last few posts for this year, part of me feels like looking back. Several months ago I told myself that I was going to go back and re-read all my previous posts before the one-year mark, maybe do a “highlight reel.” Remember that time I was in a car wreck and later cried in my driveway while listening to Bette Midler? Well, that hasn’t happened. I still intend to re-read everything at some point, but not before tomorrow. Also, I’ve considered using my last couple of “year one” posts to discuss what’s happened this last year in terms of my site statistics and talk about some of my personal rules for blogging–things I absolutely insist on doing or not doing every time I sit down at this keyboard. Lastly, I’ve thought about listing my goals, what I’d like to see happen next. And whereas I do intend to do these things “soon and very soon,” I’ve decided not to do them until after March 30th (that’s tomorrow).

My reason for waiting to deviate from my current format is that I’d like to finish out this year the same way I began it. A year ago I remember going to the library and starting this project–just me, my laptop, and an idea. My primary goal at the time was to develop a daily writing practice, and that much I’ve done. My secondary goal was to stick to a theme–my life, my search for truth and authenticity, my mental and physical well-being. This is why, even when I meet someone else with an incredible story, I never talk about them unless there’s a direct application to something I’m dealing with. If my blog’s theme were “incredible people I’ve met,” that would be a different matter.

My story is our story.

Sometimes I look at the number of people who have read this blog since I started it and think, Meh. Other times I think, Holy crap! Honestly, the fact that anyone reads it on a consistent basis (which some people tell me they do–thanks, Mom) blows me away because this is clearly a blog about me, and I don’t find my day-to-day life all that interesting. But I guess what is interesting are some of the things I deal with or struggle with, things like balance, boundaries, growing up, letting go, patience, and self-acceptance–since these are things WE ALL struggle with. In short, if someone finds a connection here, surely it’s only because my story is our story.

My therapist says that when one person lives authentically, they give other people permission to live authentically also. Like, if you wear what you want to wear every day (because YOU like it) and don’t give a shit about what society thinks, you somehow communicate that others are free to decide what’s best for themselves. Likewise, even if you have to keep a friend at arm’s length because they’re overbearing or rude or whatever, you’re modeling healthy behavior to both your friend and anyone else who cares to notice. Of course, in both examples, you’re primarily taking care of (and loving) yourself, which is the main thing.

This afternoon a friend and I were discussing authenticity and the blog, and she said she thought I was brave, that it was a big deal to put myself “out there.” So I’ve been thinking about this today, like, Do I think of myself as brave?

Uh, sort of, not really.

Y’all, I get that what I’m doing here may sometimes seem like a big deal. Like, not everyone would get on the internet and talk about their sexuality, their crush on Zac Efron, their Dad having been in prison, their mom’s cancer, or whatever they happen to be nervous, thrilled, or angry about on any given day. But just so I’m clear, I don’t sit down and write about this stuff intending to brave. Sure, there are times it takes a deep breath and an internal pep talk in order for me to hit the “publish” button, but being brave is always a secondary consideration. The main thing–the primary consideration for me–is always, “Am I going to be honest?”

As I recall, this question presented itself to me in my very first post, which included a story about how I ran into a man who had previously hit on me. At that time, I knew I wanted to start the blog, but I hadn’t planned on “coming out” my very first day as a blogger on the world-wide web. But there it was on day one, and I was either going to honestly talk about what went on in my day and in my life or I wasn’t. Having spent most of my life being vague or private about my sexuality (and even having lied about it years ago), and likewise having been largely unsatisfied with the results of that behavior, I mustered enough courage to try something different–the plain, simple, unadulterated, this-is-me, take-it-or-leave-it truth.

What a novel concept.

Perhaps bravery is simply having run out of better options.

Joseph Campbell says, “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” In my experience, this is true. (I hate it, but it is.) For all the times I’ve been afraid to hit “publish” and did, it’s paid off a hundredfold. For every time I’ve questioned whether or not to share my authentic truth or experience and did, I now look back and think, Why did I even hesitate? That’s what a positive experience it’s been for me. Now I think, Why did I wait so long (to quit that job, tell someone to fuck off, or wear what I want to)? Yes, it takes courage or bravery to step into the cave you fear to enter. But I know from personal experience that when you’re absolutely worn out by everything else NOT working, that’s when you’re also the the most willing to step into the shadows. Perhaps this is what bravery really is–simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

[The dog in tonight’s photo belongs to one of my dance students and is named CoCo, which is one of my nicknames and the “author name” I use on this blog. Curiously enough, CoCo and I have become fast friends.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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