This last weekend, I went to visit a longtime friend and his partner of ten years. They live in a major metropolitan area with a large gay population. The entire weekend was a series of revelations for me. The most striking to me was how easy it was to be myself without apology. I loved the shops, the clubs, and the acceptance of gay life as a matter of course. In feeling that comfortable, it was also possible to be more than gay; I could be a whole person. It was a marvelous feeling!
Just yesterday, I did find something I needed to apologize for, however. There's something called the Genesis Project here in Pocatello. It's an HIV prevention project that uses social activities to build a stronger gay community and disseminate information about safe sex. Basically the state government pays us to be friends and talk about how to use condoms. Anyway, I found myself verbally trashing a young man who had shown up at the weekly Coffee Night. When I was done, I realized that I'd just spread negative energy. Once upon a time, I was more careful about speaking ill of others. If I didn't have something nice to say, I didn't say anything...or I made something up. So here is my public apology to Tyler, as well as myself. Tyler, I'm sorry I said those things about you. If you want to know what I said, come ask me. As for my self-apology, I'm sorry that I betrayed my nobler self to pander to the inner bitch. It's time to put that part of myself back in the box, and only allow it out when someone is actually trying to harm me. That's the only time it's appropriate.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Wallflower, Take 3
I finished reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower for the third time today. Sam and Charlie's discussion while she packs for college had a greater impact on me this time through than it had the last two times I read it. I think I was ready for it this time.
I haven't been participating, at least not as much as I could. I spend so much of my life taking care of other people's feelings that I'm often out of touch with my own. It's not that I don't experience emotion so much as I don't know what the emotions mean...or what to do about them. I know this because of an experience I had three weeks ago.
For once in my life, I knew what I wanted and I moved on it and took it. When the person on the other end of my kiss started to ask me what it meant, I told them to shut up, flirty and confident, and went on kissing them. After a couple other attempts at defining this event, the recipient accepted it and we had an enjoyable evening. In the past, I would have clouded the event with words and uncertainty. This time, I acted on what I felt. Although this person and I won't likely be picking out a china pattern or building our dream house, that moment was a revelation to me. No more sideline lurking for me.
I haven't been participating, at least not as much as I could. I spend so much of my life taking care of other people's feelings that I'm often out of touch with my own. It's not that I don't experience emotion so much as I don't know what the emotions mean...or what to do about them. I know this because of an experience I had three weeks ago.
For once in my life, I knew what I wanted and I moved on it and took it. When the person on the other end of my kiss started to ask me what it meant, I told them to shut up, flirty and confident, and went on kissing them. After a couple other attempts at defining this event, the recipient accepted it and we had an enjoyable evening. In the past, I would have clouded the event with words and uncertainty. This time, I acted on what I felt. Although this person and I won't likely be picking out a china pattern or building our dream house, that moment was a revelation to me. No more sideline lurking for me.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Mr. Rogers Told a Lie
Long ago, Mr. Rogers sang me a lie. Merrily he would chorus: "Everything grows together because it's all one piece." My arms, legs, teeth and hair would grow together because I was all one piece. I grossly misunderstood that tune. Everything might have grown together, but it certainly didn’t grow as a harmonious whole like I expected it would. Most painful of all was the uneven growth inside me. My pieces had no peace.
By the age of five years, I desired to be physically and emotionally close to other boys. Shut out from their brand of intimacy at the age of three, my hunger for their acceptance grew as I grew. My inability to relate to them grew at the same pace. Growing up Mormon compounded my isolation, and the rites of passage that help children become adults were rendered less potent by the disparity between who I was and who I was expected to be. I was baptized, received the Priesthood, went on dates with girls, went to college, went through the temple, served a mission, and came home. These are the events that traditionally prepare a Mormon male for family life. The religious markers did their job well, but the personal ones passed by without making the changes they were supposed to. Being closeted denied me any investment in the experiences I did have so, emotionally, I stayed more or less a child. Parts of me grew while other parts remained totally stunted.
The uneven development of my emotional self began to manifest itself in my public life. I showed a marked inability to fulfill my potential, failing time after time to rise to opportunities presented me. At the age of 24, it came to me that I was spending so much energy fighting my nature that I had none left for anything else. I was spinning my wheels in the mire of straightness, gaining no traction because that wasn't my path. It took two more years after that idea hit me, but I finally gained the courage to begin following another path, one that didn't make me a square peg.
My new path, while facilitating emotional and personal growth, damned my spiritual progress. I was disfellowshipped from the Church. Disfellowshipment was worse than being excommunicated outright, because although I was not allowed to participate in worship services or other meetings, I was expected to attend. I agreed not to take the sacrament, the Mormon form of communion, or utter public prayers. It was a shadow state, somewhere between life and death and worse than either. I felt cut off from God and Christ. I was spiritually dead.
It has been a decade since I started the journey and I still find myself stumbling along on my uneven emotional legs, dragging an arm on the ground. It's a grotesque picture. Things are looking up, though. From August to January, I lost 50 lbs. and have kept them off for the last five months. I'm beginning to feel proportional again physically. Additionally, although I feel like a young twentysomething trapped in a newly middle-aged yet healthier body, my inner development has received a jump start as well. I might just make it to adulthood! Finally, after ten years of disfellowshipment and inactivity in the LDS church, my spiritual self has been given a new lease on life. For the past year I've served as organist for the local Trinity Episcopal congregation and I finally see that I didn't need to cut myself off from God as I had been doing. I've started taking communion again. I feel His presence in my life again and I'm realizing that it might just be possible for my life, the various pieces that make me who I am, to turn out all one peace.
By the age of five years, I desired to be physically and emotionally close to other boys. Shut out from their brand of intimacy at the age of three, my hunger for their acceptance grew as I grew. My inability to relate to them grew at the same pace. Growing up Mormon compounded my isolation, and the rites of passage that help children become adults were rendered less potent by the disparity between who I was and who I was expected to be. I was baptized, received the Priesthood, went on dates with girls, went to college, went through the temple, served a mission, and came home. These are the events that traditionally prepare a Mormon male for family life. The religious markers did their job well, but the personal ones passed by without making the changes they were supposed to. Being closeted denied me any investment in the experiences I did have so, emotionally, I stayed more or less a child. Parts of me grew while other parts remained totally stunted.
The uneven development of my emotional self began to manifest itself in my public life. I showed a marked inability to fulfill my potential, failing time after time to rise to opportunities presented me. At the age of 24, it came to me that I was spending so much energy fighting my nature that I had none left for anything else. I was spinning my wheels in the mire of straightness, gaining no traction because that wasn't my path. It took two more years after that idea hit me, but I finally gained the courage to begin following another path, one that didn't make me a square peg.
My new path, while facilitating emotional and personal growth, damned my spiritual progress. I was disfellowshipped from the Church. Disfellowshipment was worse than being excommunicated outright, because although I was not allowed to participate in worship services or other meetings, I was expected to attend. I agreed not to take the sacrament, the Mormon form of communion, or utter public prayers. It was a shadow state, somewhere between life and death and worse than either. I felt cut off from God and Christ. I was spiritually dead.
It has been a decade since I started the journey and I still find myself stumbling along on my uneven emotional legs, dragging an arm on the ground. It's a grotesque picture. Things are looking up, though. From August to January, I lost 50 lbs. and have kept them off for the last five months. I'm beginning to feel proportional again physically. Additionally, although I feel like a young twentysomething trapped in a newly middle-aged yet healthier body, my inner development has received a jump start as well. I might just make it to adulthood! Finally, after ten years of disfellowshipment and inactivity in the LDS church, my spiritual self has been given a new lease on life. For the past year I've served as organist for the local Trinity Episcopal congregation and I finally see that I didn't need to cut myself off from God as I had been doing. I've started taking communion again. I feel His presence in my life again and I'm realizing that it might just be possible for my life, the various pieces that make me who I am, to turn out all one peace.
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