So, I was on Twitter this morning, and I suddenly had this FEAR that I had missed my blogging anniversary. I knew I had started in mid-February last year, and I thought it was around the 12th.
Well, it was. AROUND the 12th. Fortunately, it was the 15th. [Here is my opening post... ]
So today, then, is the last day of the first year of my blog. The first of perhaps MANY years, I can hope...
But WOW! What an amazing first year! What an incredible, incredible first year!
I don't even know where to begin in my recap...
But one of the reasons for this blog was because I'm real cheap, and this was free therapy. So thanks, guys! ;)
No, but seriously, at the time I started this blog, I was deep in grief over two lost relationships, and I was feeling incredibly lonely in a small town where I was trying to dig roots, in a job that ultimately I felt both overwhelmed and bored with. I had lost my best friend, and was feeling a deep need to find someone to tell all the random thoughts and silly things (and perhaps profound?) that were screaming through my head.
So, I thought the whole world was a suitable audience to share everything with...
But I had no readers except my good friend Robin Sparkles (thank you, Robin!) and apparently I wasn't the type who liked to talk just to hear my own voice. Apparently, I'm so selfish and self-centered I actually want OTHERS to hear me too....
And I had decided to give it a whirl because I enjoyed hearing The Bloggess' voice and thought I can do that! So after twenty-five blog posts, and hoping that meant I was going to stick with this, I called her out. At the time, on her blog, there was an incident that she has asked us to no longer name with an actor whose first memorable role was as the second Joey in One Life To Live, and I encouraged her to share a picture with me as she might have wanted one who shall not be named to send a picture to her of him.
So, to get her attention, I did an evil thing. Something that from high above in my lofty cloud I thought was much too far beneath me. Something I never thought I would do.
That's right. I joined Twitter.
WOW!
And The Bloggess - bless her heart - was my VERY FIRST FOLLOWER!!!
At some point along the way, I found Kit. And I believe I found her through Jenny. And I found her posts - particularly her posts about sex - to be really funny and amusing. I liked her voice too. And I'd like to say she was my second follower.. but I'm not sure... Either way, with #wineparty, she opened up a whole new world to me.
A world of 30-40-something Mommy bloggers. (Primarily)
You guys are great. Considering I am most definitely NOT a Mommy...
And I have a Sci-Fi name that should turn you off. And it took some of you awhile to realize I wasn't a guy hitting on and flirting with women, but, um, a dyke. But you enjoyed it and flirted back.
And one particular chickie - who played a little hard to get at first - flirted back and foolishly fell in love with me. ;)
WOW!
And slowly, but surely, I've built up a following. I have a steady readership of about 20 readers... ;) and I have had over twelve thousand hits. I have a strong Balkan following.
The CANADIANS have been quite impressive fans. They are so polite. They'll apologize when YOU fart. I love the Canadians... And so... today is as good a day as any to make the official announcement that, well, I'm moving to Canada.
'Cuz, as I've already mentioned, there's this particular chickie.. and well.. she's a CANADIAN chick.. go figure... We're not entirely sure she likes me and that she isn't just being polite to me, "Oh sure..." but we're gonna run with it anyway. ;)
(Actually, no, we're QUITE sure she likes me, very much... and if I left that sentence alone, particularly after her sweet Valentine's eve series of love notes, I'd be in trouble... and that's no way to start a life together... )
Goodbye small town. Goodbye single. Goodbye soccer coach. Goodbye America. Goodbye job. Goodbye church...
Woah.. what's going to be left of me when I go?
All the essential parts of me will still be here.
I have enjoyed very much living in a small town, but I didn't particularly choose this place. They have been good to me. Very good to me! I have really enjoyed coaching soccer, but I have no inherent skills or even love for the sport. I enjoyed the girls - they were great! Can't say I enjoyed being single, but I can say that I got out of it what I needed, and I have most definitely let go of my past relationships and am ready for this new one I'm already in (so it's, um, a good thing, eh?) America? Well... you're hard to ignore. And I'll be living in a border town (okay, border megaopolis), so I have a feeling I won't miss you too much. Job? Pfft... well... it has always been a gap-filler. And it and the church, and the soccer have all sort of helped me get a firmer understanding of what I enjoy doing, and in a larger city, I will have a better opportunity to find something that fits those things.
What a year! I mean, really, what a year! One thing which has NOT changed, though, over this past year. And that is being and knowing that I am very, very blessed.
Who knows what themes will emerge with this blog in the next year? Change will probably be one of them. I'm going to try and stuff my life into five duffel bags and stuff them and my bike into my car and start over. I've always always always wanted to have such little stuff in my life that I could stuff it all in a car and go. I have a couple of weeks to pare things down to see if I can do it. If I manage it, that's another WOW! I am looking forward to trying.
Alright - a few other topics are creeping into my head to write about, but it is clear to me that they are separate posts.
But I wanted to say WOW! and THANK YOU! for an INCREDIBLE year. INCREDIBLE!
Who knew when I started this that this is where it would lead? But I am so grateful it has!
I am blessed.
Showing posts with label dyke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dyke. Show all posts
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Monday, November 19, 2012
Coming Out
I am currently working on a contract in a distribution center. So we have inside office people and people who work in the warehouse. While the company is one big happy family, the conversations that take place in the warehouse are of a vastly different nature and flavor than those inside. I really enjoy the warehouse, including some of the more, um, raucous conversations - like the day the warehouse supervisor brought in bull balls and fried them up. But that's perhaps for a different post.
A couple of weeks ago, I was walking through the warehouse and some guys I've been working with stopped me telling me they had a question for me: Were you born gay? Or did something happen to you?
I imagine for some people who are gay, perhaps, something happened to them. It may have simply been something that helped them acknowledge who they are, or it may have been something traumatic to turn them away from the opposite sex. But most of us are born this way.
And I want to clarify what "this way" means. I believe very strongly that sexuality exists on a spectrum - with very few people actually being one extreme or the other. I think a lot of people who identify in one direction or other, may be within 20% range - where 80% -99% of their attraction is for one sex (gender, whatever the politically sensitive word is today! ;) ) and 1-20% perhaps possibly attraction for the sex / gender that they don't identify as their sexual orientation.
A lot of "activists" might shy away from saying these things, because if there's an ounce of possibility you might like the opposite sex, then, gosh, being gay is a choice. No. Not exactly. Choosing to be true to who you are is a choice. Choosing who you find attractive is not.
But that's my opinion - for whatever it's worth.
For those who identify as straight, or heterosexual, there rarely is an "aha!" moment where you realize you are "straight". You may have a moment where you have it confirmed - where someone just looks SOOO hot, and.. well, but usually you start with a base understanding that you're straight, and to figure out that you're something else is the way it works.
I came out in high school. I had done some experimentation, that in hind sight, made sense and confirmed that I was gay, but I didn't realize that at the time. Nope, I assumed I was just like everybody else, and so I tried to find boys who were cute, and went on dates.
But none of them really clicked for me... I went out with this one guy who was really sweet, wooed me, paid for our dates, bought me stuffed animals, and did all of this even on the date where I decided to let him go and break up with him.
And I wondered - if such a wonderful and sweet guy doesn't do it for me... Hmm...
I remember writing in my high school journal, "I wonder if I'm...." I couldn't write the word. Lesbian didn't come naturally off my tongue - still doesn't ;) But lesbians do! ;) Oops. Anyway.. it was a process. In some ways, I didn't just wake up and be gay. No, I was always gay. But slowly, I realized, Hmm.....
I found certain sources, and did some reading, and things started to make some sense. And the many times I've fallen head over heels for a beautiful woman since then, have given me the confirmation I needed. And the many times I haven't fallen for wonderful men that I loved dearly as a friend, have also given me the confirmation I needed.
That's *my* story, and my experience. Anyone who wants to guest blog and share their experience, feel free to e-mail me. It is a confusing process, and sometimes it doesn't happen so early in life, and for some it happens even earlier. My ex-wife came out in her late thirties after two marriages. It takes a lot to be so self-aware, and to allow yourself to be you.
If you're reading this and wondering about yourself, it's okay to wonder. Take your time, and take a look around to understand how you truly feel, what truly turns you on. The answers are there, but you must be patient to hear them.
Even though it's been a long time, I am a good listener.
theborgblog@gmail.com
A couple of weeks ago, I was walking through the warehouse and some guys I've been working with stopped me telling me they had a question for me: Were you born gay? Or did something happen to you?
I imagine for some people who are gay, perhaps, something happened to them. It may have simply been something that helped them acknowledge who they are, or it may have been something traumatic to turn them away from the opposite sex. But most of us are born this way.
And I want to clarify what "this way" means. I believe very strongly that sexuality exists on a spectrum - with very few people actually being one extreme or the other. I think a lot of people who identify in one direction or other, may be within 20% range - where 80% -99% of their attraction is for one sex (gender, whatever the politically sensitive word is today! ;) ) and 1-20% perhaps possibly attraction for the sex / gender that they don't identify as their sexual orientation.
A lot of "activists" might shy away from saying these things, because if there's an ounce of possibility you might like the opposite sex, then, gosh, being gay is a choice. No. Not exactly. Choosing to be true to who you are is a choice. Choosing who you find attractive is not.
But that's my opinion - for whatever it's worth.
For those who identify as straight, or heterosexual, there rarely is an "aha!" moment where you realize you are "straight". You may have a moment where you have it confirmed - where someone just looks SOOO hot, and.. well, but usually you start with a base understanding that you're straight, and to figure out that you're something else is the way it works.
I came out in high school. I had done some experimentation, that in hind sight, made sense and confirmed that I was gay, but I didn't realize that at the time. Nope, I assumed I was just like everybody else, and so I tried to find boys who were cute, and went on dates.
But none of them really clicked for me... I went out with this one guy who was really sweet, wooed me, paid for our dates, bought me stuffed animals, and did all of this even on the date where I decided to let him go and break up with him.
And I wondered - if such a wonderful and sweet guy doesn't do it for me... Hmm...
I remember writing in my high school journal, "I wonder if I'm...." I couldn't write the word. Lesbian didn't come naturally off my tongue - still doesn't ;) But lesbians do! ;) Oops. Anyway.. it was a process. In some ways, I didn't just wake up and be gay. No, I was always gay. But slowly, I realized, Hmm.....
I found certain sources, and did some reading, and things started to make some sense. And the many times I've fallen head over heels for a beautiful woman since then, have given me the confirmation I needed. And the many times I haven't fallen for wonderful men that I loved dearly as a friend, have also given me the confirmation I needed.
That's *my* story, and my experience. Anyone who wants to guest blog and share their experience, feel free to e-mail me. It is a confusing process, and sometimes it doesn't happen so early in life, and for some it happens even earlier. My ex-wife came out in her late thirties after two marriages. It takes a lot to be so self-aware, and to allow yourself to be you.
If you're reading this and wondering about yourself, it's okay to wonder. Take your time, and take a look around to understand how you truly feel, what truly turns you on. The answers are there, but you must be patient to hear them.
Even though it's been a long time, I am a good listener.
theborgblog@gmail.com
Sunday, November 18, 2012
God and Gays and, well, Amish
Since I've awoken from my afternoon nap, I have had two interestingly juxtaposed inputs - blog entries from lesbians who have been told that God can't love them the way they are (or part of that theme) and watching the first episode of Breaking Amish that was aired on TLC.
It has been so-o-o-o long since I came out, that I can't remember really what it is like to "come out" - to discover who you are and that who you are doesn't necessarily mesh with that which is around you. Moving to a small town three years ago gave me a reminder experience, but I never hid who I was, and I am happy with who I am - so hiding was never something to be considered.
People politically try to often compare homophobia with racism. Marriage equality, for example, is easy to compare to Loving v. Virginia and the Supreme Court case that declared that it was unconstitutional to punish people for an interracial marriage. We share in common a history of being a minority, and being shunned, in general society, for being that minority - for being discriminated against, for having our actions considered illegal not for the actions themselves but because of who we are.
Not a lot of fun.
But that analogy - that comparison - is rarely a satisfying one. It leaves this huge gap in understanding the fears and the risks that LGBTQZWXY folks share in risking being shunned by their family and their friends.
I remember in high school one of my best friends - who cannot remember this to save her life, and I don't need her to - screaming at me, essentially, that if I ever brought a girlfriend over to her house she'd never talk to me again. She came to my union ceremony, and has since gotten over that. But telling people you care about is a risk. I remember the short-lived friendships I made at freshman orientation in college withering away after they saw me at the Coming Out Day table on October 11th. People who no longer looked me in the eyes and who darted off in the opposite direction. I do have vague distant memories of these hurtful actions taken by others. I'm old, though, and it's been awhile.
I have been fortunate, though, that my family has been fairly accepting. Their biggest concern - which any family would have about anyone embarking on something "different" in life - was that it would be a hard life for me - that I wouldn't have a normal family life that they had. That others would make it harder. They just wanted my life to be easier - as most families would want for others in their family.
I never had to worry that my family would suddenly stop loving me for who I was. I am and was very fortunate.
But it could have gone differently, and for so many coming out, it has or it will. Even in today's more "liberal" "accepting" society (again, I'm old, it wasn't quite so acceptable back then - no Will & Grace..), children still risk alienating their parents, losing their siblings, being extricated from their families. Not belonging anymore.
People who are a minority by race - while there may be some internal racism within the community - for the most part don't have to worry that their parents will hate them because of the color of their skin. Mostly because they got it from them. Or so I'd think. For the most part, they don't have to worry about telling someone that they are "different" because what is "different" about them is evident. Now I will not pretend to argue that I understand how hard it is to be of a different race than those around you, and how hard it is because you can't "hide" necessarily - I don't pretend to know, and I am not comparing challenges. Both sets of minorities face challenges. My point here is merely to point out while some of those challenges are the same, some are quite different.
By the time the producers / directors of this series Breaking Amish has reached these young adults, they have already pretty much made their decision. Inviting camera crews into their lives in their last days, essentially, in their communities, pretty much has sealed the deal for most of them. And it is heartbreaking to watch them realize that they have to choose not only a "lifestyle" - or being true to themselves or trying to have an opportunity to figure out who they are - but they risk being shunned and NEVER being welcomed back. They can go back "home" but no-one will face them, include them, support them. In reality, they can never go back.
So episode 1 - which is all I've watched so far - is about the heartbreak of these families telling them to go back their bags and leave and, "Well, it's been nice knowing you, but you are now damned to eternal hell-fire". Much of the same garbage (in my humble opinion) that some folks in the guise of religion tell people who are LGBQTXYZ (I'm so old, it used to just be G, it was a great stride to add the L (that's not entirely true, but adding the "B" was a true expansion of the political climate's "inclusiveness")). These people in the show are going to New York City where they won't suddenly be welcomed with open arms into the new world they've chosen. There, too, they will be Other.
I lost my virginity not in any sort of romantic, love struck fantasy manner - even though I did wait until I was eighteen. I lost it because when I was on the dance floor with other lesbians - not much older than I - they would literally run away in the middle of the dance when they learned I was just coming out. I needed to get that "out of the way" to even have a CHANCE at being accepted into this "new" world.
I know that the bloggers I have been reading are still quite young. And some other young lesbians I've met make me realize that with time and experience can come maturity and acceptance - that I have come a long way from where they are. But it is painful and heart wrenching to read them struggle with their faith and their family and feeling at peace with who they are themselves. And watching, just now, Breaking Amish, I felt like I saw another set of young people dealing with a very different circumstance who could understand how they feel, nonetheless.
I wonder, though, sadly, if I introduced my new Amish "friends" to these new young lesbians, if the young struggling Amish folks would shun us, too.
We are more alike, folks, than we are different. And maybe I should re-title this post that..
Resistance is futile - you will be assimilated.
P.S. To my new lesbian friends - if you find this post - trust yourselves. Be true to yourselves. As Doctor Seuss wrote: Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.
It has been so-o-o-o long since I came out, that I can't remember really what it is like to "come out" - to discover who you are and that who you are doesn't necessarily mesh with that which is around you. Moving to a small town three years ago gave me a reminder experience, but I never hid who I was, and I am happy with who I am - so hiding was never something to be considered.
People politically try to often compare homophobia with racism. Marriage equality, for example, is easy to compare to Loving v. Virginia and the Supreme Court case that declared that it was unconstitutional to punish people for an interracial marriage. We share in common a history of being a minority, and being shunned, in general society, for being that minority - for being discriminated against, for having our actions considered illegal not for the actions themselves but because of who we are.
Not a lot of fun.
But that analogy - that comparison - is rarely a satisfying one. It leaves this huge gap in understanding the fears and the risks that LGBTQZWXY folks share in risking being shunned by their family and their friends.
I remember in high school one of my best friends - who cannot remember this to save her life, and I don't need her to - screaming at me, essentially, that if I ever brought a girlfriend over to her house she'd never talk to me again. She came to my union ceremony, and has since gotten over that. But telling people you care about is a risk. I remember the short-lived friendships I made at freshman orientation in college withering away after they saw me at the Coming Out Day table on October 11th. People who no longer looked me in the eyes and who darted off in the opposite direction. I do have vague distant memories of these hurtful actions taken by others. I'm old, though, and it's been awhile.
I have been fortunate, though, that my family has been fairly accepting. Their biggest concern - which any family would have about anyone embarking on something "different" in life - was that it would be a hard life for me - that I wouldn't have a normal family life that they had. That others would make it harder. They just wanted my life to be easier - as most families would want for others in their family.
I never had to worry that my family would suddenly stop loving me for who I was. I am and was very fortunate.
But it could have gone differently, and for so many coming out, it has or it will. Even in today's more "liberal" "accepting" society (again, I'm old, it wasn't quite so acceptable back then - no Will & Grace..), children still risk alienating their parents, losing their siblings, being extricated from their families. Not belonging anymore.
People who are a minority by race - while there may be some internal racism within the community - for the most part don't have to worry that their parents will hate them because of the color of their skin. Mostly because they got it from them. Or so I'd think. For the most part, they don't have to worry about telling someone that they are "different" because what is "different" about them is evident. Now I will not pretend to argue that I understand how hard it is to be of a different race than those around you, and how hard it is because you can't "hide" necessarily - I don't pretend to know, and I am not comparing challenges. Both sets of minorities face challenges. My point here is merely to point out while some of those challenges are the same, some are quite different.
By the time the producers / directors of this series Breaking Amish has reached these young adults, they have already pretty much made their decision. Inviting camera crews into their lives in their last days, essentially, in their communities, pretty much has sealed the deal for most of them. And it is heartbreaking to watch them realize that they have to choose not only a "lifestyle" - or being true to themselves or trying to have an opportunity to figure out who they are - but they risk being shunned and NEVER being welcomed back. They can go back "home" but no-one will face them, include them, support them. In reality, they can never go back.
So episode 1 - which is all I've watched so far - is about the heartbreak of these families telling them to go back their bags and leave and, "Well, it's been nice knowing you, but you are now damned to eternal hell-fire". Much of the same garbage (in my humble opinion) that some folks in the guise of religion tell people who are LGBQTXYZ (I'm so old, it used to just be G, it was a great stride to add the L (that's not entirely true, but adding the "B" was a true expansion of the political climate's "inclusiveness")). These people in the show are going to New York City where they won't suddenly be welcomed with open arms into the new world they've chosen. There, too, they will be Other.
I lost my virginity not in any sort of romantic, love struck fantasy manner - even though I did wait until I was eighteen. I lost it because when I was on the dance floor with other lesbians - not much older than I - they would literally run away in the middle of the dance when they learned I was just coming out. I needed to get that "out of the way" to even have a CHANCE at being accepted into this "new" world.
I know that the bloggers I have been reading are still quite young. And some other young lesbians I've met make me realize that with time and experience can come maturity and acceptance - that I have come a long way from where they are. But it is painful and heart wrenching to read them struggle with their faith and their family and feeling at peace with who they are themselves. And watching, just now, Breaking Amish, I felt like I saw another set of young people dealing with a very different circumstance who could understand how they feel, nonetheless.
I wonder, though, sadly, if I introduced my new Amish "friends" to these new young lesbians, if the young struggling Amish folks would shun us, too.
We are more alike, folks, than we are different. And maybe I should re-title this post that..
Resistance is futile - you will be assimilated.
P.S. To my new lesbian friends - if you find this post - trust yourselves. Be true to yourselves. As Doctor Seuss wrote: Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Today is the first day...
Blah, blah, blah...
Although it's fricking true. Still, blah, blah, blah.
I am at another, shall we say, "transition point" in my life. The part-time contract that was supposed to be somewhat short-term and that I managed to actually stretch out for a full year - much past it's expiration date - is not-so-surprisingly coming to an end.
In the bigger picture, I know this is a good thing.
And I know my friends are stuck providing me all the good trite sayings I would say to them in the same situation. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life", etc., etc.
And I feel their pain. I know that there is NOTHING they could say to me - trite or otherwise - that would necessarily penetrate this bubble of concern that is surrounding me.
Now, I'm not on full blown panic or distress (yet). But I'm not exactly happy, either.
I have several months before full blown panic or distress comes in (not that I won't have my moments, mind you).
One of the problems I have is that some of my contracts are open ended, so it's not always possible to prepare ahead of time for another one, because it's not always clear with the first one is going to end. It took me eight months between the last one and this one to have more than a two or three week gig, and those were eight long months. I made a small amount of savings stretch quite far. I was quite impressed with myself, frankly.
But my savings going into this round, though, are a little less impressive because I had some serious dental bills at the beginning of the year. So I'm nervous.
I try to have faith. God and I are having quite a few conversations lately. He's the strong silent type. He knows anything he might say I'd probably respond "blah, blah, blah" to, much as I have been doing to my friends. But I am trying to have faith that when this door closes, another one will open. Or a window (although it's starting to get chillier...).
I also know job hunting before Christmas is not always easy. I've got an extra month or so jump from prior years when I've found myself in this situation, but I know once mid-November hits, I just have to hold on until January. And I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.
The problem with these transition points, as I so politely call them, is that it also calls into question other "life choices". Now this can be a good examination, or a not-so-good examination. It is good and healthy, as a general rule, to make sure you stop and examine if you are in the place (literally, figuratively, metaphysically) that you want to be in your life, and when certain obligations that have been keeping you in those positions release, to confirm you are where you want to be. Those are good examinations, because if you're going to make big changes in your life, these are good moments to make them.
The trouble is that the flip side of that can be a little bit like Alice's rabbit-hole. And it doesn't take much to slip into full-on crisis and doubt that everything you've done to get yourself to this place and everything that you're doing is wrong. And that you aren't supposed to be here, and .. well... you can already see how the cycle can swirl out of control quite quickly.
And I have spent a considerable amount of this summer beginning to wonder if this is the place I should be. Wondering if despite how much I *do* like small town life, if this isn't still a bit too small for me - or perhaps, at least, not as diverse for me as I might want. Surely there are small towns in the world with larger lesbian populations <*cough* Oregon *cough*>. Of course even those that are nearby seem a little too political for my taste... (picky, picky, picky). But in late June when my landlord told me I might have been better off if the Poltergeist tree had taken out my house, I have been wondering what I would do if it had. Where would I go? Would I stay here?
The problem, then, with grand sayings like "Today is the first day..." is that while it's meant to be optimistic and full of possibilities, is that it is just full of possibilities. And they swirl in front of someone with no direction like a tornado. (And tornadoes are not good around here, because they bring down the BIG ASS TREE onto my house, and well...)
My friends are stuck in a hopeless situation. I want feedback, I want *something* from them in response to my growing fear, and yet, I know, my response to anything they might offer me is "Blah, blah, blah..." I'll have answers to refute any of their good suggestions (not that they won't stick in my craw and gestate even after I refute them) and that I will be quite stubborn and frustrating. Which is why God stays silent. He knows that actions speak louder than words. Right, big guy? *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*
Today is the first day....
Although it's fricking true. Still, blah, blah, blah.
I am at another, shall we say, "transition point" in my life. The part-time contract that was supposed to be somewhat short-term and that I managed to actually stretch out for a full year - much past it's expiration date - is not-so-surprisingly coming to an end.
In the bigger picture, I know this is a good thing.
And I know my friends are stuck providing me all the good trite sayings I would say to them in the same situation. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life", etc., etc.
And I feel their pain. I know that there is NOTHING they could say to me - trite or otherwise - that would necessarily penetrate this bubble of concern that is surrounding me.
Now, I'm not on full blown panic or distress (yet). But I'm not exactly happy, either.
I have several months before full blown panic or distress comes in (not that I won't have my moments, mind you).
One of the problems I have is that some of my contracts are open ended, so it's not always possible to prepare ahead of time for another one, because it's not always clear with the first one is going to end. It took me eight months between the last one and this one to have more than a two or three week gig, and those were eight long months. I made a small amount of savings stretch quite far. I was quite impressed with myself, frankly.
But my savings going into this round, though, are a little less impressive because I had some serious dental bills at the beginning of the year. So I'm nervous.
I try to have faith. God and I are having quite a few conversations lately. He's the strong silent type. He knows anything he might say I'd probably respond "blah, blah, blah" to, much as I have been doing to my friends. But I am trying to have faith that when this door closes, another one will open. Or a window (although it's starting to get chillier...).
I also know job hunting before Christmas is not always easy. I've got an extra month or so jump from prior years when I've found myself in this situation, but I know once mid-November hits, I just have to hold on until January. And I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.
The problem with these transition points, as I so politely call them, is that it also calls into question other "life choices". Now this can be a good examination, or a not-so-good examination. It is good and healthy, as a general rule, to make sure you stop and examine if you are in the place (literally, figuratively, metaphysically) that you want to be in your life, and when certain obligations that have been keeping you in those positions release, to confirm you are where you want to be. Those are good examinations, because if you're going to make big changes in your life, these are good moments to make them.
The trouble is that the flip side of that can be a little bit like Alice's rabbit-hole. And it doesn't take much to slip into full-on crisis and doubt that everything you've done to get yourself to this place and everything that you're doing is wrong. And that you aren't supposed to be here, and .. well... you can already see how the cycle can swirl out of control quite quickly.
And I have spent a considerable amount of this summer beginning to wonder if this is the place I should be. Wondering if despite how much I *do* like small town life, if this isn't still a bit too small for me - or perhaps, at least, not as diverse for me as I might want. Surely there are small towns in the world with larger lesbian populations <*cough* Oregon *cough*>. Of course even those that are nearby seem a little too political for my taste... (picky, picky, picky). But in late June when my landlord told me I might have been better off if the Poltergeist tree had taken out my house, I have been wondering what I would do if it had. Where would I go? Would I stay here?
The problem, then, with grand sayings like "Today is the first day..." is that while it's meant to be optimistic and full of possibilities, is that it is just full of possibilities. And they swirl in front of someone with no direction like a tornado. (And tornadoes are not good around here, because they bring down the BIG ASS TREE onto my house, and well...)
My friends are stuck in a hopeless situation. I want feedback, I want *something* from them in response to my growing fear, and yet, I know, my response to anything they might offer me is "Blah, blah, blah..." I'll have answers to refute any of their good suggestions (not that they won't stick in my craw and gestate even after I refute them) and that I will be quite stubborn and frustrating. Which is why God stays silent. He knows that actions speak louder than words. Right, big guy? *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*
"Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago. Watch for the new thing I am going to do. It is happening already - you can see it now! I will make a road through the wilderness and give you streams of water there." (Isaiah 43)I have carried this in my wallet for three years.
Today is the first day....
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
There is such a thing as too many pictures...
Alt. Title - Where are all the forty-something bloggers who happen to be lesbians?
Surely I'm not the only one.
Just tapped into a cache of lesbian bloggers, and I admit, I have a headache.
Mostly because the last one I looked at was WAY too flooded with pictures. It's good to know that we come in many shapes, sizes, piercings, tattooings, etc., (although not a lot of variety on age, there, but... ), but to post a blog where you write two or three sentences, and then post a picture that is not at ALL relevant to what you're writing about and then repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, (repeat 40-50 times) gives ME a headache. I'll speak for myself.
Now mind you, I don't post that many pictures. I trust (pray, hope, beg) my words to engage you.
Seriously, I have a headache....
... and this most recent one only posted about once a month, but she talked about 18 different topics in a single post. I guess she had a lot to catch up on. So there's this pinball machine like shifting of topics flooded with pictures that are just there to be pictures of lesbians (again, good to know we come in every flavor...).
My limited advice to bloggers:
1) If you illustrate your blog, don't over do it, and make sure the illustrations are relevant. A picture may be worth 1000 words, but make sure those words have something to do with your point, your theme, your post.
2) Make sure your posts - for the most part - have a point, a theme, a purpose, a goal, a unifying principle. It's okay to randomly ramble on occasion - Lord knows I probably do more than I realize - but think about whether what you're writing might be better as multiple posts, rather than a single post.
That's it. I'm done with my rant / ramble / advice-giving-while-done-with-a-headache-so-take-it-with-a-grain-of-salt post.
Surely I'm not the only one.
Just tapped into a cache of lesbian bloggers, and I admit, I have a headache.
Mostly because the last one I looked at was WAY too flooded with pictures. It's good to know that we come in many shapes, sizes, piercings, tattooings, etc., (although not a lot of variety on age, there, but... ), but to post a blog where you write two or three sentences, and then post a picture that is not at ALL relevant to what you're writing about and then repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, (repeat 40-50 times) gives ME a headache. I'll speak for myself.
Now mind you, I don't post that many pictures. I trust (pray, hope, beg) my words to engage you.
Seriously, I have a headache....
... and this most recent one only posted about once a month, but she talked about 18 different topics in a single post. I guess she had a lot to catch up on. So there's this pinball machine like shifting of topics flooded with pictures that are just there to be pictures of lesbians (again, good to know we come in every flavor...).
My limited advice to bloggers:
1) If you illustrate your blog, don't over do it, and make sure the illustrations are relevant. A picture may be worth 1000 words, but make sure those words have something to do with your point, your theme, your post.
2) Make sure your posts - for the most part - have a point, a theme, a purpose, a goal, a unifying principle. It's okay to randomly ramble on occasion - Lord knows I probably do more than I realize - but think about whether what you're writing might be better as multiple posts, rather than a single post.
That's it. I'm done with my rant / ramble / advice-giving-while-done-with-a-headache-so-take-it-with-a-grain-of-salt post.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
The Polite Conundrum Dance
Or, alternate title: Dyke in a Small Town Revisited
I've spent a lot of time in larger metropolitan areas where finding the gay community was easy - or at least certainly much easier than I've been able to find here. So there was at least a place where you knew folks would pool who were also like you. Dupont Circle, the entire city of San Francisco, West Hollywood... You get the idea! So if you were interested in finding a date, at a minimum, you had at least one place you could go.
No such luck here. Trust me.
But in real life you never know who you're going to run into and whether they might be your soul mate or future life partner, or even a lovely fling. In real life you should leave yourself open to possibilities because you never know who might come along.
Here's the problem. If I hit on you in West Hollywood, and you're straight, you shouldn't be so surprised. If you're in my "hood" (so to speak) you should be comfortable enough that someone might think you're not just a tourist. Okay, that's not the problem... The problem is how we identify each other outside of the "hood".
When I came out in college, I kinda did it in a big way, almost without thinking, my first year by sitting at a "Coming Out Day" table (Coming Out Day is October 11th - so you can get an idea of how relatively early in the year it was). People I had gotten to know in that first month and a half reacted in a variety of ways. One woman (who admittedly later had a torrid lesbian affair her senior year) came up to me and gave me a big hug without even realizing or caring what I was doing. But others weren't so friendly. I had several straight female friends who suddenly became afraid I was going to hit on them and began to keep their distance.
Now this is problematic in two ways. First, so what if I did? Were they not capable of politely turning me down and being appropriately complimented that I might be interested? Apparently not. And the second, which is often a reaction that is part of this polite conundrum dance, is the idea that they were so "arrogant" as to think I would.
And there we have the two steps of the Polite Conundrum Dance. It's quite a simple dance, really.
Two women are talking and one is already out and known as a dyke. The other's sexual orientation is unknown.
If the dyke takes a chance and hits on her, if the other woman is straight, she may run away (and yes, even if she's also gay, she could run away...). So, one step backwards.
If the other person early on quickly clarifies - before the dyke takes a chance and hits on her - "I'm straight" she risks offending the dyke that she's so arrogant and that she's so scared that the dyke is going to hit on her. This may or may NOT be what the straight person is trying to indicate, mind you. That's not relevant in the Polite Conundrum Dance. What's relevant is what MIGHT POSSIBLY INCONCEIVABLY be nonetheless conceived, and not wanting to ruin or risk a new burgeoning friendship.
Now, for you straight people, one word of advice I have for you. Early on in the conversation, please feel free to drop in handily something about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend. That is a nice subtle way (if it doesn't seem too contrived) to clue us in that you are not available to us (although, for the record, I've discovered it does NOT necessarily mean that you might not still be interested, but that's a whole other world and a whole other post... See, for example, Married Women Like Breasts..!). Yes, unfortunately, stating outright early on, "I'm straight, by the way" won't typically go over well - even though in some ways it would be much appreciated - there are more subtle ways, nonetheless, to let the other person know.
Now, a little bit of wisdom about me, in particular. This may or may not apply to others like me - I can only speak to me. I am a shameless flirt. I love to flirt. It may or may not mean I am interested in something more, but sometimes, I'll admit, in whether I'm interested in something more may depend upon your response to me. However, given that I flirt with men, women, and dogs, alike, it may mean nothing at all as to whether I am interested in being more than friends. You should not be worried, upset, offended, or horrified if I flirt with you. Flirting is fun. If you enjoy it, then flirt back. If you don't, don't. Simple. And those rules, I think, generally apply to just about anyone - if you enjoy someone's flirtation, flirt back, and if you don't, then don't.
If you may be interested in something more with me, I'm dense. I'm dumb. You'll probably need to be explicit or spell it out. Or just really, really flirt a lot, and either way, I'll have lots of fun with you. ;) (I've discovered, apparently, sending me pictures is an effective way of letting me know... although I'm not necessarily a "visual" person....and wouldn't necessarily expect or want them, I can still appreciate the statement, apparently!)
But I have a lot of conversations with new people whose company I enjoy where I find myself engaged in The Polite Conundrum Dance. They already know I'm a dyke. Is that why they're interested in getting to know me better? Is that what they're interested in? If their twitter handle has the words "lesbian" or "dyke" already in them, those I got a clue who I'm dealing with. "Mama" however in your twitter handle does NOT exclude you from the possibility of playing on my team. And surprisingly I've run into very few people who have "straight" or "STR8" in their handle. The only Twitter handle I've found where it's been BEYOND clear that they weren't interested in a romantic relationship with me simply from their handle was "GODH8SFAGS" (although technically, when they wrote me, they did tell me that THEY loved me... so I'm so confused... ;) )
So if you're a new friend, please feel free to drop the gender, subtly in conversation, of your last significant other in order to clue me in... and if I flirt with you, don't be offended.. ;)
Now, check out my next post where I teach everyone how to do the Waltz. (1-2-3, 1-2-3...)
I've spent a lot of time in larger metropolitan areas where finding the gay community was easy - or at least certainly much easier than I've been able to find here. So there was at least a place where you knew folks would pool who were also like you. Dupont Circle, the entire city of San Francisco, West Hollywood... You get the idea! So if you were interested in finding a date, at a minimum, you had at least one place you could go.
No such luck here. Trust me.
But in real life you never know who you're going to run into and whether they might be your soul mate or future life partner, or even a lovely fling. In real life you should leave yourself open to possibilities because you never know who might come along.
Here's the problem. If I hit on you in West Hollywood, and you're straight, you shouldn't be so surprised. If you're in my "hood" (so to speak) you should be comfortable enough that someone might think you're not just a tourist. Okay, that's not the problem... The problem is how we identify each other outside of the "hood".
When I came out in college, I kinda did it in a big way, almost without thinking, my first year by sitting at a "Coming Out Day" table (Coming Out Day is October 11th - so you can get an idea of how relatively early in the year it was). People I had gotten to know in that first month and a half reacted in a variety of ways. One woman (who admittedly later had a torrid lesbian affair her senior year) came up to me and gave me a big hug without even realizing or caring what I was doing. But others weren't so friendly. I had several straight female friends who suddenly became afraid I was going to hit on them and began to keep their distance.
Now this is problematic in two ways. First, so what if I did? Were they not capable of politely turning me down and being appropriately complimented that I might be interested? Apparently not. And the second, which is often a reaction that is part of this polite conundrum dance, is the idea that they were so "arrogant" as to think I would.
And there we have the two steps of the Polite Conundrum Dance. It's quite a simple dance, really.
Two women are talking and one is already out and known as a dyke. The other's sexual orientation is unknown.
If the dyke takes a chance and hits on her, if the other woman is straight, she may run away (and yes, even if she's also gay, she could run away...). So, one step backwards.
If the other person early on quickly clarifies - before the dyke takes a chance and hits on her - "I'm straight" she risks offending the dyke that she's so arrogant and that she's so scared that the dyke is going to hit on her. This may or may NOT be what the straight person is trying to indicate, mind you. That's not relevant in the Polite Conundrum Dance. What's relevant is what MIGHT POSSIBLY INCONCEIVABLY be nonetheless conceived, and not wanting to ruin or risk a new burgeoning friendship.
Now, for you straight people, one word of advice I have for you. Early on in the conversation, please feel free to drop in handily something about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend. That is a nice subtle way (if it doesn't seem too contrived) to clue us in that you are not available to us (although, for the record, I've discovered it does NOT necessarily mean that you might not still be interested, but that's a whole other world and a whole other post... See, for example, Married Women Like Breasts..!). Yes, unfortunately, stating outright early on, "I'm straight, by the way" won't typically go over well - even though in some ways it would be much appreciated - there are more subtle ways, nonetheless, to let the other person know.
Now, a little bit of wisdom about me, in particular. This may or may not apply to others like me - I can only speak to me. I am a shameless flirt. I love to flirt. It may or may not mean I am interested in something more, but sometimes, I'll admit, in whether I'm interested in something more may depend upon your response to me. However, given that I flirt with men, women, and dogs, alike, it may mean nothing at all as to whether I am interested in being more than friends. You should not be worried, upset, offended, or horrified if I flirt with you. Flirting is fun. If you enjoy it, then flirt back. If you don't, don't. Simple. And those rules, I think, generally apply to just about anyone - if you enjoy someone's flirtation, flirt back, and if you don't, then don't.
If you may be interested in something more with me, I'm dense. I'm dumb. You'll probably need to be explicit or spell it out. Or just really, really flirt a lot, and either way, I'll have lots of fun with you. ;) (I've discovered, apparently, sending me pictures is an effective way of letting me know... although I'm not necessarily a "visual" person....and wouldn't necessarily expect or want them, I can still appreciate the statement, apparently!)
But I have a lot of conversations with new people whose company I enjoy where I find myself engaged in The Polite Conundrum Dance. They already know I'm a dyke. Is that why they're interested in getting to know me better? Is that what they're interested in? If their twitter handle has the words "lesbian" or "dyke" already in them, those I got a clue who I'm dealing with. "Mama" however in your twitter handle does NOT exclude you from the possibility of playing on my team. And surprisingly I've run into very few people who have "straight" or "STR8" in their handle. The only Twitter handle I've found where it's been BEYOND clear that they weren't interested in a romantic relationship with me simply from their handle was "GODH8SFAGS" (although technically, when they wrote me, they did tell me that THEY loved me... so I'm so confused... ;) )
So if you're a new friend, please feel free to drop the gender, subtly in conversation, of your last significant other in order to clue me in... and if I flirt with you, don't be offended.. ;)
Now, check out my next post where I teach everyone how to do the Waltz. (1-2-3, 1-2-3...)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Incompetence, ADD and Quicksand
Right now, at 5:30 AM as I begin to type this post, I feel tremendously incompetent. First of all, I am sleep deprived. And I'm hungry, and there is no real food in the house. Both of these contribute to an increase in emotional response.
I feel like I've dug myself into a hole and I can't get out. And it's ridiculous. It is completely ridiculous. Anyone on the real life side can tell you easily what steps I should take on some of these big items. *I* can tell you what steps I need to take, but I can't seem to take them.
It's been three years, and I am still stuck in this hole.
The reality is, even once I do start taking those positive steps, I'll still be in this hole for awhile. There is no easy fix.
To be clear there are some very concrete issues that are keeping me in this place. And by place, I mean the hole, not simply here or even specifically here in this small town.
As I was trying to fall asleep I was thinking about my ideal solution to get my life in order, and to move forward. What is it that I would need to pull myself together and get past this survival mode into a mode where I thrive.
And the answer that is abundantly clear and yet absurdly impossible and unrealistic to find is a very, very patient partner / coach. Someone who will subtly train me while I'm not paying attention into developing better habits and better skills for managing my day-to-day life. Much like I'm teaching the girls soccer even while we play other games. Someone who will start out the day - preferably by jumping on the bed and wagging their tail, but that's a different memory - ready and excited with a plan for the day. Someone who will start my day by saying, "Here's what we're doing today!"
The key word is "we". You can give me a plan. You can tell me this is what I need to do for the day. And I might even get several of the items done. And believe me, having a regular plan is a big start. Huge start. Big improvement over what I'm able to manage for myself. But what I really need is someone by my side holding my hand until I learn how to do it myself.
The person would have to have a lot of patience. The person would probably have to love me very much to tolerate me and my stubbornness. The person would have to recognize that even if I teasingly resist, I will relent. If that person is there to do it with me - whatever it is - I'll do it.
But I can't seem to manage on my own. I can't seem to do this alone.
My life, outwardly, is a mess. For example, the yard is unruly and jungle-like. After the poison ivy, any desire I had to clean it up and risk repeated rash was long gone. I do try and spend a few minutes every so often - but today, for instance, I started to itch and stopped and scrubbed myself with poison ivy oil remover.
I have GREAT reasons / excuses for a lot of what I do and don't do. But for some things, I have no explanation at all other than I just can't. I don't know why I can't. There's no rational reasonable explanation - and believe me I've searched high and low for it. ADD is part of it - and perhaps it's a big part of it. I kinda want it to be the reason because then at least I'd have a reason. And given that so many other limitations I've found over my life can sometimes be traced back to ADD (an inability whatsoever, for example, to read a non-fiction book unless it's telling a story). Then, in theory, if I managed to fix the ADD - or manage its symptoms - then maybe I'd finally be able to fix everything else.
-----------------------------------
But maybe I am too scared to thrive....
In my adolescent years, my family experienced what is now fairly typical drama and turmoil, but at the time, with all those adolescent hormones enhancing emotions, it was a hard time. I learned early on - even before the family drama - how to "survive". I am GREAT at surviving. That was my motto during my junior high and high school years - one I repeated often to my adult mentor - "I will survive" - and I have. And I do.
It wasn't until I had been with my ex-wife for a year or so that I begun to do more than just survive. That I began to do more than just provide for the basic necessities for myself. I was in a safe and secure relationship - this woman and I pledged to spend our lives together. She seemed to love me unconditionally - and I do, even still, believe that. With her, I was finally able to dream, to think about what it was that I wanted out of life, and that gave me the courage and the strength to take some risks and try something new that was ultimately in many ways quite rewarding, despite the concerns others expressed over the potential folly of my choices.
When I was with her, I finally felt free to thrive, safe to thrive. And it was glorious. I only have one wish in this world, frankly, and that is to be in a place in life, again, where I can thrive. Where I can feel safe and secure to hope for more than just the necessities in my life.
I learned long ago that the best way to avoid disappointment and being hurt was to keep your expectations reasonable. In fact, screw reasonable, keep your expectations low and then you may just be pleasantly surprised.
Thriving is about striving for more than what is reasonable and safe and expected. It's about taking chances and recognizing there may be disappointments on the path, but that overall things are good. Overall, the path I am on is leading me some place I want to go, and some place that I will enjoy when I get there - and I will enjoy both the journey and the destination.
Thriving is something like that.
With the ex, I tried something crazy and embarked in a different direction in my life. The road I had been on was a good one - a secure one. There was nothing wrong with the road I was on before that. But I wanted to try this different road. Many people thought I was nuts, including my family. But it was a good road, and I enjoyed the journey while I was on it, and just as I was beginning to hit my stride, she got scared. Scared that this new path might lead me away from her. And over time, slowly but surely, she began to put big boulders on this path. Until at one point, much like a Wile E. Coyote / Roadrunner cartoon, she took the Acme dynamite and just blew up the road altogether.
--------------
Now to be clear, I am not abdicating my responsibility for my relationship or my contribution towards its demise. Anyone who knows the full story or who has heard me tell it will tell you that I take full responsibility for my actions, my inactions, my contribution to the situation imploding. But most who watched it unfold also realized that my wife was not well, and that frankly, there was a lot about the situation that was completely out of my control and also completely not about me, even though I suffered heavily from the shrapnel.
---------------
But it makes me wonder if maybe despite how much I want to thrive, I am too scared to thrive. I am too scared to want, to hope, to dream of something more in my life. Because the more you have, the more that can be taken away from you.
That if I continue to live in this abject poverty, measured not simply by normal financial standards of "wealth" but with the asceticism physically and emotionally I have in my life, then there isn't much to take away from me. (Asceticism may not be the best word, DEARTH might be a good word).
---------------
When I first began to heal from the wounds inflicted by the Acme dynamite, I had a good friend there to hold my hand. Who had a surprisingly significant capacity of patience for me. Who loved me very deeply. Who would come downstairs on Saturday mornings during the ever so brief (it seems, but wasn't at the same time) period I lived with her and would jump on my bed to get me up and going and wag her tail excited to start the weekend and set with the plans for us to do.
She moved away, unfortunately, and left me here behind. The two things were separate, and the latter was not deliberate - I think if she could have stayed, without taking Acme dynamite to HER life, she might have. And I miss her tremendously.
When she was here, fitness was important to her. And at one point, she trained for a long distance endurance event, and I was her training buddy. We worked out nine times a week for twenty weeks to prepare her for an awesome race. And I lost about as many pounds. Working out was a breeze. It didn't feel like working out because it was time spent together enjoying each other's company. It was time to catch up on the day. It was fun setting the plan and preparing the schedule for the week together. And I was in the best shape of my life.
--------------
And now I look at pictures of myself - when I take a picture of more than just a head shot - and I recognize that I am now in the worst shape of my life. Again, I briefly allowed myself to thrive a little, to trust and depend upon someone, and they're gone and with it they took a part of my security and stability. (To be clear I have a very strong sense of self, and a very strong core being. This was about something more than that. This was about life gravy - not basic survival. Lest you think I'm too unhealthy... ;) )
-------------
ADD often makes a bad situation worse - it makes you feel like your stuck in quicksand. Apparently the best thing to do if you get stuck in quicksand is not to struggle and flail about - it will only make you sink faster. But instead to be calm, still. I'm not sure, exactly, how it is you get yourself out once you are calm and still - I only know what makes it worse, to be frank. The one time I stepped in it, I stepped out of it quite quickly, too...
But with the ADD it feels like even when I make an effort, even when I try to get out of this hole, this pit of quicksand, that my efforts only land me more securely stuck here.
--------------
So logic says just stay still. But I don't know, once I stop making it worse (IF I'm stopping making it worse) how to get out of here, anyway. I feel incompetent.
I need someone to help me. To train me. To teach me the skills I need. To apply some structure - not rigid, but still structure - to my life. So that I know on Saturday I do x chores, and on such and such an evening I do such and such errands and on Friday nights I go out for Happy Hour! And I need to be a wee bit more financially secure so that I *can* do more things. Frankly one of the reasons I don't like to go grocery shopping is that I can't afford the cost. And yet, I can't really afford not to eat, either, now can I? Kind of a Catch-22 there.
---------------
So, if you know anyone who is willing to stand on stable ground and help pull me out of the quicksand, have them drop me a line. I'm trainable. Quite trainable. But that someone will need patience. And love. And preferably if they're a cute available secure dyke, well, that won't hurt, either.
Because even if I am scared, I still want to thrive. I want to get out of this quicksand. And as I think about it more - as I write about it here - I think that is the answer as to how someone gets out of literal quicksand, someone else, standing on secure ground helps pull them out... Just stick around a little longer and, again, have lots of patience. It won't be easy... but it will be worthwhile. That I can promise.
I feel like I've dug myself into a hole and I can't get out. And it's ridiculous. It is completely ridiculous. Anyone on the real life side can tell you easily what steps I should take on some of these big items. *I* can tell you what steps I need to take, but I can't seem to take them.
It's been three years, and I am still stuck in this hole.
The reality is, even once I do start taking those positive steps, I'll still be in this hole for awhile. There is no easy fix.
To be clear there are some very concrete issues that are keeping me in this place. And by place, I mean the hole, not simply here or even specifically here in this small town.
As I was trying to fall asleep I was thinking about my ideal solution to get my life in order, and to move forward. What is it that I would need to pull myself together and get past this survival mode into a mode where I thrive.
And the answer that is abundantly clear and yet absurdly impossible and unrealistic to find is a very, very patient partner / coach. Someone who will subtly train me while I'm not paying attention into developing better habits and better skills for managing my day-to-day life. Much like I'm teaching the girls soccer even while we play other games. Someone who will start out the day - preferably by jumping on the bed and wagging their tail, but that's a different memory - ready and excited with a plan for the day. Someone who will start my day by saying, "Here's what we're doing today!"
The key word is "we". You can give me a plan. You can tell me this is what I need to do for the day. And I might even get several of the items done. And believe me, having a regular plan is a big start. Huge start. Big improvement over what I'm able to manage for myself. But what I really need is someone by my side holding my hand until I learn how to do it myself.
The person would have to have a lot of patience. The person would probably have to love me very much to tolerate me and my stubbornness. The person would have to recognize that even if I teasingly resist, I will relent. If that person is there to do it with me - whatever it is - I'll do it.
But I can't seem to manage on my own. I can't seem to do this alone.
My life, outwardly, is a mess. For example, the yard is unruly and jungle-like. After the poison ivy, any desire I had to clean it up and risk repeated rash was long gone. I do try and spend a few minutes every so often - but today, for instance, I started to itch and stopped and scrubbed myself with poison ivy oil remover.
I have GREAT reasons / excuses for a lot of what I do and don't do. But for some things, I have no explanation at all other than I just can't. I don't know why I can't. There's no rational reasonable explanation - and believe me I've searched high and low for it. ADD is part of it - and perhaps it's a big part of it. I kinda want it to be the reason because then at least I'd have a reason. And given that so many other limitations I've found over my life can sometimes be traced back to ADD (an inability whatsoever, for example, to read a non-fiction book unless it's telling a story). Then, in theory, if I managed to fix the ADD - or manage its symptoms - then maybe I'd finally be able to fix everything else.
-----------------------------------
But maybe I am too scared to thrive....
In my adolescent years, my family experienced what is now fairly typical drama and turmoil, but at the time, with all those adolescent hormones enhancing emotions, it was a hard time. I learned early on - even before the family drama - how to "survive". I am GREAT at surviving. That was my motto during my junior high and high school years - one I repeated often to my adult mentor - "I will survive" - and I have. And I do.
It wasn't until I had been with my ex-wife for a year or so that I begun to do more than just survive. That I began to do more than just provide for the basic necessities for myself. I was in a safe and secure relationship - this woman and I pledged to spend our lives together. She seemed to love me unconditionally - and I do, even still, believe that. With her, I was finally able to dream, to think about what it was that I wanted out of life, and that gave me the courage and the strength to take some risks and try something new that was ultimately in many ways quite rewarding, despite the concerns others expressed over the potential folly of my choices.
When I was with her, I finally felt free to thrive, safe to thrive. And it was glorious. I only have one wish in this world, frankly, and that is to be in a place in life, again, where I can thrive. Where I can feel safe and secure to hope for more than just the necessities in my life.
I learned long ago that the best way to avoid disappointment and being hurt was to keep your expectations reasonable. In fact, screw reasonable, keep your expectations low and then you may just be pleasantly surprised.
Thriving is about striving for more than what is reasonable and safe and expected. It's about taking chances and recognizing there may be disappointments on the path, but that overall things are good. Overall, the path I am on is leading me some place I want to go, and some place that I will enjoy when I get there - and I will enjoy both the journey and the destination.
Thriving is something like that.
With the ex, I tried something crazy and embarked in a different direction in my life. The road I had been on was a good one - a secure one. There was nothing wrong with the road I was on before that. But I wanted to try this different road. Many people thought I was nuts, including my family. But it was a good road, and I enjoyed the journey while I was on it, and just as I was beginning to hit my stride, she got scared. Scared that this new path might lead me away from her. And over time, slowly but surely, she began to put big boulders on this path. Until at one point, much like a Wile E. Coyote / Roadrunner cartoon, she took the Acme dynamite and just blew up the road altogether.
--------------
Now to be clear, I am not abdicating my responsibility for my relationship or my contribution towards its demise. Anyone who knows the full story or who has heard me tell it will tell you that I take full responsibility for my actions, my inactions, my contribution to the situation imploding. But most who watched it unfold also realized that my wife was not well, and that frankly, there was a lot about the situation that was completely out of my control and also completely not about me, even though I suffered heavily from the shrapnel.
---------------
But it makes me wonder if maybe despite how much I want to thrive, I am too scared to thrive. I am too scared to want, to hope, to dream of something more in my life. Because the more you have, the more that can be taken away from you.
That if I continue to live in this abject poverty, measured not simply by normal financial standards of "wealth" but with the asceticism physically and emotionally I have in my life, then there isn't much to take away from me. (Asceticism may not be the best word, DEARTH might be a good word).
---------------
When I first began to heal from the wounds inflicted by the Acme dynamite, I had a good friend there to hold my hand. Who had a surprisingly significant capacity of patience for me. Who loved me very deeply. Who would come downstairs on Saturday mornings during the ever so brief (it seems, but wasn't at the same time) period I lived with her and would jump on my bed to get me up and going and wag her tail excited to start the weekend and set with the plans for us to do.
She moved away, unfortunately, and left me here behind. The two things were separate, and the latter was not deliberate - I think if she could have stayed, without taking Acme dynamite to HER life, she might have. And I miss her tremendously.
When she was here, fitness was important to her. And at one point, she trained for a long distance endurance event, and I was her training buddy. We worked out nine times a week for twenty weeks to prepare her for an awesome race. And I lost about as many pounds. Working out was a breeze. It didn't feel like working out because it was time spent together enjoying each other's company. It was time to catch up on the day. It was fun setting the plan and preparing the schedule for the week together. And I was in the best shape of my life.
--------------
And now I look at pictures of myself - when I take a picture of more than just a head shot - and I recognize that I am now in the worst shape of my life. Again, I briefly allowed myself to thrive a little, to trust and depend upon someone, and they're gone and with it they took a part of my security and stability. (To be clear I have a very strong sense of self, and a very strong core being. This was about something more than that. This was about life gravy - not basic survival. Lest you think I'm too unhealthy... ;) )
-------------
ADD often makes a bad situation worse - it makes you feel like your stuck in quicksand. Apparently the best thing to do if you get stuck in quicksand is not to struggle and flail about - it will only make you sink faster. But instead to be calm, still. I'm not sure, exactly, how it is you get yourself out once you are calm and still - I only know what makes it worse, to be frank. The one time I stepped in it, I stepped out of it quite quickly, too...
But with the ADD it feels like even when I make an effort, even when I try to get out of this hole, this pit of quicksand, that my efforts only land me more securely stuck here.
--------------
So logic says just stay still. But I don't know, once I stop making it worse (IF I'm stopping making it worse) how to get out of here, anyway. I feel incompetent.
I need someone to help me. To train me. To teach me the skills I need. To apply some structure - not rigid, but still structure - to my life. So that I know on Saturday I do x chores, and on such and such an evening I do such and such errands and on Friday nights I go out for Happy Hour! And I need to be a wee bit more financially secure so that I *can* do more things. Frankly one of the reasons I don't like to go grocery shopping is that I can't afford the cost. And yet, I can't really afford not to eat, either, now can I? Kind of a Catch-22 there.
---------------
So, if you know anyone who is willing to stand on stable ground and help pull me out of the quicksand, have them drop me a line. I'm trainable. Quite trainable. But that someone will need patience. And love. And preferably if they're a cute available secure dyke, well, that won't hurt, either.
Because even if I am scared, I still want to thrive. I want to get out of this quicksand. And as I think about it more - as I write about it here - I think that is the answer as to how someone gets out of literal quicksand, someone else, standing on secure ground helps pull them out... Just stick around a little longer and, again, have lots of patience. It won't be easy... but it will be worthwhile. That I can promise.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Sticks & Stones - A Followup - Pt 1 - Self Esteem
My post Sticks & Stones from June 30th really struck a chord with folks. It's currently the fifth most read post of all-time on my blog.
Today I received a comment that struck me:
The first, which I replied to her in the comments section, was specific to the incident she was referring to. A blog post that she had written had sparked a firestorm of response, and a lot of it, as you can see above, was clearly hurtful. She was surprised to have received such a reaction.
The second direction was this issue of self-esteem and our role in this hurtful dynamic. I will admit that whether something hurts us often has a lot to do with us. A friend of mine recently described to me an incident where she felt bullied and I admit I scratched my head when she first described the situation and what had happened to me. But part of what made her feel bullied wasn't completely what was happening to her at the time, but who she was as a result of her experience that she brought to that moment. And fortunately, she was able to step back and recognize this and not be further hurt by the confusion I expressed. ("Um, so what exactly did they do? That's it? So? Why did this bother you?")
When our parents taught us that little thing about "Sticks & Stones" they were trying to teach us that we have power over what hurts us. That really, the only thing that can hurt us, that we don't have much power over, is sticks and stones. But the words we can develop an immunity to, in theory, and not let them hurt us. Sounds nice in theory, but in practice, as I discussed in the last post, it doesn't quite work out so well. However, in this post, and in the next (few? couple? not yet written) posts, I hope to help develop an understanding of why these things hurt and perhaps a strategy of how we can work on making them hurt less.
How much of this is tied into our self-esteem and our image of ourself?
Generally, I like to believe that I have a pretty good sense of self, and I hope that this translates into a healthy self-esteem. I know who I am and I am comfortable with who I am. I know I'm not perfect, and I'm happy with that. I know that I am human. I know that I will make mistakes. I know that I will hurt people, even though, for the most part, I try very hard to be supportive and not hurtful. I know that I do the best I can, and I try not to beat myself up too much about the things where I fall short where I want to be, and instead, try to learn from those experiences and do better next time.
But as a kid, like so many of us, I was often a new-comer, and often insecure in my new surroundings. I was short (okay, still am), geeky (okay, still am), and different from the others solely by the circumstance of being someone new. When I moved to the neighborhood where I spent most of my childhood, I was five years old, and the kids who lived in the 'hood had know each other all their lives. I was a stranger to them. Later, when I went to a new school that taught K-12, and I entered in the fifth grade, I was new to these kids as well. I learned, over the next eight years, that many of us came and went, so over time I was no longer so unique. But it was tough being at a new school, and being different.
I see, as an adult, that I brought my own insecurities about being different into these situations. I do NOT think the results would have been any different because kids are kids are kids, and I would have been teased regardless of my own insecurities.
In third grade, though, I had a different experience. I was sent to a new start-up pilot program. There we were all new. It was the first year of the program. There we were all the same because we were all new and we came from different parts of the county to be in this program. I imagine we eventually formed some cliques, although my memory is hazy, and frankly I think those "cliques" were less exclusionary circles and more groupings of people who had interests in common as would happen, naturally, in any social setting - particularly those free of other barriers.
My school history and history of being teased is in many ways a long sidebar, but it's informative to me about the situations where I was hurt as a kid, and in evaluating, now, when I am hurt as an adult.
With our significant others, sometimes we have buttons pre-installed. Something our parents used to pick us on, our siblings, our previous significant others, or areas where we already feel insecure. Having someone whose opinion matters to us pick at these areas and push these buttons can trigger a reaction that may be stronger than the situation, objectively, might warrant. It is sometimes difficult for us to step back and separate what emotional response belongs to the past, and what belongs to the present.
I used to joke (although it really wasn't funny, and I often wasn't laughing) that my ex-wife had land-mines. She did. She had emotional land-mines that I would inadvertently unknowingly step on and trigger a huge reaction and response. On occasion - particularly early on - we would be able to diffuse them, and sometimes, those land mines would then become a future joke between us. But we weren't always so lucky. (And this, again, is why I'm single...)
When I realized I was gay, I was very fortunate to have been raised in an open minded and somewhat supportive family. My mother wasn't too terribly surprised, and my father merely worried that life would be harder for me. But there was never a question for me, fortunately, over whether they would still love me. I know others have had a much harder "coming out" process, and again, faced ridicule, disownment, subjected to teasings and beatings in school, and all around horrible time of it. I do realize how fortunate I am. But I also realize this is why any attempts to insult me, upset me or put me down because I'm gay really are fairly ineffectual. As you read in "Isn't Dyke Derogatory?" for me, personally, the answer is "no".
You can't hurt me by calling me gay or a dyke. I am. I am comfortable with it. Westboro Baptist Church can tell me that God hates me, but I am secure knowing that isn't true. Those words don't hurt me.
But this doesn't mean that there aren't words that can hurt me. Part of what was hard about my ex-wife's barrage of complaints about me and to me is that there were some half-truths in among them. So I had a hard time sorting out what really belonged to me, and what belonged to her. It wasn't until she accused me of having an affair with a man, which at one point she actually did, that I began to be able to step back and realize much of what she was saying wasn't about me. That I, unfortunately, was an easy punching bag for her to lash out at because she was so unhappy with herself and her life. (That's very simplistic, but for now, given the length already of this post, let's just go with it). Five years later, I have a little more insight into what DID belong to me with that accusation, but it was so ludicrous at the time, that it let me step back and not take what she was saying to me as personally as I had been.
Self-esteem is certainly, then, a factor in whether we let words or insults from others hurt us. If we don't like ourselves, or a part of ourselves, or we're unhappy with a part of ourselves, and they hit that button square on the nose, it taps into our own insecurities about that aspect of ourselves and hurts. Sometimes that is what they intend to do, and sometimes, though, it's inadvertent.
So, my conclusion in this first part is that yes, our self esteem and our insecurities plays a big part in whether something someone else says hurts us.
In the next few posts, I hope to address other factors that contribute to when something hurts, what we do to ourselves, and answer the question posed "How do I stop letting it affect me?"
I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I do have some insight that I hope will help. Comments and feedback is always welcome. Stay tuned!
Cllick on this link to check out Pt 2 - Beating Yourself Up
Today I received a comment that struck me:
Why is it so hard to believe a compliment someone gives us,and so easy to believe the hurtful things other can say? I admittedly have Self Esteem problems. I have severe depression and a tendency to self harm (generally more mentally than physically) I beat myself to a pulp all the time. I don't need anyone else to do it for me. How do I stop letting it effect me?This comment set my mind off in several different directions (and based on how long I typed on the second direction, it will clearly also, set me off on several blog posts, too).
The first, which I replied to her in the comments section, was specific to the incident she was referring to. A blog post that she had written had sparked a firestorm of response, and a lot of it, as you can see above, was clearly hurtful. She was surprised to have received such a reaction.
The second direction was this issue of self-esteem and our role in this hurtful dynamic. I will admit that whether something hurts us often has a lot to do with us. A friend of mine recently described to me an incident where she felt bullied and I admit I scratched my head when she first described the situation and what had happened to me. But part of what made her feel bullied wasn't completely what was happening to her at the time, but who she was as a result of her experience that she brought to that moment. And fortunately, she was able to step back and recognize this and not be further hurt by the confusion I expressed. ("Um, so what exactly did they do? That's it? So? Why did this bother you?")
When our parents taught us that little thing about "Sticks & Stones" they were trying to teach us that we have power over what hurts us. That really, the only thing that can hurt us, that we don't have much power over, is sticks and stones. But the words we can develop an immunity to, in theory, and not let them hurt us. Sounds nice in theory, but in practice, as I discussed in the last post, it doesn't quite work out so well. However, in this post, and in the next (few? couple? not yet written) posts, I hope to help develop an understanding of why these things hurt and perhaps a strategy of how we can work on making them hurt less.
How much of this is tied into our self-esteem and our image of ourself?
Generally, I like to believe that I have a pretty good sense of self, and I hope that this translates into a healthy self-esteem. I know who I am and I am comfortable with who I am. I know I'm not perfect, and I'm happy with that. I know that I am human. I know that I will make mistakes. I know that I will hurt people, even though, for the most part, I try very hard to be supportive and not hurtful. I know that I do the best I can, and I try not to beat myself up too much about the things where I fall short where I want to be, and instead, try to learn from those experiences and do better next time.
But as a kid, like so many of us, I was often a new-comer, and often insecure in my new surroundings. I was short (okay, still am), geeky (okay, still am), and different from the others solely by the circumstance of being someone new. When I moved to the neighborhood where I spent most of my childhood, I was five years old, and the kids who lived in the 'hood had know each other all their lives. I was a stranger to them. Later, when I went to a new school that taught K-12, and I entered in the fifth grade, I was new to these kids as well. I learned, over the next eight years, that many of us came and went, so over time I was no longer so unique. But it was tough being at a new school, and being different.
I see, as an adult, that I brought my own insecurities about being different into these situations. I do NOT think the results would have been any different because kids are kids are kids, and I would have been teased regardless of my own insecurities.
In third grade, though, I had a different experience. I was sent to a new start-up pilot program. There we were all new. It was the first year of the program. There we were all the same because we were all new and we came from different parts of the county to be in this program. I imagine we eventually formed some cliques, although my memory is hazy, and frankly I think those "cliques" were less exclusionary circles and more groupings of people who had interests in common as would happen, naturally, in any social setting - particularly those free of other barriers.
My school history and history of being teased is in many ways a long sidebar, but it's informative to me about the situations where I was hurt as a kid, and in evaluating, now, when I am hurt as an adult.
With our significant others, sometimes we have buttons pre-installed. Something our parents used to pick us on, our siblings, our previous significant others, or areas where we already feel insecure. Having someone whose opinion matters to us pick at these areas and push these buttons can trigger a reaction that may be stronger than the situation, objectively, might warrant. It is sometimes difficult for us to step back and separate what emotional response belongs to the past, and what belongs to the present.
I used to joke (although it really wasn't funny, and I often wasn't laughing) that my ex-wife had land-mines. She did. She had emotional land-mines that I would inadvertently unknowingly step on and trigger a huge reaction and response. On occasion - particularly early on - we would be able to diffuse them, and sometimes, those land mines would then become a future joke between us. But we weren't always so lucky. (And this, again, is why I'm single...)
When I realized I was gay, I was very fortunate to have been raised in an open minded and somewhat supportive family. My mother wasn't too terribly surprised, and my father merely worried that life would be harder for me. But there was never a question for me, fortunately, over whether they would still love me. I know others have had a much harder "coming out" process, and again, faced ridicule, disownment, subjected to teasings and beatings in school, and all around horrible time of it. I do realize how fortunate I am. But I also realize this is why any attempts to insult me, upset me or put me down because I'm gay really are fairly ineffectual. As you read in "Isn't Dyke Derogatory?" for me, personally, the answer is "no".
You can't hurt me by calling me gay or a dyke. I am. I am comfortable with it. Westboro Baptist Church can tell me that God hates me, but I am secure knowing that isn't true. Those words don't hurt me.
But this doesn't mean that there aren't words that can hurt me. Part of what was hard about my ex-wife's barrage of complaints about me and to me is that there were some half-truths in among them. So I had a hard time sorting out what really belonged to me, and what belonged to her. It wasn't until she accused me of having an affair with a man, which at one point she actually did, that I began to be able to step back and realize much of what she was saying wasn't about me. That I, unfortunately, was an easy punching bag for her to lash out at because she was so unhappy with herself and her life. (That's very simplistic, but for now, given the length already of this post, let's just go with it). Five years later, I have a little more insight into what DID belong to me with that accusation, but it was so ludicrous at the time, that it let me step back and not take what she was saying to me as personally as I had been.
Self-esteem is certainly, then, a factor in whether we let words or insults from others hurt us. If we don't like ourselves, or a part of ourselves, or we're unhappy with a part of ourselves, and they hit that button square on the nose, it taps into our own insecurities about that aspect of ourselves and hurts. Sometimes that is what they intend to do, and sometimes, though, it's inadvertent.
So, my conclusion in this first part is that yes, our self esteem and our insecurities plays a big part in whether something someone else says hurts us.
In the next few posts, I hope to address other factors that contribute to when something hurts, what we do to ourselves, and answer the question posed "How do I stop letting it affect me?"
I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I do have some insight that I hope will help. Comments and feedback is always welcome. Stay tuned!
Cllick on this link to check out Pt 2 - Beating Yourself Up
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Dear Westboro Baptist Church
Now generally, I'm not going to spout political or religious stuff in my blog. That's not what I'm about. But the things that do tend to fall under those categories, that I might talk about, I talk about because they are fundamental to the human condition, or useful in my story.
When I'm on #wineparty on my iPhone, and I start to write that hashtag #w, frequently the first option Twitter offers me is #WestboroBaptistChurch. Oh, Twitter, how little you know me. Although today, when I post this entry on Twitter, I might finally use it.
I was in the shower today and thinking about the phrase "conditional love" and thinking how those two words don't go together. How that really is a paradox. Now, I wasn't thinking of the church at the time, but it was the beginning of that winding path that led me here by the end of my shower.
Yes, that's right boys and girls, it's time for another Shower Topic blog post.
Dear Westboro Baptist Church,
I don't think God would look very kindly at you for disrespecting his Creation. I think there's a spark of God in all of us, and when you hurt anyone, particularly deliberately, I think you hurt God, too. (Cue up Joan Osborne's "One of Us" music)
Jesus told his disciples to go out and preach the Gospel. Nowhere in the Gospel have I found Jesus telling anyone that you should hate anyone else. Nope. In the last few lessons at MY church the last few weeks, Jesus has wandered amongst the unclean and loved them. Frankly the only ones I've noticed Jesus be upset with or encourage shunning or avoiding are those who are self-righteous...
I don't care if you like me. I don't need you to love me. And while God may ask that of you, I don't. And I think He might understand that it is difficult to love everyone. Jesus talked about it a lot, in fact. It is not easy to love one another as I love you. But try.
But I don't expect it. I don't require it (not that my requirements should matter to you). I just ask you simply to allow me to live my life in peace. You don't need to bless my unions - my church and my God will do that. You don't need to come to my funeral - in fact, I kinda would prefer if you didn't, since you don't seem to act particularly respectful of the dead and those who mourn. But I may invite the folks at Texas A&M to come. They seem to understand what it means to honor the dead and respect the living.
If Jesus were here today, do you think he'd want anyone's website that was proclaiming his GOOD News to have the words "God Hates" in the domain name? No. God doesn't hate. God loves. And Jesus asked you to do the same, although he didn't expect it.
I think God and Jesus would accept the following compromise: You live your life and follow your beliefs, and do no harm to others, and I will do the same. Fair enough?
Sincerely,
A Child of God
When I'm on #wineparty on my iPhone, and I start to write that hashtag #w, frequently the first option Twitter offers me is #WestboroBaptistChurch. Oh, Twitter, how little you know me. Although today, when I post this entry on Twitter, I might finally use it.
I was in the shower today and thinking about the phrase "conditional love" and thinking how those two words don't go together. How that really is a paradox. Now, I wasn't thinking of the church at the time, but it was the beginning of that winding path that led me here by the end of my shower.
Yes, that's right boys and girls, it's time for another Shower Topic blog post.
Dear Westboro Baptist Church,
I don't think God would look very kindly at you for disrespecting his Creation. I think there's a spark of God in all of us, and when you hurt anyone, particularly deliberately, I think you hurt God, too. (Cue up Joan Osborne's "One of Us" music)
Jesus told his disciples to go out and preach the Gospel. Nowhere in the Gospel have I found Jesus telling anyone that you should hate anyone else. Nope. In the last few lessons at MY church the last few weeks, Jesus has wandered amongst the unclean and loved them. Frankly the only ones I've noticed Jesus be upset with or encourage shunning or avoiding are those who are self-righteous...
I don't care if you like me. I don't need you to love me. And while God may ask that of you, I don't. And I think He might understand that it is difficult to love everyone. Jesus talked about it a lot, in fact. It is not easy to love one another as I love you. But try.
But I don't expect it. I don't require it (not that my requirements should matter to you). I just ask you simply to allow me to live my life in peace. You don't need to bless my unions - my church and my God will do that. You don't need to come to my funeral - in fact, I kinda would prefer if you didn't, since you don't seem to act particularly respectful of the dead and those who mourn. But I may invite the folks at Texas A&M to come. They seem to understand what it means to honor the dead and respect the living.
If Jesus were here today, do you think he'd want anyone's website that was proclaiming his GOOD News to have the words "God Hates" in the domain name? No. God doesn't hate. God loves. And Jesus asked you to do the same, although he didn't expect it.
I think God and Jesus would accept the following compromise: You live your life and follow your beliefs, and do no harm to others, and I will do the same. Fair enough?
Sincerely,
A Child of God
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Isn't "Dyke" Derogatory?
(I love an interactive blog. Feel free to ask me questions any way you want!)
A good question was raised in response to my last post about Dyke in a Small Town: isn't "dyke" a derogatory term?
Well, yes and no.
I have my personal response to this question, which I will provide here, but I decided to go look at that Internet "expert" in all things, Wikipedia, too, in formulating this response. Which was actually quite illuminating.
I came out in my teens. Still in high school. A baby dyke. (There's that word again). Frankly, the word homosexual does not roll off my tongue. And the older I get, the more clinical the term sounds. So while it is an accurate word that can be used to describe me, it is not my preference. Lesbian is a more acceptable gender-specific term that also applies to me. And, at times, I will use it, too. It, also, does not roll off the tongue. But it is also an accurate term for me.
I'm not sure when I started using the term dyke. It would not surprise me that my usage was as a direct result of enjoying Alison Bechdel's syndicated comic strip: Dykes to Watch Out For. She started the comic strip in 1983, and I caught it in the first decade of syndication, and owned the first three books at the time with the past strips. I loved it. It was hysterical. (To find more about the history of the strip, ironically, Wikipedia has a fairly informative page.) I was very fortunate in that we were able to get her to come to our school during Pride Week.
Now within the "community" there are various ways to distinguish between "lesbians" and "dykes", but I am NOT going to go into that, here, or otherwise - because like all stereotypes, there are bound to be some innaccuracies, and unlike using the word dyke here, I might actually offend someone in spelling out the distinctions. But let's just say, shortly, I more identify as being a dyke. It comes out of your mouth much easier than "lesbian" or "homosexual". It's short, sweet, and simple.
While there could be some nuanced argument about someone choosing to use a derogatory term to describe themselves and related self-esteem and all that, this is NOT the issue going on here with me. Generally, when one party chooses to use a "derogatory" term to identify themselves it is often a way in which they can reclaim the word from the negative connotations and make it a positive one. Someone wants to call me "dyke" under their breath, I'll say, "Yep, that's right." It is no longer the insult that they might have expected or wanted. They'll have to work harder, then, to disparage me.
The word "dyke" though is used by much more than me and Alison Bechdel in common Pride parlance. Many gay pride marches will begin with the "Dykes on Bikes", which I once participated in. And San Francisco has had (still has? It's been years since I lived there) a "dyke parade" the night before the big Pride parade (and a much better place to pick up women than the main parade....).
Now Wikipedia will inform you that the word "dyke" has many multiple references, and as a "vulgarism" meaning "lesbian" doesn't even appear until #10.
So, yes, I guess if you call it a "vulgarism" it perhaps has some, um, derogatory character still attached to it.
What I found amusing / interesting / depressing is another reference within Wikipedia for "LGBT slurs" which has tried to be reclaimed, renamed as and redirected to "LGBT slang"
In introduction to the list, it clarifies that such terms may be acceptable when used by members of the LGBT community and their allies, but when used formally by outsiders might be considered perjorative.
I find amusing, quite interesting and apropos for this post that someone within Wiki is asking "by whom?" in the placeholders for references.
Ultimately, the use of terminology is similar to usage of racial terms. The wikipedia article on "Terminology of homosexuality" touches upon this in it's introductory paragraph:
Think about the useage of the word "colored" "black" and "African-American". Depending upon who says it, and to whom, any of those terms might be offensive, or might be preferred.
At the end of the day, no, for me, the term "dyke" isn't derogatory. But I'm also pretty easy going - it doesn't really matter what you call me. I'm just me. The Borg Blog [substitute real name there] and I am uniquely me and just like you, all at the same time. (See Assimiliation). What's that old joke, I don't care what you call me, just don't call me late for dinner! ;)
Resistance is futile.
A good question was raised in response to my last post about Dyke in a Small Town: isn't "dyke" a derogatory term?
Well, yes and no.
I have my personal response to this question, which I will provide here, but I decided to go look at that Internet "expert" in all things, Wikipedia, too, in formulating this response. Which was actually quite illuminating.
I came out in my teens. Still in high school. A baby dyke. (There's that word again). Frankly, the word homosexual does not roll off my tongue. And the older I get, the more clinical the term sounds. So while it is an accurate word that can be used to describe me, it is not my preference. Lesbian is a more acceptable gender-specific term that also applies to me. And, at times, I will use it, too. It, also, does not roll off the tongue. But it is also an accurate term for me.
I'm not sure when I started using the term dyke. It would not surprise me that my usage was as a direct result of enjoying Alison Bechdel's syndicated comic strip: Dykes to Watch Out For. She started the comic strip in 1983, and I caught it in the first decade of syndication, and owned the first three books at the time with the past strips. I loved it. It was hysterical. (To find more about the history of the strip, ironically, Wikipedia has a fairly informative page.) I was very fortunate in that we were able to get her to come to our school during Pride Week.
Now within the "community" there are various ways to distinguish between "lesbians" and "dykes", but I am NOT going to go into that, here, or otherwise - because like all stereotypes, there are bound to be some innaccuracies, and unlike using the word dyke here, I might actually offend someone in spelling out the distinctions. But let's just say, shortly, I more identify as being a dyke. It comes out of your mouth much easier than "lesbian" or "homosexual". It's short, sweet, and simple.
While there could be some nuanced argument about someone choosing to use a derogatory term to describe themselves and related self-esteem and all that, this is NOT the issue going on here with me. Generally, when one party chooses to use a "derogatory" term to identify themselves it is often a way in which they can reclaim the word from the negative connotations and make it a positive one. Someone wants to call me "dyke" under their breath, I'll say, "Yep, that's right." It is no longer the insult that they might have expected or wanted. They'll have to work harder, then, to disparage me.
The word "dyke" though is used by much more than me and Alison Bechdel in common Pride parlance. Many gay pride marches will begin with the "Dykes on Bikes", which I once participated in. And San Francisco has had (still has? It's been years since I lived there) a "dyke parade" the night before the big Pride parade (and a much better place to pick up women than the main parade....).
Now Wikipedia will inform you that the word "dyke" has many multiple references, and as a "vulgarism" meaning "lesbian" doesn't even appear until #10.
So, yes, I guess if you call it a "vulgarism" it perhaps has some, um, derogatory character still attached to it.
What I found amusing / interesting / depressing is another reference within Wikipedia for "LGBT slurs" which has tried to be reclaimed, renamed as and redirected to "LGBT slang"
In introduction to the list, it clarifies that such terms may be acceptable when used by members of the LGBT community and their allies, but when used formally by outsiders might be considered perjorative.
I find amusing, quite interesting and apropos for this post that someone within Wiki is asking "by whom?" in the placeholders for references.
Ultimately, the use of terminology is similar to usage of racial terms. The wikipedia article on "Terminology of homosexuality" touches upon this in it's introductory paragraph:
Think about the useage of the word "colored" "black" and "African-American". Depending upon who says it, and to whom, any of those terms might be offensive, or might be preferred.
At the end of the day, no, for me, the term "dyke" isn't derogatory. But I'm also pretty easy going - it doesn't really matter what you call me. I'm just me. The Borg Blog [substitute real name there] and I am uniquely me and just like you, all at the same time. (See Assimiliation). What's that old joke, I don't care what you call me, just don't call me late for dinner! ;)
Resistance is futile.
Dyke in a Small Town (15 & 16)
So, when I started out this blog, I wrote this post about all the different things that came to me to describe myself. I had written this list, and then I randomized it, and wrote it out. I started several posts to begin elaborating on all of the things in the list - and I never quite finished it.
Too many other things came up.
But I have a link to the post in my Twitter bio, and so (surprisingly!) folks have been reading it. And the other day, one of my new followers mentioned the post and told me she had a question. Sure, go ahead, ask - I'm an open book after all...
She said she wondered about #15 and #16 - "How's that working out for you?"
Now at first I was confused, because when I went back to look at my post, I had thought she'd said 14 and 15, and I didn't see what was so incongruous about them.
14. I am single. BLAH (no, that wasn't in the original post)
and
15. I am a dyke.
16. I live in a small town.
"Well," I laughed when I responded to her, "look at 14. I guess not so well."
But that is a little too simplistic, and I'd like to think she was asking about more than simply my dating life, although some days that is all I wonder about.
I will admit, when I first arrived here in this small town, I was warned that people might not be so accepting of who I am, and I did not suddenly drape myself in a rainbow flag and nothing else and parade down Main Street (yes, there really is a Main Street). But that isn't exactly who I am to begin with, so it wasn't as if not doing so was a big sacrifice.
One of the reasons for randomizng the list is that there wasn't any ONE item in the list that I felt particularly defined me. All of those attributes and facts of life combined to describe who I am and where I am in my life. Yes, in the late eighties, early nineties, I sported a mullet - then The Official Dyke Haircut. And in college, I was known to wear a pink triangle. But it's always been just a part of who I am, not all of who I am - probably a part of the reason for my thoughts on Pride.
But while I do not go blazing down Main Street wearing nothing but a rainbow flag, I also do not hide in a closet - at least not very long. I use gender appropriate pronouns (sometimes gender neutral). I talk about my "ex"?-wife. There aren't always a lot of moments where I need to be clear about these things, so it doesn't always come up with everyone. But I don't hide it, either.
When I do have a conversation about it with someone usually I hear about other gay relatives or friends. When they are specifically women, I joke about being set up with them. Sometimes I have wondered if I am the only gay person in the area, but I know that I am not. There is no bar where we gather - have to go out to a "big" city for that - but apparently there once was a lesbian bar in town. Dating opportunities are not as obvious as they were when I lived in San Francisco. And yet, I felt just as lonely when I lived there as I do here sometimes. So, I don't think the size of the town is responsible.
I like living in a small town. You have to be a bit more careful, because you never quite know who is where and already knows what. News is so slow, that something you do might easily be found on the front page of the paper. You never know when you go get lunch in the drive thru if the person serving you will recognize you from soccer. So, you might think twice about going out to grab a quick bite with bed head. But the people care about you. It is a community. And once you are embraced by the community - once you lose "outsider" status - you are embraced by a community.
When I came here, I virtually had nothing. And when I moved, finally, out of my friends' home into one of my own, people stepped up to help me out. One woman donated an old bed from her guest bedroom. Others sorted through their kitchen cabinets for things they never use. One dropped a desk off on my front porch one day when I was out. Another brought me a couch and an easy chair. Others gave spare linens. Even just recently, I had someone give me a washer and dryer. All of these gestures invited me to stay. They wanted me to be comfortable, and they wanted me to stay.
And one day, some of these girls who keep telling me about their dyke sisters, will introduce me to one of them! (But, one might wonder - and this is a whole other post - whether I'm ready to date, anyway.. so it's probably best that they're waiting). But when they do, it will once more be a sign that I belong here in this small town. Dyke and all.
Too many other things came up.
But I have a link to the post in my Twitter bio, and so (surprisingly!) folks have been reading it. And the other day, one of my new followers mentioned the post and told me she had a question. Sure, go ahead, ask - I'm an open book after all...
She said she wondered about #15 and #16 - "How's that working out for you?"
Now at first I was confused, because when I went back to look at my post, I had thought she'd said 14 and 15, and I didn't see what was so incongruous about them.
14. I am single. BLAH (no, that wasn't in the original post)
and
15. I am a dyke.
16. I live in a small town.
"Well," I laughed when I responded to her, "look at 14. I guess not so well."
But that is a little too simplistic, and I'd like to think she was asking about more than simply my dating life, although some days that is all I wonder about.
I will admit, when I first arrived here in this small town, I was warned that people might not be so accepting of who I am, and I did not suddenly drape myself in a rainbow flag and nothing else and parade down Main Street (yes, there really is a Main Street). But that isn't exactly who I am to begin with, so it wasn't as if not doing so was a big sacrifice.
One of the reasons for randomizng the list is that there wasn't any ONE item in the list that I felt particularly defined me. All of those attributes and facts of life combined to describe who I am and where I am in my life. Yes, in the late eighties, early nineties, I sported a mullet - then The Official Dyke Haircut. And in college, I was known to wear a pink triangle. But it's always been just a part of who I am, not all of who I am - probably a part of the reason for my thoughts on Pride.
But while I do not go blazing down Main Street wearing nothing but a rainbow flag, I also do not hide in a closet - at least not very long. I use gender appropriate pronouns (sometimes gender neutral). I talk about my "ex"?-wife. There aren't always a lot of moments where I need to be clear about these things, so it doesn't always come up with everyone. But I don't hide it, either.
When I do have a conversation about it with someone usually I hear about other gay relatives or friends. When they are specifically women, I joke about being set up with them. Sometimes I have wondered if I am the only gay person in the area, but I know that I am not. There is no bar where we gather - have to go out to a "big" city for that - but apparently there once was a lesbian bar in town. Dating opportunities are not as obvious as they were when I lived in San Francisco. And yet, I felt just as lonely when I lived there as I do here sometimes. So, I don't think the size of the town is responsible.
I like living in a small town. You have to be a bit more careful, because you never quite know who is where and already knows what. News is so slow, that something you do might easily be found on the front page of the paper. You never know when you go get lunch in the drive thru if the person serving you will recognize you from soccer. So, you might think twice about going out to grab a quick bite with bed head. But the people care about you. It is a community. And once you are embraced by the community - once you lose "outsider" status - you are embraced by a community.
When I came here, I virtually had nothing. And when I moved, finally, out of my friends' home into one of my own, people stepped up to help me out. One woman donated an old bed from her guest bedroom. Others sorted through their kitchen cabinets for things they never use. One dropped a desk off on my front porch one day when I was out. Another brought me a couch and an easy chair. Others gave spare linens. Even just recently, I had someone give me a washer and dryer. All of these gestures invited me to stay. They wanted me to be comfortable, and they wanted me to stay.
And one day, some of these girls who keep telling me about their dyke sisters, will introduce me to one of them! (But, one might wonder - and this is a whole other post - whether I'm ready to date, anyway.. so it's probably best that they're waiting). But when they do, it will once more be a sign that I belong here in this small town. Dyke and all.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
The L Word
Okay. Stop for a moment before you read any further, and tell me (or at least think to yourself) what word you think I'm referring to when I say the "L" Word. And, I wonder, does that reflect how well you are beginning to know me? Or more about yourself? I am not a trained analyst (although Lord knows I do it enough without training), but I think what it says about both me and about you would be interesting....
Okay - done with that.
The L Word. Oh, really, just one? There are so many good ones. Yes, due to the popularity of the show, and that I'm a dyke, I know you might be thinking "lesbian" - how BORING and unoriginal. ;) Then there's the trio of "like", "lust" and "love". Since "vagina" has been so popular lately, there's even the racier "labia"..
If I were in a less happy place, there would be "lost", "lonely", "limited", "less", "loser"... Fortunately we don't have to worry about those today (I hope - I'm still composing this damn thing, who knows what might pop up?)
I recently met someone with whom I have having a heck of a lot of fun with. It's only been two weeks since we have been communicating privately, but I really do enjoy that time. It's been a really long time since I've had such a shit-eating grin on my face consistently, day after day. Basically since the tryst moved away a year and a half ago (and she was so much more than a tryst, but it's still the safest word to use). So I am enjoying it.
But in the past few days, I have found myself with that "l" word on my tongue. And while I do, already, care deeply about her, it is not only not appropriate to use that word after only two weeks towards her specifically, it also isn't, yet, accurate. But with maturity and hindsight, now, I can see how that word would slip out of my mouth so early on and so easily in my past relationships when I was younger.
I know, now, that what I love is how she makes me feel. I love the attention. I love feeling special. I love to flirt. I love having this smile on my face so much. I love the cute things she does, including the pictures she sends me. I love that she likes me. I love her honesty. I love how brave she is. How she is willing to take risks. She bares all in so many ways that I would find quite risky myself. I love that she trusts me. I love that she thinks of me. Again, I love how she makes me feel.
And one day, perhaps, all of that will be the foundation to love "her". But it is not the same. And I am glad that I am older and wiser now to understand that. To realize that. To differentiate that. Because, boy, I do love how she makes me feel. But we are still getting to know each other. I know, in reality, just the teeniest pindrop of information about her. We haven't even yet met in person, so I have no idea what she's really like when she wakes up. How grumpy she might get. How pissy she might be that might really annoy me in real life. I get just the tiniest little view into her life, although we do share quite a bit. But I know that I don't really know her. But I do like, a lot, what I do know.
Having not really been in straight relationships, I can't really speak to what I am about to say with any expertise, but I think lesbians are quite quick - and probably quicker - to RUSH to say "I love you". After all, the classic dyke joke is: "What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul". As women (I presume), we are quick to rush in. Quick to create the facade of security and stability, that may or may not be there. As women, generally, we want to nest. Put two women together, and the steps from "just dating" to practically married zip by in the blink of an eye.
But I think we miss a lot when we do that. I think flirting and courtship are fun. I know, in the real world, this relationship with this new person won't really lead anywhere. We live too far away, our lives are very different, and a hundred other reasons I could list off. And in so many ways, that gives me a freedom to it to enjoy whatever it is.
I've tried hard in the last couple of relationships I have had to enjoy the moment, and NOT try to plan too far in advance. With the 10+ year ex, that lasted about a month to maybe six weeks. With the tryst, well, I call her a tryst so as to keep myself in perspective as to what, in the long view of my life in hindsight, she might have been, even though there is a part of me that still thinks she's the "one". I try to keep myself open to the here and now, and enjoy it.
It's harder to do than you might think. But oh, so worth it.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Okay - done with that.
The L Word. Oh, really, just one? There are so many good ones. Yes, due to the popularity of the show, and that I'm a dyke, I know you might be thinking "lesbian" - how BORING and unoriginal. ;) Then there's the trio of "like", "lust" and "love". Since "vagina" has been so popular lately, there's even the racier "labia"..
If I were in a less happy place, there would be "lost", "lonely", "limited", "less", "loser"... Fortunately we don't have to worry about those today (I hope - I'm still composing this damn thing, who knows what might pop up?)
I recently met someone with whom I have having a heck of a lot of fun with. It's only been two weeks since we have been communicating privately, but I really do enjoy that time. It's been a really long time since I've had such a shit-eating grin on my face consistently, day after day. Basically since the tryst moved away a year and a half ago (and she was so much more than a tryst, but it's still the safest word to use). So I am enjoying it.
But in the past few days, I have found myself with that "l" word on my tongue. And while I do, already, care deeply about her, it is not only not appropriate to use that word after only two weeks towards her specifically, it also isn't, yet, accurate. But with maturity and hindsight, now, I can see how that word would slip out of my mouth so early on and so easily in my past relationships when I was younger.
I know, now, that what I love is how she makes me feel. I love the attention. I love feeling special. I love to flirt. I love having this smile on my face so much. I love the cute things she does, including the pictures she sends me. I love that she likes me. I love her honesty. I love how brave she is. How she is willing to take risks. She bares all in so many ways that I would find quite risky myself. I love that she trusts me. I love that she thinks of me. Again, I love how she makes me feel.
And one day, perhaps, all of that will be the foundation to love "her". But it is not the same. And I am glad that I am older and wiser now to understand that. To realize that. To differentiate that. Because, boy, I do love how she makes me feel. But we are still getting to know each other. I know, in reality, just the teeniest pindrop of information about her. We haven't even yet met in person, so I have no idea what she's really like when she wakes up. How grumpy she might get. How pissy she might be that might really annoy me in real life. I get just the tiniest little view into her life, although we do share quite a bit. But I know that I don't really know her. But I do like, a lot, what I do know.
Having not really been in straight relationships, I can't really speak to what I am about to say with any expertise, but I think lesbians are quite quick - and probably quicker - to RUSH to say "I love you". After all, the classic dyke joke is: "What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul". As women (I presume), we are quick to rush in. Quick to create the facade of security and stability, that may or may not be there. As women, generally, we want to nest. Put two women together, and the steps from "just dating" to practically married zip by in the blink of an eye.
But I think we miss a lot when we do that. I think flirting and courtship are fun. I know, in the real world, this relationship with this new person won't really lead anywhere. We live too far away, our lives are very different, and a hundred other reasons I could list off. And in so many ways, that gives me a freedom to it to enjoy whatever it is.
I've tried hard in the last couple of relationships I have had to enjoy the moment, and NOT try to plan too far in advance. With the 10+ year ex, that lasted about a month to maybe six weeks. With the tryst, well, I call her a tryst so as to keep myself in perspective as to what, in the long view of my life in hindsight, she might have been, even though there is a part of me that still thinks she's the "one". I try to keep myself open to the here and now, and enjoy it.
It's harder to do than you might think. But oh, so worth it.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Monday, June 18, 2012
PRIDE!
For those of you who have been wondering where I have been the last couple of days, and why I have been quiet it is because I went to the Big City for Pride weekend. Anything profound SHOULD wait until tomorrow after I've had a good night's sleep in my own bed... but I'm still awake and a bit of an insomniac, so who knows what might come up in the next few hours.
Don't worry, though, I have plenty to share with you. Apparently, I'm at 100 posts - although that includes some random drafts, so I have to keep writing to get there.
Good night, my readers. More fun to come.
Quote of the night from listening to the Bloggess read from the introduction and first chapter of her book. "I take my vagina with me everywhere. Like my American Express Card." Take that Michigan lawmakers!
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Don't worry, though, I have plenty to share with you. Apparently, I'm at 100 posts - although that includes some random drafts, so I have to keep writing to get there.
Good night, my readers. More fun to come.
Quote of the night from listening to the Bloggess read from the introduction and first chapter of her book. "I take my vagina with me everywhere. Like my American Express Card." Take that Michigan lawmakers!
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Married Women Like Breasts...
It's true. I've had a handful of married women* tell me somewhat recently about how much they like breasts (because more than a handful *would* be a waste). It's this pattern that I've noticed, and I must admit, my basic reaction is this: "Good, because I do, too, and by the way, I have two.." (thinking really, completing that sentence, "I have two you can play with...", but I keep that to myself until I have more information...)
I just find it amusing, and so I had to share. I admit that I have tried to use this information with varying success. I hate to admit - because someone will call me on my line - that I have asked more than one of them what it is they like about breasts, hoping that the conversation might take me, er, us somewhere fun. I mean what are you supposed to say to a woman who tells you she likes breasts? It wasn't like below I *asked* them first. It was information that was just volunteered to me - I figure they told me for a reason, right?
So, if there are any other married women out there who want to share with me how much they like breasts, they can be bold and comment below, or even bolder and send me a private e-mail. Just be aware, I might ask you what it is you like so much about them...
* One of them, I do have to admit, is getting divorced, and ideally won't be a married woman much longer, AND, I did know her (in the Biblical sense, yes) as a lesbian before she realized she might actually be bi and got married, so I admit that including her in my pool of married women who like breasts (Ah, doesn't that sound interesting, a pool of married women who like breasts? I'm ready to jump in... ) may be skewing the stats a little.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
I just find it amusing, and so I had to share. I admit that I have tried to use this information with varying success. I hate to admit - because someone will call me on my line - that I have asked more than one of them what it is they like about breasts, hoping that the conversation might take me, er, us somewhere fun. I mean what are you supposed to say to a woman who tells you she likes breasts? It wasn't like below I *asked* them first. It was information that was just volunteered to me - I figure they told me for a reason, right?
So, if there are any other married women out there who want to share with me how much they like breasts, they can be bold and comment below, or even bolder and send me a private e-mail. Just be aware, I might ask you what it is you like so much about them...
* One of them, I do have to admit, is getting divorced, and ideally won't be a married woman much longer, AND, I did know her (in the Biblical sense, yes) as a lesbian before she realized she might actually be bi and got married, so I admit that including her in my pool of married women who like breasts (Ah, doesn't that sound interesting, a pool of married women who like breasts? I'm ready to jump in... ) may be skewing the stats a little.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Unfinished Masterpieces
For the most part, once I start writing here, I finish and hit "Publish". I'm not an overnight draft-thinker. You can probably tell that I don't agonize over every word, and polish this beyond shining to brilliant.
So, when I look at my Blogger dashboard, most of the entries I've written are published.
Only four remain drafts.
And I think their titles are very instructive on a topic I've been trying to write about. Here are the titles:
But unfortunately for me, all four tie together into the same topic.
My big serious (we got married, after all) relationsihp that ended was with a woman who was mentally ill. Unfortunately, we got to a place where my being there was more hurtful to her than my being gone. It's a long story that the telling of wouldn't really add much more value here. I still regret, though, leaving her, even though I knew I had no other choice.
It's been a few years since that relationship imploded, and I have continued to breathe, to live, to be. I have even fallen in love again since then, although as is my luck, that person is unavailable. I have also had a crush or two. It is good to know that a broken heart can still function despite the wear and tear.
There is a lot of thought here - a lot of meat to write about - in these inter-related topics.
And maybe, some day, I will.. and I will hit "publish".
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
So, when I look at my Blogger dashboard, most of the entries I've written are published.
Only four remain drafts.
And I think their titles are very instructive on a topic I've been trying to write about. Here are the titles:
- Love
- Mental Illness
- Choices
- True Love or The One
But unfortunately for me, all four tie together into the same topic.
My big serious (we got married, after all) relationsihp that ended was with a woman who was mentally ill. Unfortunately, we got to a place where my being there was more hurtful to her than my being gone. It's a long story that the telling of wouldn't really add much more value here. I still regret, though, leaving her, even though I knew I had no other choice.
It's been a few years since that relationship imploded, and I have continued to breathe, to live, to be. I have even fallen in love again since then, although as is my luck, that person is unavailable. I have also had a crush or two. It is good to know that a broken heart can still function despite the wear and tear.
There is a lot of thought here - a lot of meat to write about - in these inter-related topics.
And maybe, some day, I will.. and I will hit "publish".
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Friday, April 27, 2012
The dance...
The beginnings of a new relationship are a dance. One steps forward, and the other steps back. The other steps forward, and the partner steps back. Back and forth in concert with each other.
Sounds lovely and fluid and well choreographed.
And maybe, sometimes, it is.
It's really been a number of years since I've really done the dance. And while I love to LITERALLY dance a lot, this dance I don't have a lot of experience with doing.
I have been, for the most part, a serial monogamist. Going from one long-term relationship to the next, and each one increasing in length, suggesting that MAYBE I learned something from the one before.
Frankly, I don't think it's that I learned anything, as much as I think that the more mature we get, the more realistic we enter into a relationship, the better chance of success it has.
------
Remember those first dances in junior high? Uncertain whether a boy (or a girl) was going to ask you to dance. And then if you did dance, wondering what it meant? Would he (or she) try to kiss you? And if they did, would that mean you're going out? And didn't it always seem more significant and serious if the dance they asked you for was a *slow* dance? Where do the hands go? Again, what does it mean?
There was a dance to the dance.
------
In both circumstances, the question is, do they like me? And do they like me the way that I like them? That's the dance. How do you express that you like someone? There's the timing, the intensity of expression, the manner of expression. An ask to a dance. A touch of the knee. A hug. A kiss. Oh, and then there's the words: "I like you". But that's too simple. "I want you." "I love you" "I love spending time with you."
There are so many potential steps to take in this dance.
------
People liked "The Rules" - for those who liked the Rules - for the same reason I like country line dancing. I like line dancing because I don't have to think about what the next step is, I'm not free-forming it and worrying that I look like an idiot to others. Once I feel comfortable with the basic steps, there is room to add my own flair and style, but simply competently following the steps is enough to make me look good. Or at least okay. And I don't have to think too much or wonder too much about what others might be thinking of me.
The Rules were designed to take that awkwardness out of the situation. A lot of simple if, thens. If he asks you out after Wednesday night, say "no". Let him contact you x number of times before you respond, etc.
I'm not a Rules girl. By a long shot. But in a world of women with low self-esteem who jump on anything that sorta moves in their direction, showing some restraint, and culling the herd by waiting until a real interest is shown makes some sense.
It is easy to get something in your head, and pursue it so strongly you don't pay attention to what is really happening.
When building a fire, in real life, there is often a time where blowing on the fire can help it grow. But you have to pay attention to the intensity of the air and where it is applied so that you don't overpower the tender flame and blow it out. The Rules are designed to keep one from blowing too hard and extinguishing the flame that might actually be there.
-----
The dance can be fun. That's what I keep telling myself.
Sounds lovely and fluid and well choreographed.
And maybe, sometimes, it is.
It's really been a number of years since I've really done the dance. And while I love to LITERALLY dance a lot, this dance I don't have a lot of experience with doing.
I have been, for the most part, a serial monogamist. Going from one long-term relationship to the next, and each one increasing in length, suggesting that MAYBE I learned something from the one before.
Frankly, I don't think it's that I learned anything, as much as I think that the more mature we get, the more realistic we enter into a relationship, the better chance of success it has.
------
Remember those first dances in junior high? Uncertain whether a boy (or a girl) was going to ask you to dance. And then if you did dance, wondering what it meant? Would he (or she) try to kiss you? And if they did, would that mean you're going out? And didn't it always seem more significant and serious if the dance they asked you for was a *slow* dance? Where do the hands go? Again, what does it mean?
There was a dance to the dance.
------
In both circumstances, the question is, do they like me? And do they like me the way that I like them? That's the dance. How do you express that you like someone? There's the timing, the intensity of expression, the manner of expression. An ask to a dance. A touch of the knee. A hug. A kiss. Oh, and then there's the words: "I like you". But that's too simple. "I want you." "I love you" "I love spending time with you."
There are so many potential steps to take in this dance.
------
People liked "The Rules" - for those who liked the Rules - for the same reason I like country line dancing. I like line dancing because I don't have to think about what the next step is, I'm not free-forming it and worrying that I look like an idiot to others. Once I feel comfortable with the basic steps, there is room to add my own flair and style, but simply competently following the steps is enough to make me look good. Or at least okay. And I don't have to think too much or wonder too much about what others might be thinking of me.
The Rules were designed to take that awkwardness out of the situation. A lot of simple if, thens. If he asks you out after Wednesday night, say "no". Let him contact you x number of times before you respond, etc.
I'm not a Rules girl. By a long shot. But in a world of women with low self-esteem who jump on anything that sorta moves in their direction, showing some restraint, and culling the herd by waiting until a real interest is shown makes some sense.
It is easy to get something in your head, and pursue it so strongly you don't pay attention to what is really happening.
When building a fire, in real life, there is often a time where blowing on the fire can help it grow. But you have to pay attention to the intensity of the air and where it is applied so that you don't overpower the tender flame and blow it out. The Rules are designed to keep one from blowing too hard and extinguishing the flame that might actually be there.
-----
The dance can be fun. That's what I keep telling myself.
Twenty Two Days
Blogging is NOT an easy business. I follow several bloggers and now I have even greater sympathy when they discuss the efforts they make to ensure that they create time in their schedules to blog. I appreciate, even more, when I receive entries two days in a row from them (I get e-mails for many of my favorite blogs, you can, too, by hitting one of those options off to the side here on this blog!)
I'd love to blame it all on tulip-girl. I'd love to tell you that we'd embarked upon a wild tumultuous passionate affair, and frankly, I've been too busy with her to write here.
Nope. But thanks for the good wishes, because I know that's what my four regular readers from the Ukraine have been thinking.
I'd love to blame it on winning the Mega Millions lottery and embarking upon a whirlwind charitable world tour. Because, of course, that's what I would do if I won Mega Millions - I'd travel the world being charitable to others. Isn't that at the top of your list? To give it away to others? That's what I thought.
Nope. But thanks for the good wishes, because I know that's what my four regular readers from the Ukraine have been thinking.
I can blame it on ADD, and on life, and on you (why not? Oh, yeah, because if I start blaming things on you, you might stop reading...).
First, there was Holy Week. Being involved in my church meant I actually attended all four services leading up to and including Easter Sunday. That wiped me out. For weeks. Actually, seriously.
Then there is the ADD-thing. Habits and structure are a big part of getting things done (if you get things done) with ADD. So I got out of the habit of writing during the tail end of Holy Week and in the weeks recovering.
You probably thought I forgot all about this. I hadn't.
And, well, actually, tulip-girl has played a part of it, too. No, we have not embarked upon a wild tumultuous passionate affair. Yet. But we have been spending time together and getting to know each other more. We haven't even kissed. Yet. But the signs of interest continue to accrue. A touch here, a touch there. Some of my friends say it is just a matter of time.
Well, then, time will tell. And, as I keep returning to, resistance is futile.
I'd love to blame it all on tulip-girl. I'd love to tell you that we'd embarked upon a wild tumultuous passionate affair, and frankly, I've been too busy with her to write here.
Nope. But thanks for the good wishes, because I know that's what my four regular readers from the Ukraine have been thinking.
I'd love to blame it on winning the Mega Millions lottery and embarking upon a whirlwind charitable world tour. Because, of course, that's what I would do if I won Mega Millions - I'd travel the world being charitable to others. Isn't that at the top of your list? To give it away to others? That's what I thought.
Nope. But thanks for the good wishes, because I know that's what my four regular readers from the Ukraine have been thinking.
I can blame it on ADD, and on life, and on you (why not? Oh, yeah, because if I start blaming things on you, you might stop reading...).
First, there was Holy Week. Being involved in my church meant I actually attended all four services leading up to and including Easter Sunday. That wiped me out. For weeks. Actually, seriously.
Then there is the ADD-thing. Habits and structure are a big part of getting things done (if you get things done) with ADD. So I got out of the habit of writing during the tail end of Holy Week and in the weeks recovering.
You probably thought I forgot all about this. I hadn't.
And, well, actually, tulip-girl has played a part of it, too. No, we have not embarked upon a wild tumultuous passionate affair. Yet. But we have been spending time together and getting to know each other more. We haven't even kissed. Yet. But the signs of interest continue to accrue. A touch here, a touch there. Some of my friends say it is just a matter of time.
Well, then, time will tell. And, as I keep returning to, resistance is futile.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Tulips in my kitchen..
God has a sense of humor. I have always said that.
A friend of mine got a little too close to a flame recently after I warned her to keep some distance, that the flame was dangerous. I could see it coming a mile away.
My friend must be feeling amused as she sees me nearing a flame, too, and ignoring her warnings. At least I hope amusement is part of her feelings.
I have a new friend. And while I hate to admit it, sometimes same sex friendships can be tricky when you're a dyke.
When you're out and about, you sometimes attract a certain kind of straight woman. One who isn't completely straight after all. You living your life and being comfortable with who you are and seeming to be somewhat normal suddenly allows them to wonder about certain feelings they have had.
I hate to admit it, but there's a pattern to their behavior.
I didn't recognize it at first.
But when all my straight friends (okay not ALL my straight friends), but when many of my straight friends turned queer, I couldn't help but recognize a pattern.
It is not, as I like to believe and kid, because I am irresistable. Nor is it something in the water - mostly because I don't drink much water.
But I can vaguely remember my baby dyke days and being intrigued and interested in those few folks who had been initially discovered to be lesbians. You look at yourself, and you look at them to see if it is possible that you are one of them. It's a natural comparison. Sometimes it's obvious and conscious, and sometimes it's not.
You admit, though, that we do it with any group. Walk into a new church or religious institution of your choice. You look at them, you look at yourself, and you try to decide if you fit in. Natural group dynamics. Natural self-identity stuff. Walk into a bar. Walk into any group for the first time. You do it. You figure out if you fit in - or if you even want to fit in.
So I have this new friend. And I really like her, and I could really use a stable available local friend. I enjoy her company. But the signs are starting to show..
They're subtle. To explain them would make everyone else feel self-conscious. Because frankly a lot of the signs aren't done on a conscious level. Some can be. And some of the behaviors or tells by themselves are not enough to confirm or be signs. Sometimes it's the confluence of signs.
And I don't want my straight friends who are happily straight to stop doing some of those things. Like give me flowers.
But last night, she gave me tulips.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
A friend of mine got a little too close to a flame recently after I warned her to keep some distance, that the flame was dangerous. I could see it coming a mile away.
My friend must be feeling amused as she sees me nearing a flame, too, and ignoring her warnings. At least I hope amusement is part of her feelings.
I have a new friend. And while I hate to admit it, sometimes same sex friendships can be tricky when you're a dyke.
When you're out and about, you sometimes attract a certain kind of straight woman. One who isn't completely straight after all. You living your life and being comfortable with who you are and seeming to be somewhat normal suddenly allows them to wonder about certain feelings they have had.
I hate to admit it, but there's a pattern to their behavior.
I didn't recognize it at first.
But when all my straight friends (okay not ALL my straight friends), but when many of my straight friends turned queer, I couldn't help but recognize a pattern.
It is not, as I like to believe and kid, because I am irresistable. Nor is it something in the water - mostly because I don't drink much water.
But I can vaguely remember my baby dyke days and being intrigued and interested in those few folks who had been initially discovered to be lesbians. You look at yourself, and you look at them to see if it is possible that you are one of them. It's a natural comparison. Sometimes it's obvious and conscious, and sometimes it's not.
You admit, though, that we do it with any group. Walk into a new church or religious institution of your choice. You look at them, you look at yourself, and you try to decide if you fit in. Natural group dynamics. Natural self-identity stuff. Walk into a bar. Walk into any group for the first time. You do it. You figure out if you fit in - or if you even want to fit in.
So I have this new friend. And I really like her, and I could really use a stable available local friend. I enjoy her company. But the signs are starting to show..
They're subtle. To explain them would make everyone else feel self-conscious. Because frankly a lot of the signs aren't done on a conscious level. Some can be. And some of the behaviors or tells by themselves are not enough to confirm or be signs. Sometimes it's the confluence of signs.
And I don't want my straight friends who are happily straight to stop doing some of those things. Like give me flowers.
But last night, she gave me tulips.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Love yourself
This one I am starting before I hit the shower because I know it will be zinging through me in a few moments when I hit the water. I will wait to post to add whatever brilliance I have from there to here.
In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy. Therapy to help me during, well, situations. Often transitions. Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family. Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits. In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!! In 3-D! You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)
So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself.
I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction. Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself? I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.
I do think I love myself. I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem. I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own. I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear. I am enjoying the company of people I love. And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun. I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company. And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.
But ironically, this post isn't about me. Or rather this post isn't inspired by me.
My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.
I came out in high school. And looking backwards from there, it made sense. I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc. And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"
But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then. But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to. I went on a journey of exploration. Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television. Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women. But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting. I had no idea what to do with a woman. And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about. But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it? I digress.
I'm lucky. My family was reasonably supportive. And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.
A friend of mine is coming out late in life. Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why? ;)
And she has the normal questioning: Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me? What does it mean? Am I okay? Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me?
My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"
Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others. She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others. And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.
To me, being gay is just a part of who I am. A part that has always been there. A part as natural to me as having five fingers. I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself. (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it). She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own. And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time. That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate. But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?
So I made the analogy of a birthmark. Analogies are tricky things. If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you. And maybe I didn't. But I explained to her that being this way (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back. It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it. Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself. She trusted others that it was there.
Now she's wondering if it is really there. And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see.
And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?"
What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???
I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.
I am kind of angry, I'll admit. But mostly I am very, very sad.
Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself"
The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself.
And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend. Very heavy.
Now I ask questions in life. And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that. And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation. (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)
I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.
And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others. You put their needs first. You make what is important to them important to you. You try to make their burden easier. You accept them with all of their flaws. You recognize that they are not perfect. That they will make mistakes. That they will have inconsistencies. They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them. You want what is best for them. You want them to find happiness and peace. You don't want them to hurt. You enjoy their company. Their smile makes you smile. You want to support them no matter what they want to do. I don't know - this isn't easy. Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.
There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"
How to apply that to loving yourself?
Love is patient. Be patient with yourself.
Love is kind. Be kind to yourself.
It is not irritable or resentful. Accept yourself as you are, without resentment.
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is.
And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved. Most especially by you.
In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy. Therapy to help me during, well, situations. Often transitions. Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family. Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits. In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!! In 3-D! You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)
So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself.
I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction. Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself? I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.
I do think I love myself. I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem. I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own. I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear. I am enjoying the company of people I love. And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun. I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company. And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.
But ironically, this post isn't about me. Or rather this post isn't inspired by me.
My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.
I came out in high school. And looking backwards from there, it made sense. I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc. And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"
But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then. But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to. I went on a journey of exploration. Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television. Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women. But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting. I had no idea what to do with a woman. And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about. But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it? I digress.
I'm lucky. My family was reasonably supportive. And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.
A friend of mine is coming out late in life. Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why? ;)
And she has the normal questioning: Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me? What does it mean? Am I okay? Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me?
My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
- Yes,
- Does it really matter?
- Maybe, but it wasn't Kool-Aid that made you this way.
- Who cares?
- Anyone you want or no-one you don't want.
- It's up to you.
- Some might, most won't; those of us who are may have a better chance of recognizing you.
- It means, at a minimum, you're not straight.
- Yes, you're okay.
- Yes, your true friends will still like you.
- Yes, people will still love you.
But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"
Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others. She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others. And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.
To me, being gay is just a part of who I am. A part that has always been there. A part as natural to me as having five fingers. I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself. (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it). She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own. And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time. That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate. But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?
So I made the analogy of a birthmark. Analogies are tricky things. If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you. And maybe I didn't. But I explained to her that being this way (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back. It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it. Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself. She trusted others that it was there.
Now she's wondering if it is really there. And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see.
And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?"
What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???
I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.
I am kind of angry, I'll admit. But mostly I am very, very sad.
Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself"
The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself.
And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend. Very heavy.
Now I ask questions in life. And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that. And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation. (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)
I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.
And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others. You put their needs first. You make what is important to them important to you. You try to make their burden easier. You accept them with all of their flaws. You recognize that they are not perfect. That they will make mistakes. That they will have inconsistencies. They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them. You want what is best for them. You want them to find happiness and peace. You don't want them to hurt. You enjoy their company. Their smile makes you smile. You want to support them no matter what they want to do. I don't know - this isn't easy. Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.
There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"
How to apply that to loving yourself?
Love is patient. Be patient with yourself.
Love is kind. Be kind to yourself.
It is not irritable or resentful. Accept yourself as you are, without resentment.
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is.
And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved. Most especially by you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)