The Lovers, the Dreamers, and Me

This is the picture I've been trying to load on to my last post. Leave it to Picasa

Not like you. Not like me. And that's OK

I have long liked the movie Pleasantville, and only recently did I realize it’s all about coming out, in a way. Even though the movie may seem to focus on what would be considered a kind of racial stereotyping, it certainly fits for me in coming out.

I suppose one of the facts about being human is that we tend to like to be around others who are somewhat similar to ourselves. It’s the “people-like-us” syndrome. Keeping things nicely uniform, maintaining certain standards, upholding particular moral teachings. All these things are good. But they can have a dark side, like anything else.

I have Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). I always have. That has been part of my hard battle with the “people-like-us” syndrome. The other part is the fact that I am queer. And, now that I see that it is a fact and not some defect or bad choice, it magnifies my anger with the “people-like-us” syndrome.

(Now that I am in my early stages of coming out, I must admit: all I really want to do is be with others who are like me. I want to be with lots of hairy men, rubbing fur together, dancing and getting really sweaty, and . . . . . Well, you get the picture.)

I see nothing wrong with wanting to be with people of similar taste, touch, smell, etc. But when we set up our likes and desires as the standard of behavior for everyone else, it becomes a choke-hold on others. A demand that you should “be like me.”

It may get to the point of becoming a mind set that says “if you aren’t acting like me, looking like me, behaving like me, thinking like me, voting like me. . . . . . then there is something wrong with you.

Another angle on the “people-like-us” syndrome is really more insidious: All you have to do is be-like-me. The answer to your problem (read: MY problem with you) is to be like me. Think, act, behave, love. . . . like me.

Back to my ADD: for decades I beat myself up; “why can’t I be like other folk. Why can’t I stick to what I’m doing, follow through on projects, remember to do things, or plan ahead. Why can’t I be like other people.” A lot of years, a lot of pain, a lot of self-loathing. Why can’t I? Because I am different. I am not like other people. My brain does not work that way.

Of course, the same self-loathing, the same kind of questions arose in my soul regarding my deep attraction to other males. “Why won’t this go away? Why can’t I stop these feelings? What am I doing wrong? Can’t I get it right? Why don’t I seem to be like everyone else?”

Over the years, I have been asked by others (particular my grandmothers, who whined me into submission), “Why can’t you be like other children.” And, over the years, as I tried to think in a straight line (no pun intended, but it’s a pretty good one), plan and work like everyone else, be a good straight (not queer) little boy, and big boy and young man.

Prayed over, exorcized, years of therapy, many years beseeching God to make me straight, convincing God that God got my imago Dei all wrong. Tears, fears, guilt, shame. You know.

One of my big beefs with the Church right now is this constant chant to “just be like us.” All you have to do is. . . . .
That’s all. Oh.

To accept that there is nothing wrong with me. To accept that this is me, and I like me. This feels victorious!

We all got issues. We all got problems. I’m not claiming perfection here. But in accepting myself and denying the demands of others to conform, I am able to accept others even more easily. And, it also allows me to focus on what real problems/issues I have.

Is it any reason I’ve always loved rainbows?


(Thanks to Kelly for the picture and challenge. The picture is posted above, as a separate post.)

Pleasing

I am such a pleaser. I "just want everyone to be happy." Oh, how I can hear my mother saying those words as if that were the point, the goal, the reason for life. Make everyone happy. Don't rock the boat. "Son, now, don't say anything that will upset somebody."

So, I haven't. I don't. And I regret it. But to disabuse myself of the idea that I will die if I upset someone is difficult. Convincing myself of the truth has not been easy. It is a struggle I've lived with, and it seems the struggle will continue.

To "talk big" or "bark loudly" doesn't mean I've learned to bite.

I have to work all weekend. Shucks. Again. I'm getting a little squirrely and need to take some time for myself and go for a walk in the woods.

One to Hug

I don't have many friends, hardly any. But I have one friend who is gay, and he knows my secret. He has been very supportive of me in this process, acknowleging how painful parts of it are for me.

And he gives great hugs! He let's me talk and he let's me hug him and squeeze. It means a lot. No, we haven't "done it", nor do I plan to. I don't want to mess things up with sex. One day, I'd love to, but not now. It's important for me to be faithful to present commitments. I am a married man.

But he let's me hold him, and smell him, and rub my hands on his back; and that means so much. I can hold him authentically, not having to be concerned about "will he get the wrong idea." I have always loved to hug, and I hug a lot. But with men (straight men) I get concerned that I might hug too much.

I know some other gay men, but I am not out to them. Though they probably have figured me out. This friend is one with whom I can be real. Thanks be to God.

Cheers, Joe.

A little lonely

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
A long ways from home
A long ways from home
True believer
A long ways from home
A long ways from home

A counselor friend of mine told me, "Nothing is more traumatic for a gay man than the death of his mother." He didn't share his source, nor did I ask. Anyone have information on that one?

I know that we do tend to be very close to our mothers, and I was to mine for many years. And it is true that my desire to come out strengthened greatly after her death. I wonder why?

My mother is one who was always loving, accepting, understand. If she "knew" I was gay, she never said. Maybe she only suspected, or maybe not even that. I never had the chance to tell her, though I always felt she would understand (at some level) and still love me and welcome me home.

My father, on the other hand, has always shown strong signs of all kinds of bigotry, chauvinism, racism, you-name-it-isms. I always felt from him that I was never masculine enough, never good enough. Now, he has mellowed considerably in his old age (early 80's), and some of his opinions seem to have moderated.

Perhaps someday, I think, maybe, I could tell him. Maybe. His wife I believe would be understanding. (He's on wife number 3, and the best one he's found yet. She's loving, fun, understanding, just a great gal. And, she is much closer to my age than to his. Except for her taste in husbands, I can't fault the women).

I would have thought that the idea of coming out would have been more acceptable to me after my father's death, not after my mother's. It seems bassackwards to me, but then, often I go about things that way.

Now I am beginning to feel like that motherless child: no where to turn, no place to go, alone. I guess it's just this process. The thought of leaving what security I've got. The possibilities of poverty, loneliness, and darkness.

Guess today is sort of a tough one for me. Maybe tomorrow will be better. At least it will be another day. Thanks, Miss Scarlet.

Cheers, Joe.

Distractions

Twice now, it’s happened.  And within a year.  I can’t believe it.  How many times, in thrity plus years of driving have I filled the gas tank?  Thousands?  How many times have I forgotten to replace the gas cap?  Maybe twice.  Until this year.  And now I’ve twice forgotten.  Why?  Men.

A few months ago, it was a really cute guy in the convenience store.  He was inside working the register, and I was pumping gas, staring through the plate glass.  A little too much. And I drove off, leaving the gas cap on top of the pump.

Yesterday, I filled up at the cheapy gas station across from work ($2.67/gallon).  He was at the pump next to mine.  He was way beyond cute; he was hot.  Very.  I lost my concentration.  He spoke. Even though he finished filling the tank of his nice, big, red pickup and left before I finished, I was still distracted.  Nothing happened, no real flirting even.  I sure he was straight.  But I left my gas cap on the roof of the car.  

Twice.  In one year.  Men.  I’m not exactly complaining, mind you.

Cheers, Joe.

Schizo paradox

They don’t call it schizophrenia any more, it’s “schizo-affective.”

At least they have drugs for that. I am feeling very split between two very opposing worlds, lives, ways of thinking, ways of being. Not just different, but opposing.
A Queer in the Church.

Being queer and Christian has never been a problem for me. It’s the Church. And, it’s “Christians.” They are all driving me nuts.

So many GLBT folk have chucked the Church, and I really understand that. Not all parts of the Church are as condemnatory as, say the Southern Baptist tradition, or the “Focus on the Family” folk. But the majority of what one sees and hears and experiences is the rejection and condemnation.

And yet I am part of the Church. Granted, I am in a more liberal end of a more liberal denomination, but we are having our troubles with the “sexuality” issue. And it may bring us to a split of some sort, this summer.

And, being queer is so very antithetical to many Christians and most Churches, that I don’t even think I could begin to explain. It is really different, and I am trying to figure out how and where and what.

I have been reading Soul Beneath the Skin by David Nimmons, and I highly recommend it. Now that I have finally come out to myself, I am accepting just how different I am, and it is beginning to pervade my life. And it’s scary.

Can I continue in the Church? Can I continue in a leadership position in the Church? I just don’t know.

Part of the scariness of all this coming out business is the darkness: facing into the darkness wondering if anyone is there. It would be a lot easier to go out and find some guy to shack up with. At least then I would have someplace to go. Now it’s just darkness.

I had a bad cold this past week. Nothing big, just a cold. But the thought of being sick and alone was scary. I am afraid of that lonely darkness: no family, no job, no career, no way to support my children, old, sick, alone.

It is all a big paradox. Being marked as unacceptable by the Church, being jeered as unacceptable by GLBT folk who have no use for the Church. Leaving family to find . . . what?

But it’s like so many paradoxes: giving to receive, dying to live, and so on. Paradox often points to holiness; a place that makes no sense, but is nonetheless the only way. Emptying to be made full. Showing power by serving. Victory through defeat. Life in the midst of death.
Where will it end? Where will I be? And, how?

Slogging

Sometimes I feel like I am sinking. This past week the depression has set in, and motivating myself has become difficult. It's like slogging through mud. Either I lift my feet up out of the muck for the next step or just drag them along. One way or the other, it takes a lot of effort.

I have these competing emotions/feelings/thoughts of being very close to my wife, closer than we've been in a long time. Honesty will do that. Truly it is the best policy. But then I sometimes feel farther from her than ever before. Am I afraid of getting too close? I know I am afraid of hurting her, but I can honestly see how I am trying to keep from hurting me, too.

It has been nearly three months since we had our first talk, my final coming out conversation with her. Counselor has suggested we each (separately) devise a timetable of concrete steps for the next few weeks. And that was at least three weeks ago. He had to cancel the next appointment and we have neglected to make a new one.

And of course I have neglected to do any thinking concretely. . . . about anything.

Onward, upward, outward.

Cheers, Joe.

Dramatis personae

It has been way too long since last posting, and I've missed it. And yet, I haven't felt inspired to post anything. Sometimes the Spirit moves in the writing, and I write pages, and then say, "@$%*(+@!" and delete it all and start over.

Our road trip of the last post went well except for the actually road part. 500 miles of driving in pouring rain, thunder, and lightning made me ready for down-time in a padded cell. Please, just leave me be, in silence and darkness; just deliver the meals.

In my job, I come into contact with all sorts of people. Last week, I encountered a big, bearish man in an ancilary profession. Through our work contact we remained basically professional, but then there was that stare. I'm guessing I started it, but he stared right back. I held on just a little longer; so did he. Then, the prolonged handshake, and a bit of a wink.

Of course we both have wedding rings, wives, children. In our contacts over the years, I have always really figured he was gay. [My gaydar seems to work rather well]. But for some reason, we came on to each other, just a little bit. In a silent sort of way, we "outed" each other. But nothing was ever overt. I did not grab him and lick my way across his beard, though such things did cross my mind (and other places).

It feels so odd. I have always reckoned he was gay, but maybe something in me is giving off stronger signals. Maybe I made some move, some gesture that gave me away. Did co-workers notice? Who can say. It feels odd because I really enjoyed the flirting and fixated on him just a bit, for the rest of the day.

Making contact would probably not be in our best interests, but if he did . . . .
And what kind of contact; what words should be spoken. Typically, I want to go up to him (privately) and say, "Well, now that we have outed each other, what do we do?"

Yes, I want to jump his bones. I want to jump every guy's bones. But what about friendship without the sex. Is it possible, or will I sabotage it with acting out? Time will tell.

Somehow, I expect that when I "come out" publically, most people well may say, "It's about time." Enough for today.

Cheers, Joe.

Road Trip

And now for something completely different . . . .

Tomorrow morning, my family and I leave for Memphis, TN (is there another?). It's a road trip!
My oldest child is looking at colleges. It is decision time. Said child has been accepted in four schools, and now we must decide. I might also need to find a good bankruptcy lawyer, too!

I've never been to Memphis, so this will be a first for me. The biggest downside is that it's about a 500 mile trip. That will make for a long time of all of us in the confined spaces of an automobile. We will be attempting this without strapping anyone to the roof. Pray for our success in that regard.

Packing and laundry to get down. Away we go! Cheers!