I was on the phone with one of my cousins earlier today. He is usually involved in a mess of problems, but that's a story for another day. Today he was telling me about the recent breakup of his brother-in-law with his fairly long-time girlfriend.
"What happened, I asked, a little bewildered as it seemed the two were headed for greater things.
"He says he didn't like it when she went out with her friends and got drunk. He's 26, she's only 22. I don't think she's gotten it out of her system, but it's not like he didn't have his party years."
I was not exactly satisfied with that answer. I immediately came back with, "That's nonsense. He just got tired of her and wanted to move on to the next girl, try something new. An excuse like that is just a half-assed way of saying that. If that was the real reason, he would have come up with it a long time ago." Then, of course, I went into my usual rant and rave about the cowardis in not calling a spade a spade, the complete ignorance of excuses like that, etc., etc. You've all heard me say it before.
In my experience, most every break-up line, every softened blow of a rejection is a thinly laced veil for the simple fact that he or she has had enough, that you simply don't butter his bread the way you used to. He's ready to move on to the greener side of the pasture. Of course, I can't deny that there are legitimate reasons to end a relationship, more profound reasons; but, for today let's focus on your everyday, run-of-the-mill boyfriend and/or girlfriend scenario. How many times have we heard these words:
I think we should just be friends.
You haven't one anything wrong, I'm just not ready for a relationship.
I didn't mean for it to happen, but I met someone...
We are in different places in our lives.
I think we should see other people.
It's not you, it's me.
Your damn right it's not me!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Giant Wooden Dildo Anyone?
A friend of mine (female), recently received a subscription to Playgirl magazine as a Christmas present. After a rather detailed description of its contents by her and another friend of mine, I have decided that perhaps it is not a magazine I would be all that interested in obtaining a subscription to myself. What is reminds me of, though, is my first encounter with gay pornography (well, actually, pornography of any kind) as a child of about 12.
I was innocently playing baseball with my father, brother, and 4 or 5 of the neighbor children at the high school down the street from our home one sunny weekend afternoon. I was in the catcher position, which I was not all that good at as I became distracted easily and had to chase down 4 out of 5 of the balls that passed by the batters bat unhit. On one such baseball rescue mission, I had to run around a set of bleachers that was behind our playing area, where I caught a glimpse of a few magazine pages. Curious, I took a closer look. Before being called back to the game and berated for my turtle pace, I was able to discern that there was in fact a naked man on at least one of its pages.
I was immediately intrigued. I began to miss the ball on purpose so as to have to return to the magazine's place in the grass and investigate further. My father began to get suspicious, however, and I was forced to hold off on my sleuthing until later. I was switched out as catcher later in the game, and when one of the balls flew by the new man for him to retrieve, I saw that he caught a glimpse of it, too. My interest was piqued, but I held off my excitement and extreme curiosity until the game was over.
It was not that I did not know what pornography was. I had heard of Playboy. I had heard of boys finding their father's stashes and flipping through the pages with utter wonder and excitement. I knew such things existed, I just didn't know they had such things with naked men in them.
After we had all walked home with my father, the four oldest boys took refuge in the backyard to discuss what we had seen. Quickly, we decided to return to the scene and find out exactly what was there. Boy, was it worth it. I feigned disgust, following the lead of the other boys as we flipped through page after page of naked men, some having sex with each other, others just sitting there with erections in all their glory. The one I remember most vividly was a picture of a man in a carpenter's workshop with work clothes on. He had just created a giant dildo out of wood and was holding it up for inspection and to awe at its grandeur. It was the size of the entire man himself. I had never seen anything like it.
Like the children we were, we ripped the glossy pages out of their binding and flung them across the field like a big confetti party, an exposed chest here, the seductive eyes of an over-enthusiastic blond there. We laughed and made fun until we'd had enough and ended up on the cool grass on our backsides. We left the field a mess of graphic male images, and vowed never to speak of it again. It was a first step out of childhood and into a messy adulthood.
I was innocently playing baseball with my father, brother, and 4 or 5 of the neighbor children at the high school down the street from our home one sunny weekend afternoon. I was in the catcher position, which I was not all that good at as I became distracted easily and had to chase down 4 out of 5 of the balls that passed by the batters bat unhit. On one such baseball rescue mission, I had to run around a set of bleachers that was behind our playing area, where I caught a glimpse of a few magazine pages. Curious, I took a closer look. Before being called back to the game and berated for my turtle pace, I was able to discern that there was in fact a naked man on at least one of its pages.
I was immediately intrigued. I began to miss the ball on purpose so as to have to return to the magazine's place in the grass and investigate further. My father began to get suspicious, however, and I was forced to hold off on my sleuthing until later. I was switched out as catcher later in the game, and when one of the balls flew by the new man for him to retrieve, I saw that he caught a glimpse of it, too. My interest was piqued, but I held off my excitement and extreme curiosity until the game was over.
It was not that I did not know what pornography was. I had heard of Playboy. I had heard of boys finding their father's stashes and flipping through the pages with utter wonder and excitement. I knew such things existed, I just didn't know they had such things with naked men in them.
After we had all walked home with my father, the four oldest boys took refuge in the backyard to discuss what we had seen. Quickly, we decided to return to the scene and find out exactly what was there. Boy, was it worth it. I feigned disgust, following the lead of the other boys as we flipped through page after page of naked men, some having sex with each other, others just sitting there with erections in all their glory. The one I remember most vividly was a picture of a man in a carpenter's workshop with work clothes on. He had just created a giant dildo out of wood and was holding it up for inspection and to awe at its grandeur. It was the size of the entire man himself. I had never seen anything like it.
Like the children we were, we ripped the glossy pages out of their binding and flung them across the field like a big confetti party, an exposed chest here, the seductive eyes of an over-enthusiastic blond there. We laughed and made fun until we'd had enough and ended up on the cool grass on our backsides. We left the field a mess of graphic male images, and vowed never to speak of it again. It was a first step out of childhood and into a messy adulthood.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Goodbye Ennis
It makes me feel a bit mortal to learn that a man nearly exactly my age has died. It forces the ponderance over the idea that I, too, could die at anytime. In fact, I could be gone tomorrow. There is a moment there in which you stop and wonder about your life, where it is going, what you've accomplished, how you would be remembered if, in fact, you were found in your house or apartment cold and lifeless with a bottle of sleeping pills next to your bed.
Of course, I am referring to the recent death of Heath Ledger, the Australian actor best known in the gay community for his portrayal of Ennis del Mar in the film Brokeback Mountain. I have to give the man credit for taking such a controversial role. If I were a straight man, I doubt that I could be so courageous, so sure of myself. It speaks to a comfort in his own sexuality, an acceptance of himself and of others. It shows a lack of fear and a direction we should all be moving towards in the vein of accepting the differences in all of us. His Oscar nomination in 2006 was greatly deserved.
His death hasn't struck me so much with grief (I can't say that I ever had any personal contact with him or knew anything about his first hand) as it has with a sudden sense of feeling my age. We were born barely a month apart in the year 1979, and I don't know that I could say that I had accomplished all that I wished to in this life if I were to be found dead tomorrow. I can't say that I feel like I have had an impact on this world in a way that has really made a difference. It's almost like a wake-up call telling me to get busy with my life, to get moving on trying to etch out some sort of importance in this world. If Heath Ledger could do all he did before his 30th year, then what have I been waiting for?
Perhaps this is a lesson in quality versus quantity as we look at a life that did not quite reach thirty years and yet was capable of moving (and entertaining) so many people. I first came into contact with Mr. Ledger on the big screen in Monster's Ball in which he played a troubled prison employee, part of a team responsible for death row procedures. He committed suicide in the film, unable to deal with the implications of watching men die for their crimes. From then on, I knew he was one to watch out for. Instead of playing pat roles in insignificant movies, he was playing meaningful ones in moving films from early on in his career. Privately, he seemed to keep his head about him, not appearing as the irreverent bad-boy of his generation like so much of young Hollywood these days.
Thank You Mr. Ledger. I hope that you know your courage is appreciated. We could all take a lesson from you.
Heath Andrew Ledger April 4, 1979- January 22, 2008.
(The LA Times story on Heath Ledger can be found at http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/asection/la-et-ledger23jan23,1,5320235.story)
Of course, I am referring to the recent death of Heath Ledger, the Australian actor best known in the gay community for his portrayal of Ennis del Mar in the film Brokeback Mountain. I have to give the man credit for taking such a controversial role. If I were a straight man, I doubt that I could be so courageous, so sure of myself. It speaks to a comfort in his own sexuality, an acceptance of himself and of others. It shows a lack of fear and a direction we should all be moving towards in the vein of accepting the differences in all of us. His Oscar nomination in 2006 was greatly deserved.
His death hasn't struck me so much with grief (I can't say that I ever had any personal contact with him or knew anything about his first hand) as it has with a sudden sense of feeling my age. We were born barely a month apart in the year 1979, and I don't know that I could say that I had accomplished all that I wished to in this life if I were to be found dead tomorrow. I can't say that I feel like I have had an impact on this world in a way that has really made a difference. It's almost like a wake-up call telling me to get busy with my life, to get moving on trying to etch out some sort of importance in this world. If Heath Ledger could do all he did before his 30th year, then what have I been waiting for?
Perhaps this is a lesson in quality versus quantity as we look at a life that did not quite reach thirty years and yet was capable of moving (and entertaining) so many people. I first came into contact with Mr. Ledger on the big screen in Monster's Ball in which he played a troubled prison employee, part of a team responsible for death row procedures. He committed suicide in the film, unable to deal with the implications of watching men die for their crimes. From then on, I knew he was one to watch out for. Instead of playing pat roles in insignificant movies, he was playing meaningful ones in moving films from early on in his career. Privately, he seemed to keep his head about him, not appearing as the irreverent bad-boy of his generation like so much of young Hollywood these days.
Thank You Mr. Ledger. I hope that you know your courage is appreciated. We could all take a lesson from you.
Heath Andrew Ledger April 4, 1979- January 22, 2008.
(The LA Times story on Heath Ledger can be found at http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/asection/la-et-ledger23jan23,1,5320235.story)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Rugby in Paris (Gay Commercial)
I've been inspired to find other commercials catering to a gay audience. Here are some interesting ones.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Gay Levi's?
I was wondering if anyone else had noticed the gay Levi's jeans commercial that has appeared on television. While I rarely have the patience to sit through any kind of commercial, I just happened to be watching something on the Bravo network, when I noticed a couple of boys in stylish jeans eying each other and smiling rather seductively then walking off together into the night. Of course, I rewound the video and watched it again in it's entirety to discover that it was in fact what I thought it was, a gay Levi's commercial.
Upon further research, it would seem that there are two versions of the ad, one in which a girl appears in the phone booth and walks away with our lead man, and one in which a guy does. It is not overt in it's message, you have to be paying attention to get it as there is no dialogue, but it is quite clear once you do get it. I am a little surprised to see that such an ad has made it on to American television, albeit on a cable network that has not been shy about catering to a gay audience; but I am glad to see that such ads are making it without an overabundance of controversy. Kudos to Levi's and to the network for airing it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Thirty and Counting
While I still have a year or two left until the milestone age of thirty, many of my friends have already reached that point. I am a little bit fearful of hitting that mark as it would seem that it creates a bit of insanity, especially in the realm of relationships. It is as if a sudden sense of urgency appears like a loudly ticking clock in the ear that will not go away.
Let's start with case 1. Several years ago, my best friend was a man a few years my elder. We had gone to school together and continued a friendship afterwards thought the beginning of our careers. Much of that time was spent almost like a couple of teenagers, playing video games, watching movies, and drinking, sometimes to extreme excesses. Basically, we found whatever trouble we could find. Never was there a care or worry about finding a lasting relationship on either end (although I was deeply into a long-term relationship myself). But then he turned thirty. A few months before the big day, he started looking for dates a little more seriously. He started frequenting the bars where the women hung out, and started a serious of short relationships one right after the other. There were times that we were stuck at the same house after a long night of drinking, and I would be in the other room (or sometimes even in the same room) where he would proceed to have sex with whichever woman he was with at the time. It's a funny thing to watch a head bobbing up and down underneath a blanket, but it is also rather disgusting. Every week there was a new story, a new romance to talk about. And when he spoke of them, there was an urgency in his tone. He was looking, the green light was on. Then November came, and so did a blond who could drink him under the table (not an easy task by any means). Suddenly there were in love. They lived in different cities, so on weekends he would meet her half way and procure a hotel room for a few days of passion and tequila. When that got tiresome, he took a job closer to her and moved away from the city we were living in. He was enveloped into her. He became almost a completely new person, and before 9 months had passed he was married and disappeared from the world he knew before. All almost entirely in his 30th year of life.
Now, let's move on to case 2. In this scenario, we see another friend with whom I've spent many a night drinking, partying at the bars, chasing boys, etc. All seemed to be good enough, life was good and full. Her birthday came around, the big 30, in December. She started to get a little ancy. Suddenly is became more important to find a lasting relationship, to hold the interest of someone. By January she had met him, by February she was engaged, and by the first of August she was married (nice wedding, but the way). Everything seems to be working, so far. At least she hasn't disappeared from the world like in scenario 1, but the timing seems all too familiar.
Scenario 3. My cousin and his wife have been married for just a few years. When they both turned 30, it became apparent that it was time to have a baby, at least for them. Suddenly she was pregnant and now there is a new child in the world. Does 30 suddenly mean that you must procreate or die a shameful death?
Scenario 4....well, that's enough, you get the idea.
Yes, I suppose it is natural to feel your age at times. 30 is a milestone, one that is fast approaching these old bones; but does it require us to suddenly so miraculously "settle down.?" Is it that we are growing up and become responsible adults, wanting lasting relationships, children, and a stable future? Or is that we become desperate and cling to the first real possibility of long-term companionship? (We certainly don't get smarter or more mature just because of the number). In the end, does it really matter at what age our relationships start? How many 40 and 50 year old people are there our there, newly divorced or widowed or simply starting over? Just because you choose someone at 30, does it mean that it will last or have more meaning?
I'm hoping this fever, this 30-year-old sickness does not take over my brain as the dreaded year hits. I'm hoping to avoid the usual worry. I once wrote a poem that was published in one of my college's anthologies of student work. It was called "Quarter Life Crisis." If I was losing my mind at 19, what chance do I have at 30?
Let's start with case 1. Several years ago, my best friend was a man a few years my elder. We had gone to school together and continued a friendship afterwards thought the beginning of our careers. Much of that time was spent almost like a couple of teenagers, playing video games, watching movies, and drinking, sometimes to extreme excesses. Basically, we found whatever trouble we could find. Never was there a care or worry about finding a lasting relationship on either end (although I was deeply into a long-term relationship myself). But then he turned thirty. A few months before the big day, he started looking for dates a little more seriously. He started frequenting the bars where the women hung out, and started a serious of short relationships one right after the other. There were times that we were stuck at the same house after a long night of drinking, and I would be in the other room (or sometimes even in the same room) where he would proceed to have sex with whichever woman he was with at the time. It's a funny thing to watch a head bobbing up and down underneath a blanket, but it is also rather disgusting. Every week there was a new story, a new romance to talk about. And when he spoke of them, there was an urgency in his tone. He was looking, the green light was on. Then November came, and so did a blond who could drink him under the table (not an easy task by any means). Suddenly there were in love. They lived in different cities, so on weekends he would meet her half way and procure a hotel room for a few days of passion and tequila. When that got tiresome, he took a job closer to her and moved away from the city we were living in. He was enveloped into her. He became almost a completely new person, and before 9 months had passed he was married and disappeared from the world he knew before. All almost entirely in his 30th year of life.
Now, let's move on to case 2. In this scenario, we see another friend with whom I've spent many a night drinking, partying at the bars, chasing boys, etc. All seemed to be good enough, life was good and full. Her birthday came around, the big 30, in December. She started to get a little ancy. Suddenly is became more important to find a lasting relationship, to hold the interest of someone. By January she had met him, by February she was engaged, and by the first of August she was married (nice wedding, but the way). Everything seems to be working, so far. At least she hasn't disappeared from the world like in scenario 1, but the timing seems all too familiar.
Scenario 3. My cousin and his wife have been married for just a few years. When they both turned 30, it became apparent that it was time to have a baby, at least for them. Suddenly she was pregnant and now there is a new child in the world. Does 30 suddenly mean that you must procreate or die a shameful death?
Scenario 4....well, that's enough, you get the idea.
Yes, I suppose it is natural to feel your age at times. 30 is a milestone, one that is fast approaching these old bones; but does it require us to suddenly so miraculously "settle down.?" Is it that we are growing up and become responsible adults, wanting lasting relationships, children, and a stable future? Or is that we become desperate and cling to the first real possibility of long-term companionship? (We certainly don't get smarter or more mature just because of the number). In the end, does it really matter at what age our relationships start? How many 40 and 50 year old people are there our there, newly divorced or widowed or simply starting over? Just because you choose someone at 30, does it mean that it will last or have more meaning?
I'm hoping this fever, this 30-year-old sickness does not take over my brain as the dreaded year hits. I'm hoping to avoid the usual worry. I once wrote a poem that was published in one of my college's anthologies of student work. It was called "Quarter Life Crisis." If I was losing my mind at 19, what chance do I have at 30?
30303030303030
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Blue
I thought I would share with you today a piece I created several years ago. There are times when I feel the need to produce something visual rather than through the written word. Art to me has always held in itself a sense of romance simply by the nature of its existence. So drastically can it spur emotion and move us without doing anything but hanging there on a wall.
The first time a painting took my breath away was on the slide show screen of an art history class I took in college. The painting was by Joseph M. William Turner, an Englishman from the late 17/early 1800's. I sat right in the middle of the room as the professor sorted through slide after slide of work form the period, when this mass of color came bursting onto the screen. It was massive, several times it's actual size, it seemed to overtake the entire space I was inhabiting. As was typical of the artist, this scene was of the sea. In this particular one, a ship had wrecked, its inhabitants spread across the waters. It was not the story that struck me so, however. It was the intense color, the movement and energy created by the masses of yellows and blues, blacks and reds. The piece seemed to move before me, take me in. I nearly gasped at the sight of it. Nearly lost a few tears as well.
Call me crazy if you like. I certainly don't claim to be an artist, but I do have a definite appreciation for it. I realize that art doesn't affect everyone in the same way, but in that alone there is a beauty to it. For one thing to mean so many things to so many different people is, well, simply put, amazing. For one visual boxed in piece of canvas and paint and brush strokes to produce such a vast array of responses, it becomes more than the sum of its parts. It becomes art. For me that is romance, that is excitement and wonder and subject for conversation. We put ourselves into what we create and it allows us to connect with each other, to express ourselves and to show what we are made of. I cannot recall my mindset when I created this piece. It was probably more about expressing gradual changes and the intensity of color more than anything. I called it 'electric blue eyes' at that time. Perhaps I was trying to capture the essence and beauty of the eye, the seductive liquid blue eye of someone you can't take your sight from. It is hard to say. In any case, it was a romance for me, between myself and the paintbrush, the pigment and the paper. It is a romance that reappears now and then, asks for a late night date or an afternoon that flies by so quickly that it seems it was hardly even there.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Not Knowing is Worse than Bad News
I was sitting with one of my closest friends last evening, who had just recently (well sort of) broken up with a fellow he had been seeing for the past four months or so. Being as supportive as possible, I was trying to convince him that contacting the man in question any further was pointless, even if it was only to berate him for his inconsideration. Of course, he was having none of that.
The problem is that his last contact with the man was a simple text message on his telephone asking him to sit down with him to discuss where they were going and if they were going to continue to pursue a possible relationship. At the end of the message, he stated that if they did not sit down and discuss it, then he was done with the whole thing. Of course, there was no response to that and they never met to discuss anything. Unfortunately, it reflected a pattern of tattered communication.
As our discussion furthered, it became clear that the reason he wanted to contact him again, besides wanting to vent his anger in the appropriate direction, was to invoke some response from the man in order to know how exactly he felt about the situation. Arguing with the man, having a knock-down, drag-out fight, getting some sort (any sort) of anger or direct rejection straight out of the man's mouth would be more satisfying than the silence he was getting.
I hate to say I empathize with the situation, but I do (see Perhaps I am not Psychotic). I've been in essentially the same situation, and it is one of the hardest things in the world to just let it go and move on without knowing what exactly is going through his head. And as much as I can tell him not to worry about it, to just let it go, I know it really won't do any good or make him feel any better about the situation. He's just got to get through it on his own time. Not knowing exactly how the other guy feels is worse than the bad news of knowing that he's just not into you anymore because without that 'for sure' statement, your brain continually wraps around the other possibilities until your head is spinning with uncertainty.
The same situation occurs with anything that doesn't quite make sense to us, an untimely death, the sudden withdrawal of a close friend and disappearance from our lives, even the loss of a job or general misfortune. The unexplained leaves our brains reeling, ever trying to find an answer.
The sad thing about the situation, especially when it comes to romance, is that we often do know the reason but refuse to let ourselves see it. The fact that he just doesn't care enough even to tell you that he doesn't want you anymore is one of the worst facts to face, especially when you care so much.
The problem is that his last contact with the man was a simple text message on his telephone asking him to sit down with him to discuss where they were going and if they were going to continue to pursue a possible relationship. At the end of the message, he stated that if they did not sit down and discuss it, then he was done with the whole thing. Of course, there was no response to that and they never met to discuss anything. Unfortunately, it reflected a pattern of tattered communication.
As our discussion furthered, it became clear that the reason he wanted to contact him again, besides wanting to vent his anger in the appropriate direction, was to invoke some response from the man in order to know how exactly he felt about the situation. Arguing with the man, having a knock-down, drag-out fight, getting some sort (any sort) of anger or direct rejection straight out of the man's mouth would be more satisfying than the silence he was getting.
I hate to say I empathize with the situation, but I do (see Perhaps I am not Psychotic). I've been in essentially the same situation, and it is one of the hardest things in the world to just let it go and move on without knowing what exactly is going through his head. And as much as I can tell him not to worry about it, to just let it go, I know it really won't do any good or make him feel any better about the situation. He's just got to get through it on his own time. Not knowing exactly how the other guy feels is worse than the bad news of knowing that he's just not into you anymore because without that 'for sure' statement, your brain continually wraps around the other possibilities until your head is spinning with uncertainty.
The same situation occurs with anything that doesn't quite make sense to us, an untimely death, the sudden withdrawal of a close friend and disappearance from our lives, even the loss of a job or general misfortune. The unexplained leaves our brains reeling, ever trying to find an answer.
The sad thing about the situation, especially when it comes to romance, is that we often do know the reason but refuse to let ourselves see it. The fact that he just doesn't care enough even to tell you that he doesn't want you anymore is one of the worst facts to face, especially when you care so much.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Don't Forget to Enjoy Yourself
Sometimes you just have to step back for a second and take a breather before you overload yourself with so much nonsense and ridiculous worry that you forget how to enjoy life.
In a ridiculous series of events yesterday morning, I accidentally locked myself out of my own house. While it was a little less than convenient, it did provide me (albeit forced) an opportunity to stop for a minute and think about the direction of my life. I had nothing else to do except to wait for my spare key to arrive via its holder who was slightly delayed due to being at work at the time. I was hoping that my dog would somehow miraculously figure out how to jump up and hit the doorknob at least well enough to open the door a crack and let me back in; but instead he simply whimpered near the door’s base thinking he was missing out on something on the outside. So, instead, I decided to take a walk rather than look like a fool on my front stoop for the next hour. It had been quite a while since I walked the streets of my neighborhood and the surrounding area. Thankfully, it was an unusually warm winter day.
Perhaps I just needed the sunlight more than anything having been stuck on the night shift for the past week and having hardly seen the sun for being asleep during the day. Whatever it was, it seemed to change my perspective in just the way I needed. Not that I suddenly came to some great epiphany walking the streets in my work clothes and looking aimless on a weekday morning; but rather later that evening and into the next day (after a good bit of rest), I decided that I was making life a little more difficult than it needed to be at the moment.
I’ve done this repeatedly throughout my life, worrying about things that need not be worried about, expecting too much from relationships and trying so hard to make things work that I lose the whole point of the adventure and any meaning it could have. I was about to fall into the same trap again. Instead of worrying so much if a relationship is going to work, if you are truly compatible, if you are good for each other; sometimes you just have to let go and let time show you. It’s about going with the flow and, most importantly, enjoying yourself and the life you have. If you are always worried about your relationship, then how are you supposed to enjoy your relationship? Just do what comes naturally, and the rest will take care of itself.
It had been obvious to me since childhood that there is no ‘secret to life.’ There is nothing that makes you inherently a happier person, not even love. Life simply has to be lived. Beyond that, it is our choice (at least to some extent) to enjoy it or to be bogged down in misery. I realize that there are traumatic events that alter our existence, parts of our lives that can pull us into deep depression with no hope in sight. The same is true for ecstasy, although, in either case, the feeling is generally fleeting, even if the fleeting is extremely slow at times. We get what we get in this life, and we have to deal with it.
My new perspective is this: why get trapped in a cycle of anxiety and depression over things that I cannot change. Instead, go with the flow and enjoy everything and everyone you have to the greatest extent that you can. I am feeling a little crazy at the moment, ready for an insane adventure. I do not know what sort of adventure, but whatever it is, it will be fun because I will make it so. Things will work out the way they are supposed to. If I am meant to be alone, then so be it. If I am meant to spend my life with someone special, then so be that. I can do whatever I want, anything I want, and, in that, there is comfort, there is joy, there is a sense of not knowing what is coming next but not being afraid of that unknown. It is this lack of fear that has suddenly brought me a new found sense of freedom. I just hope the feeling isn’t temporary.
In a ridiculous series of events yesterday morning, I accidentally locked myself out of my own house. While it was a little less than convenient, it did provide me (albeit forced) an opportunity to stop for a minute and think about the direction of my life. I had nothing else to do except to wait for my spare key to arrive via its holder who was slightly delayed due to being at work at the time. I was hoping that my dog would somehow miraculously figure out how to jump up and hit the doorknob at least well enough to open the door a crack and let me back in; but instead he simply whimpered near the door’s base thinking he was missing out on something on the outside. So, instead, I decided to take a walk rather than look like a fool on my front stoop for the next hour. It had been quite a while since I walked the streets of my neighborhood and the surrounding area. Thankfully, it was an unusually warm winter day.
Perhaps I just needed the sunlight more than anything having been stuck on the night shift for the past week and having hardly seen the sun for being asleep during the day. Whatever it was, it seemed to change my perspective in just the way I needed. Not that I suddenly came to some great epiphany walking the streets in my work clothes and looking aimless on a weekday morning; but rather later that evening and into the next day (after a good bit of rest), I decided that I was making life a little more difficult than it needed to be at the moment.
I’ve done this repeatedly throughout my life, worrying about things that need not be worried about, expecting too much from relationships and trying so hard to make things work that I lose the whole point of the adventure and any meaning it could have. I was about to fall into the same trap again. Instead of worrying so much if a relationship is going to work, if you are truly compatible, if you are good for each other; sometimes you just have to let go and let time show you. It’s about going with the flow and, most importantly, enjoying yourself and the life you have. If you are always worried about your relationship, then how are you supposed to enjoy your relationship? Just do what comes naturally, and the rest will take care of itself.
It had been obvious to me since childhood that there is no ‘secret to life.’ There is nothing that makes you inherently a happier person, not even love. Life simply has to be lived. Beyond that, it is our choice (at least to some extent) to enjoy it or to be bogged down in misery. I realize that there are traumatic events that alter our existence, parts of our lives that can pull us into deep depression with no hope in sight. The same is true for ecstasy, although, in either case, the feeling is generally fleeting, even if the fleeting is extremely slow at times. We get what we get in this life, and we have to deal with it.
My new perspective is this: why get trapped in a cycle of anxiety and depression over things that I cannot change. Instead, go with the flow and enjoy everything and everyone you have to the greatest extent that you can. I am feeling a little crazy at the moment, ready for an insane adventure. I do not know what sort of adventure, but whatever it is, it will be fun because I will make it so. Things will work out the way they are supposed to. If I am meant to be alone, then so be it. If I am meant to spend my life with someone special, then so be that. I can do whatever I want, anything I want, and, in that, there is comfort, there is joy, there is a sense of not knowing what is coming next but not being afraid of that unknown. It is this lack of fear that has suddenly brought me a new found sense of freedom. I just hope the feeling isn’t temporary.
Monday, January 7, 2008
State of Flux
Things do not suddenly feel the same anymore. Something has changed, but I do not know quite what exactly the problem, if there is a problem, is. I feel half like I need a change of scenery or something completely new to explore and half like I simply want to retreat from this world for a while into one in which the hardest decision to make is done from a sofa under a slew of blankets and involves choosing which movie to watch first. I alternately feeling the need to have other people around me and wanting no one at all to even call on the telephone.
My house is the biggest mess (and yes, I realize, for most people it would not be considered as such) it has been since I moved in, and yet I have not the time to tend to it for working so much. I am tired of looking at the Christmas decorations that should no longer be there, and yet, I dread the comparatively bare look that will return once they are taken down. I do not want the food that I have in the house, but going out hardly provides anything enticing enough to make the effort to go after at the moment. I have seen most of my friends and family members on the last few weeks, but mostly in small doses and with very little quality one and one time so that I feel like I’ve met my social obligations but only in a bare minimum sort of way. Everything has been so out of sorts that nothing seems quite the same, not even the clothes I choose to put on each day. My shoes seem all too familiar, the rooms of my house, even the furniture arrangement. Yet, I have no solution, no way to change it, and no routine to fall back on to return a feeling of normalcy. I don’t even know that I want to change anything or that it would do any good.
I feel the need desperately to produce something creative, something fresh and new to expunge this feeling, and yet I know not how exactly to do that. I fear if I pull out the paintbrush, I will be looking at a blank canvas for hours with nothing to show for it. My writing, even here, is not completely fulfilling my creative needs at this exact moment, cooking won’t do it, even my music seems to need an alteration, yet I know now where to turn for a new tune or a new song. Even the new stuff seems that same, somehow. Every bar, every restaurant, every street seems old hat at the moment, predictable and unsatisfying to the point of almost being annoying.
It’s not like there is something wrong with my life at the moment. I have everything I could possibly need. I am sure the feeling will pass; I just wish it would hurry in doing so. I have come to hate this time of year. The holidays have passed; there is no more constant excitement. While it is often overwhelming, all that must be done in December; there is a huge difference when you pair it with the dark and dreary winter of January and February. Sunday afternoons seem dead and dreary, the streets empty and the sky gray. Evenings are filled with dark skies and the light of television screens. Passion, excitement, and romance seem to have fallen dead with the trees, buried somewhere beneath the cold, gray earth.
Winter is a death, a dying of the earth before a spring renewal. It would seem that it has taken my sense of contentment with it this year. I yearn for something more, something new; and, yet, I do now know what. Things are changing again; I am in a state of flux. Where it shall lead me, I do not know.
My house is the biggest mess (and yes, I realize, for most people it would not be considered as such) it has been since I moved in, and yet I have not the time to tend to it for working so much. I am tired of looking at the Christmas decorations that should no longer be there, and yet, I dread the comparatively bare look that will return once they are taken down. I do not want the food that I have in the house, but going out hardly provides anything enticing enough to make the effort to go after at the moment. I have seen most of my friends and family members on the last few weeks, but mostly in small doses and with very little quality one and one time so that I feel like I’ve met my social obligations but only in a bare minimum sort of way. Everything has been so out of sorts that nothing seems quite the same, not even the clothes I choose to put on each day. My shoes seem all too familiar, the rooms of my house, even the furniture arrangement. Yet, I have no solution, no way to change it, and no routine to fall back on to return a feeling of normalcy. I don’t even know that I want to change anything or that it would do any good.
I feel the need desperately to produce something creative, something fresh and new to expunge this feeling, and yet I know not how exactly to do that. I fear if I pull out the paintbrush, I will be looking at a blank canvas for hours with nothing to show for it. My writing, even here, is not completely fulfilling my creative needs at this exact moment, cooking won’t do it, even my music seems to need an alteration, yet I know now where to turn for a new tune or a new song. Even the new stuff seems that same, somehow. Every bar, every restaurant, every street seems old hat at the moment, predictable and unsatisfying to the point of almost being annoying.
It’s not like there is something wrong with my life at the moment. I have everything I could possibly need. I am sure the feeling will pass; I just wish it would hurry in doing so. I have come to hate this time of year. The holidays have passed; there is no more constant excitement. While it is often overwhelming, all that must be done in December; there is a huge difference when you pair it with the dark and dreary winter of January and February. Sunday afternoons seem dead and dreary, the streets empty and the sky gray. Evenings are filled with dark skies and the light of television screens. Passion, excitement, and romance seem to have fallen dead with the trees, buried somewhere beneath the cold, gray earth.
Winter is a death, a dying of the earth before a spring renewal. It would seem that it has taken my sense of contentment with it this year. I yearn for something more, something new; and, yet, I do now know what. Things are changing again; I am in a state of flux. Where it shall lead me, I do not know.
Friday, January 4, 2008
A Year in Review
As our month long poll reviewing the past your in love has closed, I’m glad to see that most of us seem to fall somewhere in the middle on the emotional spectrum. I’m sad to see that someone found 2007 to be the loneliest year of their life (there is always hope, trust me, I know from experience); but I dare say that we’ve all been there at some point in our lives.
Where did my past year in love fall in the spectrum? Well, as with everything in my life, there is a complicated answer to that question. If things had continued the way they started last January, it would have most certainly been the loneliest year of my life. Thankfully, they did not. After a bitter breakup that December followed by several months of wallowing self-hatred and self-imposed complete chastity, I found myself in Seattle, where my mojo was finally reawakened, if not completely, at least to start.
It was in Seattle that I met someone who helped renew my faith in the idea that there were good men out there still, men who told the truth and were capable of just being themselves without a lot of grandstanding or hiding behind false portrayals of themselves. The idea that I was capable of love again began to enter my brain.
Before my week there, I had gone on a series of dates with a variety of men that had produced not a single spark of romance and had left me with a rather bitter taste in my mouth about the state of gay romance in general (go figure). I mean, how many guys did I have to meet to get to one with a little substance that was also capable of making my heart pitter-patter, even if only a little? Perhaps it was my own warped state of mind at the time that stunted any possibility of romance for me, but I’d prefer to think it was them. It just wasn’t my time, and the stack of near misses was beginning to become overwhelming.
Anyway, getting back to Seattle. When I went on that trip, I desperately needed a change in scenery and a new perspective. Thankfully, that is exactly what I got. By some miraculous stroke of luck, I came upon a man who was willing to show me around town who also happened to be a decent guy. I realize I could have been walking straight into a very dangerous situation being in a strange city by myself and trusting a virtual stranger. I’m lucky he wasn’t a west coast gay serial rapist/murderer; but I took the chance and it paid off. It was one of those moments in which you are so out of your normal character that you are able to see things in a new way. He even took me to the airport the morning I left and kissed me goodbye right there in front of everyone. It was just like being in a big gay romance movie. He was my Seattle boyfriend, if only for the moment.
Of course, the movie feeling never lasts, and I was warped back to reality once I returned to Kentucky. I had unfinished business to attend to with not just one, but two of my exes (I’ll spare you the details), which ultimately forced me to find alternative living arrangements and lead to the purchase of my first home of my own. While that should have been a happy time, it did not feel like the accomplishment it should have as it was muddled in with the bitter (and when I say bitter, I mean nasty bitter to the point that I was embarrassed by the things that came out of my mouth at times. At some points I was even physically ill over the whole situation) remnants of one long-term relationship and one ridiculous half-second moment of insanity with a male nurse.
I had a few more dates with a few more unremarkable men that failed to hold my interest, which led me at that point to sort of let my romantic life slide for a while. I ended a couple of half-hearted casual dating situations to focus on my friends and the reconstruction of my suddenly shambled existence. My lowest point occurred when I allowed a man I had recently begun a series of conversations with over an internet dating service to come by my home to meet me in person. Falling just short of throwing myself at him in a lame attempt to gather some sort (any sort) of physical affection, I realized I had become desperate; and that was not who I was. It was time to stop.
So entered this very blog into my life back in late June of this year. I never thought I’d be comfortable exposing myself as directly as I have here, but it has been more therapeutic to me than I ever imagined. And, besides that, I find that in order to truly relate to something, especially in matters of romance and emotion, it has to be real, honest, and from the heart, regardless of how raw it comes out. Instead of making me vulnerable, the exposure of myself has actually made me stronger in that I am forced to own the truth. I feel more obligated and responsible to follow a better path because if I screw up, I have to own up to it here in front of all of you.
When I started writing, I was at an emotional and romantic low point for the second time this year; but there was a difference this time. This time I was able to accept the idea that I was alone and that if no one came along, I’d still be alright. I could still make it on my own; and besides that, I had an incredible network of friends to help me along. In fact, I was making it on my own and I was doing alright, one day at a time. I had let everything go and accepted the fact that I had to start with a clean slate in every aspect of my life.
Then fall came. Sort of by accident, I met a man who has forced me to rethink my idea of what a relationship is and can be. Without even trying, he has managed to calm my very restless and uneasy, often haunted heart and mind. Ever so slowly and patiently we have begun to build a relationship, doing our best to create a well-rounded one, one with substance and staying power. It is an adventure that, so far, had allowed me to be myself completely, in which I haven’t lost myself in the process of it. We have become part of each other’s lives without sacrificing any part of ourselves; and, everyday, we grow stronger together, one step at a time. For this, I am eternally grateful.
And so I end 2007 in a complete 180 degree turn from the way I began. It was a lonely year at times, yes, ecstatically joyful at others; but overall a very enlightening one. It was a year of bitter endings, but also new beginnings and new loves. A big gay roller-coaster ride full of surprise up and downs. What can I say? Nothing in my life has ever been anything if not complicated. I could use a little more stability in 2008, but only time will tell if that is possible. Either way, let the adventure begin…
Happy New Year!
[It was the year of the D’s, you guys brought me back from the love and romance graveyard. I can’t thank you enough. Here’s to you DH and DJ].
Where did my past year in love fall in the spectrum? Well, as with everything in my life, there is a complicated answer to that question. If things had continued the way they started last January, it would have most certainly been the loneliest year of my life. Thankfully, they did not. After a bitter breakup that December followed by several months of wallowing self-hatred and self-imposed complete chastity, I found myself in Seattle, where my mojo was finally reawakened, if not completely, at least to start.
It was in Seattle that I met someone who helped renew my faith in the idea that there were good men out there still, men who told the truth and were capable of just being themselves without a lot of grandstanding or hiding behind false portrayals of themselves. The idea that I was capable of love again began to enter my brain.
Before my week there, I had gone on a series of dates with a variety of men that had produced not a single spark of romance and had left me with a rather bitter taste in my mouth about the state of gay romance in general (go figure). I mean, how many guys did I have to meet to get to one with a little substance that was also capable of making my heart pitter-patter, even if only a little? Perhaps it was my own warped state of mind at the time that stunted any possibility of romance for me, but I’d prefer to think it was them. It just wasn’t my time, and the stack of near misses was beginning to become overwhelming.
Anyway, getting back to Seattle. When I went on that trip, I desperately needed a change in scenery and a new perspective. Thankfully, that is exactly what I got. By some miraculous stroke of luck, I came upon a man who was willing to show me around town who also happened to be a decent guy. I realize I could have been walking straight into a very dangerous situation being in a strange city by myself and trusting a virtual stranger. I’m lucky he wasn’t a west coast gay serial rapist/murderer; but I took the chance and it paid off. It was one of those moments in which you are so out of your normal character that you are able to see things in a new way. He even took me to the airport the morning I left and kissed me goodbye right there in front of everyone. It was just like being in a big gay romance movie. He was my Seattle boyfriend, if only for the moment.Of course, the movie feeling never lasts, and I was warped back to reality once I returned to Kentucky. I had unfinished business to attend to with not just one, but two of my exes (I’ll spare you the details), which ultimately forced me to find alternative living arrangements and lead to the purchase of my first home of my own. While that should have been a happy time, it did not feel like the accomplishment it should have as it was muddled in with the bitter (and when I say bitter, I mean nasty bitter to the point that I was embarrassed by the things that came out of my mouth at times. At some points I was even physically ill over the whole situation) remnants of one long-term relationship and one ridiculous half-second moment of insanity with a male nurse.
I had a few more dates with a few more unremarkable men that failed to hold my interest, which led me at that point to sort of let my romantic life slide for a while. I ended a couple of half-hearted casual dating situations to focus on my friends and the reconstruction of my suddenly shambled existence. My lowest point occurred when I allowed a man I had recently begun a series of conversations with over an internet dating service to come by my home to meet me in person. Falling just short of throwing myself at him in a lame attempt to gather some sort (any sort) of physical affection, I realized I had become desperate; and that was not who I was. It was time to stop.
So entered this very blog into my life back in late June of this year. I never thought I’d be comfortable exposing myself as directly as I have here, but it has been more therapeutic to me than I ever imagined. And, besides that, I find that in order to truly relate to something, especially in matters of romance and emotion, it has to be real, honest, and from the heart, regardless of how raw it comes out. Instead of making me vulnerable, the exposure of myself has actually made me stronger in that I am forced to own the truth. I feel more obligated and responsible to follow a better path because if I screw up, I have to own up to it here in front of all of you.
When I started writing, I was at an emotional and romantic low point for the second time this year; but there was a difference this time. This time I was able to accept the idea that I was alone and that if no one came along, I’d still be alright. I could still make it on my own; and besides that, I had an incredible network of friends to help me along. In fact, I was making it on my own and I was doing alright, one day at a time. I had let everything go and accepted the fact that I had to start with a clean slate in every aspect of my life.
Then fall came. Sort of by accident, I met a man who has forced me to rethink my idea of what a relationship is and can be. Without even trying, he has managed to calm my very restless and uneasy, often haunted heart and mind. Ever so slowly and patiently we have begun to build a relationship, doing our best to create a well-rounded one, one with substance and staying power. It is an adventure that, so far, had allowed me to be myself completely, in which I haven’t lost myself in the process of it. We have become part of each other’s lives without sacrificing any part of ourselves; and, everyday, we grow stronger together, one step at a time. For this, I am eternally grateful.
And so I end 2007 in a complete 180 degree turn from the way I began. It was a lonely year at times, yes, ecstatically joyful at others; but overall a very enlightening one. It was a year of bitter endings, but also new beginnings and new loves. A big gay roller-coaster ride full of surprise up and downs. What can I say? Nothing in my life has ever been anything if not complicated. I could use a little more stability in 2008, but only time will tell if that is possible. Either way, let the adventure begin…
Happy New Year!
[It was the year of the D’s, you guys brought me back from the love and romance graveyard. I can’t thank you enough. Here’s to you DH and DJ].
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Goodbye Santa
I have never been one who was very good at letting go of things, whether it be my favorite sticker as a child, my parents when I moved off to college, or my own opinion, no matter how wrong it may turn out to be. I've been told that I can belabor a point to death or hassle someone for information to the point of driving them crazy. It is a character flaw, I know. Most especially, though, it is people that I have a hard time letting go of, even if they haven't exactly been a good influence on my overall well-being.
I am reminded of this in several ways these past few weeks. today, it was saying goodbye to my family after their annual holiday visit. The first reminder, however, occurred at the beginning of the holiday season, sitting inside with my family as the ice and snow fell outside. I was in the middle of a round of Christmas movies when I began to recall my childhood relationship with the man in red, the great Santa Claus. Even after I knew there was no such thing (at least in the way commercial America would lead you to believe), I still clung to the idea, encouraging the notion with my younger brother and playing along with all the holiday rituals. I didn't want to let the idea go.
I once even caught my parents filling Easter baskets late the night before the big day. Instead of accepting that there was no Easter Bunny, however, I rationalized that he was sick and that Mom and Dad were helping him out this year so that we wouldn't miss anything. Absurd, I know.
As I think about it, though, I begin to realize that I've done the same ting in several of my past relationship as well. How often do we rationalize the situation and stay with someone who may no be the best for us? How often do we chose not to see the truth, going through the motions and playing along just for the sake of not letting go? How often do we cling to something that only brings us down just for the sake of not being alone? I'm good at putting blinders on, I'm good at not letting myself see the truth that I know is there, I'm good at rationalizing the situation; and it would seem that I have been good at it since childhood.
At some point, though, we've got to let go. I've learned that the hard way in bad relationship after bad relationship. Perhaps it's about growing up, maturing, becoming an adult in the same way it is when we let go of our childhood fantasies. If we rationalize everything away, what substance are we left with? What kind of relationship are we stuck in and how can we possibly move forward and grow?
I am reminded of this in several ways these past few weeks. today, it was saying goodbye to my family after their annual holiday visit. The first reminder, however, occurred at the beginning of the holiday season, sitting inside with my family as the ice and snow fell outside. I was in the middle of a round of Christmas movies when I began to recall my childhood relationship with the man in red, the great Santa Claus. Even after I knew there was no such thing (at least in the way commercial America would lead you to believe), I still clung to the idea, encouraging the notion with my younger brother and playing along with all the holiday rituals. I didn't want to let the idea go.
I once even caught my parents filling Easter baskets late the night before the big day. Instead of accepting that there was no Easter Bunny, however, I rationalized that he was sick and that Mom and Dad were helping him out this year so that we wouldn't miss anything. Absurd, I know.
As I think about it, though, I begin to realize that I've done the same ting in several of my past relationship as well. How often do we rationalize the situation and stay with someone who may no be the best for us? How often do we chose not to see the truth, going through the motions and playing along just for the sake of not letting go? How often do we cling to something that only brings us down just for the sake of not being alone? I'm good at putting blinders on, I'm good at not letting myself see the truth that I know is there, I'm good at rationalizing the situation; and it would seem that I have been good at it since childhood.
At some point, though, we've got to let go. I've learned that the hard way in bad relationship after bad relationship. Perhaps it's about growing up, maturing, becoming an adult in the same way it is when we let go of our childhood fantasies. If we rationalize everything away, what substance are we left with? What kind of relationship are we stuck in and how can we possibly move forward and grow?
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