Winter

Ok, I'd let this drop off for way too long again...

Winter is my least favorite time of the year. It's cold, it becomes a pain in the butt to go anywhere, it's dark all the time, and it's just plain depressing. Throw holidays into the mix, and it's just one big recipe for people being constantly upset.

It's been a bit of a while for me feeling ready to head back into the nonprofit world, but yet it looks like I'm still going to have to wait a while in order to get some momentum going on that trajectory.

So this year, it seems, is going to be like any other year, where it looks like I'll just be surviving through the winter. And with hope and maybe some luck, spring will be the time to bring better things...

Sorry I don't have anything more upbeat or even detailed for those of you who follow at the moment, but winter tends to make me tired and just a little bit depressed, if you couldn't tell. Hopefully I'll have better updates sooner...

Mawwiage...

After my last post, and realizing how strongly I came across with regard to the whole "Marriage is the WRONG FIGHT" thing, I think I need to dedicate a full post to my position on the entire Marriage thing and talk about it in full.

I think this is particularly because of the fact that I have a LOT of friends who had a vested interest in what was happening in CA, and that it is important to recognize that I'm not saying that what happened in all of those states was not important, that they shouldn't be hurt or upset about what happened, or that there has been such a large outcry from so many people in our country telling them/us that their relationships don't matter.

Here's the thing. With the end to sodomy, I feel like we had the chance to really sit down and strategize about where we wanted to go as a movement. And that we should have taken the precedent set in the establishment of privacy in the sodomy cases, that we should have focused on getting the government OUT of the business of marriage or of regulating relationships at all, in the first place.

The issues at hand are things like inheritance taxes that everybody other than married people have to pay, visitation and medical decision-making precedents, health and life insurance coverage, etc.

All of these things can be provided without needing to be connected to marriage. In fact, the reality that it is connected to marriage at the moment doesn't only leave out monogamous gay couples. It also leaves out polyamorous people (of which I identify), it leaves out families like my own that are parenting with more than 2 people even though there is only one primary monogamous couple within it, it leaves out adult people who are living with an elderly parent or grandparent, leaves out pairs or groups of elderly people who live together for mutual support and friendship (think the Golden Girls here, people!), and a ton of other people.

What we *could* have been doing in the past several years, instead of talking so much about how marriage was the key and that we wanted in, we COULD have been working towards getting the government OUT of marriage entirely. We COULD have been building coalitions with all of the other people above who have been left out of the marriage discussion, and adjoining our struggle for liberation with theirs, and with the betterment of not only the lives of a portion of our community, but to ALL of our community, and many people who otherwise would never have had any connection to us at all.

Instead, I've spent the last several years feeling like an outcast to my own community. Because every time we talk about the fight for marriage as if it's THE most important struggle in the movement, I hear a voice saying "you're a freak for not wanting monogamy, and you don't deserve to have the same rights as all of these couples." And yet, in the meantime, I had spent so many years feeling as if I'd given my life to the movement, and suddenly I was dedicating my life to a movement that considered me to be disposable.

So here we are now. Some states allow marriage, but many MANY others have constitutional amendments banning it. In all of those states, and in the ones that have not made either decision, what do we do? Where do we go from here?

This is where I believe we can finally start to work on the tasks that, in my opinion, we should have begun years ago when sodomy was finally struck down by the Supreme Court. Get the state out of the business of marriage. Set precedents that allow for people who are in intimate, loving relationships with each other to be able to visit and make medical decisions for one another, regardless of the type of relationship that they are in. Give us universal health coverage, so that no person is left without insurance, whether or not they are in a relationship with a partner who can provide it for them. Set a better precedent for dealing with inheritance and transfer of possessions.

We have a lot more work ahead of us to see the true differentiation between setting benefits for all people and only giving them based upon their relationship status. But it's the best and ultimate goal that we, as a movement, need to work toward. And in those states, like California, where people feel devastated and at a loss for what to do or where to go next, at least we can provide some direction. And in my opinion, it is sad that we had to go through the pain of having all of those couples needing to be told that their relationship doesn't matter by the state and by the majority of voters in their states, but I was not the one who chose the direction of the movement. I would argue that the people who decided that marriage was the real best fight owe all of those couples an apology, at least, for putting them through the pain and heartache. But even then, I don't believe that would help to heal the wounds that were dealt to them. Because in the meantime, their lives and relationships are still vulnerable. They still need their rights.

So let's not give up and give in to despair. Let's get out there and get them their rights. And get the rest of our communities their rights. Let's start networking and coalition-building. Let's focus on the core issues and needs that our community faces, and let's start fighting. And let's not give up until EVERYONE is covered by the same umbrella, and that EVERYONE is safe. We have a lot of work to do, and there isn't a moment to lose...

What This Means to Me - Bio

There are a lot of things that the election of Barack Obama means to me. There are a lot of very specific reasons why I feel so much more full of hope today than I did when I woke up yesterday. And in order to do that, I need to explain some context for me.

The first election I was able to vote in, I voted for Bill Clinton. I was excited, saw hope for the ability to take part in a political process, and saw the world as a much more clearly-defined fight of good versus evil. During that term, Bill Clinton turned around to offer us the Defense of Marriage Act, Don't Ask Don't Tell, only increased HIV/AIDS funding by a fraction of what we had hoped he would, and got us involved in several overseas military operations. We enacted sanctions against Iraq that served only to bolster Saddam Hussein's power base within that nation while crippling the livelihoods of most of the citizenship of the country. And finally, when Clinton himself failed to be there to support the queer community in our struggles, he found himself in a public scandal where he abused his power and position by engaging in a sexual relationship with an intern, and turned back to the same community he neglected, saying "you know what it's like to be marginalized because of your sexuality, why don't you come help bail me out of this now?" And most of the members of the leadership of our community seemed to take that line.

That was the guy I voted for. That was the result of my first vote as a full-fledged citizen of the United States of America. That was the action that I was supposed to be proud of.

In the meantime, I came out of the closet myself in the same year. After somebody scrawled an anti-gay epithet on my dorm-room door sophomore year, I reacted with probably more fear than should have been resultant of what was likely more a random act than something that was specifically targeted toward me. But I then channeled that fear, became angry, and realized that I didn't want anybody else to have to live with the fear that I had experienced. I sought out the university's multicultural division, attempted to resurrect an existent-but-dead gay-straight alliance, and though I was told that the organization wouldn't be able to have an official connection to the multicultural division, they expressed support for what I was doing.

In those days, I had effectively kicked down the closet doors. I determined that making the organization into a support group, while nice for the couple of students that showed up for meetings, would not allow for any sort of real or long-term change, I had determined that I wanted the organization to be more activist and social-change-based in nature. With a long history of Catholic upbringing, and a connection to various Catholic social justice teaching at my back, I was able to ward off and fight against all of the religious-zeal opponents to SAYSO's mission, and was able to sway public culture within the university.

At the same time, I took my anger at not being included in the multicultural division's umbrella and turned it around. I recognized that I had no right whatsoever to be angry at others not reaching out to help mend our issues as queer students, if I myself was unwilling to understand and take on the issues of the POC on campus. And thus I began reaching out to the AHANA communities on campus, attended as many cultural celebration events as I could, engaged in struggles, joined the multicultural task force, helped organize the diversity conference held at the school, and even became, my senior year, one of the co-directors of cultural celebrations on the student council.

Those same years also marked the height of activism surrounding the janitorial staff on the university. Before I'd entered it, the university had decided to fire the entire staff and re-hire them the very next day through an outsourcing company. This cut their wages substantially, meant that they were no longer eligible for benefits (including tuition remission for themselves and their children, which was a tremendous blow to opportunity), and that they were greatly more vulnerable in their positions. Over the course of years, students, faculty and staff had been mounting protest to the decision and asking for some sort of benefits for the mistreated workers to be enacted, that the university was responsible for their welfare. This all came to a head while I was at school, and I took part in rallies, teach-ins, a sit-in, and a hunger strike. I was one of two students chosen to sit on a committee with two faculty and two administrators to come up with university policy dealing with any outsourced workers. Including the right to organize.

The janitorial staff finally gained recognition of their union, were awarded their first union contract while I was there, and while struggle was everywhere, everything was possible. Few students wanted to take part in the goings-on with the gay-straight alliance, so I did most of the work on that front. I was one of about 15 key players in the unionization fight, and I was one of the most prominent white students in the multicultural relations division. When I was getting ready to graduate, and I approached a counselor because of all that I saw still needing to be changed, and felt as if I hadn't done enough, one of the most shining memories in my life was her response that "my name has become synonymous with change on this campus."

Even still, when I look back and see the changes that have occurred on the campus of that university, which has now enacted a full-fledged safe space program, is being recognized as the most queer-friendly catholic institution in the US, and has slowly grown to become a campus where diversity is a prominent issue, I can't help but look back with a sense of pride. Because in those days, the struggle was uphill, and I always felt alone, but I also felt that I could do anything. Even as a single person, I was able to move mountains.

I graduated in 2000, and instead of doing the expected thing and going to grad school, I went to live in the New Haven Catholic Worker. At the time it was entitled the "Cesar Jerez Catholic Worker" but has since changed its name to the "Amistad Catholic Worker". I took part in an action protesting Sikorsky Aircraft and the fact that it lobbied Congress to waive its own human rights standards for giving foreign military aid to Columbia, then turned around and was awarded a $13 billion dollar contract to construct Blackhawk Helicopters to the Columbian military. Helicopters which had already been known for use in terrorizing dissidents in the nation, including assassinating union organizers, supporting paramilitary groups, and other acts of state-sponsored terror. I was arrested for trespassing in an act of civil disobedience.

During this time, I saw the campaign of Al Gore and realized that his policies would have meant more of the same betrayals that Bill Clinton had heaped upon my first political act. Knowing that the Green Party had no chance of winning anything, I determined that I'd feel better voting for somebody who I believed in, rather than voting for somebody that I thought would merely be marginally better than the other guy who had a shot.

When Julie approached me about parenting, my first thought was an emphatic "hell no." But after a lot of thought, I realized that I had always wanted to be a parent as a child, growing up, until the point where I came out and simply *assumed* that I could never parent as a gay male. I also had very doubtful concepts about the prospects of relationships in general being unstable, and so I figured that if ever there was a way that I would bring a child into the world, that was the type of situation I'd do it in... a friendship, based upon concepts of community and mutual responsibility. I moved to Maryland in December of 2000, only six months after having moved into the Catholic Worker, and began a new life.

I spent many of the next years volunteering with Amnesty International, The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, the Sexual Minority Youth Assistance League, and was a member of a community advisory board for HIV vaccine trials. I got a job that I loved working as a conference organizer at the National Minority AIDS Council, and stayed there for three years.

But in 2000, Bush went into office, even based upon a stolen election. In 2001, at the first conference that I was organizing for the National Minority AIDS Council, the United States Conference on AIDS that was scheduled to begin on September 13th had to be canceled because of the terrorist attack that had occurred exactly 2 days earlier. I witnessed activists in those couple of days scramble to do whatever they could to get to the hotel, make it to the conference anyway, and put together whatever bare-bones program they could, because the mission was more important than the fear.

Bush cut HIV/AIDS spending substantially, many program funds were diverted into faith-based and abstinence-only programs, and after 3 years with NMAC, I was laid off due to a lack of unrestricted funds in the organization. I had identified so strongly as an activist that I took the first non-profit job I could find, as an office manager for an environmental funding organization for the Galapagos Islands. The mere three months that I spent there, I realized that I had a problem with an overinflated ego for the accomplishments I'd made, as I disdained doing filing and answering telephones as my primary job functions, couldn't bear the constant racism of the director and two of the other people in the office who could never stop talking about why Asians shouldn't be allowed to drive, and that the people of Ecuador couldn't figure out a way to run an organization properly if their lives depended on it, and how stupid they all were. That I was having to commute 2 hours each way to get there didn't help matters much. Three months later, it was mutually decided that the relationship wasn't working, and we parted ways. I took a job temporarily at Home Depot while applying to other activist jobs.

When I landed at the Family Pride Coalition as a Development Associate, I thought I'd finally landed home. I was greatly demoralized already by what had happened, but had seen a great deal of possibility. Unfortunately, I also learned that I was not the superman I'd envisioned myself as in college. Development work comes hard for me, and outside of grant writing, I haven't tended to be particularly successful at it. The people I invited to our major annual fundraising event never materialized, keeping track of the membership database gave me bad flashbacks of my previous job doing filing, and prospecting for corporate sponsorships was immensely straining. I managed to get through it, and was building their grant program from scratch, but after another short three-month stint, the Executive Director called me in and told me that, while she liked the grant work I was doing, she couldn't justify continuing to pay me a salary. I was out of a job again, and more demoralized than I had ever been before.

By this point, Bush took office again, and this time it was clear that he didn't steal it, but the American people offered it to him freely. I went crawling back to Home Depot, and promised to stay for a year so that I could add some degree of stability to my resume again.

If ever there was a time where I crashed and hit a low, that was it. The thing that kept me going at that point was the fact that Sara was pregnant with Dayton, and I continued to do volunteer and consulting work with the Task Force, Equality Maryland, Amnesty International, and the DC Rape Crisis Center.

But as my one-year commitment turned to two and then three, and I realized that I was straining my time while still not getting any jobs, and never feeling as if I'd come out of the state of burn-out that I'd gotten myself into, I had to cut myself off from all volunteering and other political activity completely.

What conclusions I'd come to were the fact that I'd literally given my life for the sake of change, and yet time and again, it felt as if organizations and the people within them were doing it for the sake of their own careers, and were willing to do anything to anybody in order to get what they wanted. I took very small consolation whenever I found out that the ED who'd been running Family Pride at the time of my departure had almost driven the organization into the ground, and that the ED who inherited the organization from her was having trouble paying the bills in the years to follow. I still had taken the firing as a blow to my own abilities, and to my own self.

This is where I lost all hope in humanity and the world. People had CHOSEN George W Bush to lead them, TWICE. I'd lost my job in the HIV/AIDS field because funding was becoming scarce there, and I realized exactly how unstable it was of a field. I realized that I couldn't bring myself to work in an organization that didn't share my values, but also realized how few organizations DO share my values. And again, Family Pride had been the Mack Truck to my limping pride, for it told me that I not only was not the superman who was able to accomplish anything with determination alone that I'd believed myself to be four years earlier, but that stability wasn't anywhere. Not only that, but what sacrifices I'd made for the community and the world in years past didn't matter now, and never would again. What mattered was what I was doing now. And what I was doing now, and still am, is working at Home Depot, a company that has anti-union policies, that despite reputation does NOT treat its workers well, and which is a company focused not on values but on profit.

Given all of that, I shouldn't wonder about the fact that I started feeling abandonment issues and an overwhelming need for validation from loved ones. In the days since, I've fallen into a pattern of neediness, obsession, and self-victimization in some sort of search for love that is supposed to give me the sense of meaning that I used to find in the world.

But today is a different day. Today, voters across the country have re-affirmed to me that we CAN make a difference again. That maybe the need for a connection with one another is more important than the desire to set ourselves apart. This morning, I've read exhortations from other nations that have been borderline adversarial with the United States, brimming with excitement for a new day, where we can work together WITH our fellow nations, rather than as a bullying dictator of nations. Today, I live in a world where economic recession will only continue so far before it backtracks and returns. Today, I live in a nation that is going to recognize the NEED for social programs, the overwhelming need for HIV/AIDS funding, the crisis that exists within Washington, DC itself with such high incidences of HIV infections.

Is this world or nation perfect now, and getting better? Not yet. The votes have still come in that have given California, Arkansas, and a number of other states constitutional amendments writing discrimination into law in those states. However, I also can't help but remember when the Romer decision came out, banning all sodomy laws, and thinking "Thank god, now we can really strategize our movement, get the government out of the business of determining what types of relationships really matter, and create a REAL social change in how our nation defines human interactions and relationships with one another." Before hours later, when Robin Tyler and other activists hijacked our movement, made public declarations that marriage was the next battlefront, and forced the entire movement into a stage-play that was inevitably headed towards this tragedy.

There is still a silver lining to that, though. We have our proof that Marriage was the WRONG FIGHT. We know now that the REAL challenge is social change. The REAL challenge is to get the government OUT of the business of marriage entirely, not to simply open up the window of marriage a little bit to include a few more people. The REAL challenge is to make *everybody* matter, not just a couple more than yesterday.

And today, with our first-ever Black President-Elect, we have the ability to DO that social change-building. We have the opportunity to change people's hearts and minds. We have the chance to enact universal health coverage, recognize the needs of ALL people within our nation and world, and work towards a better place for all of us. Not just the few and the powerful. Not just the Bushes, or the Clintons, or the Robin Tylers, or the HRC's, who can make back-room deals that cut out entire sections of our community in the name of marginal, incremental, or "pragmatic" improvements that set more obstacles towards future progress. Instead, we have opened up the path towards REAL progress. Towards a politics that does what is right, not just what is the next step that some privileged pundit has laid out for us.

Possibility has opened back up. We have a voice again. And we can express it. And with that renewed voice, I have felt empowered now in a way that I haven't since college, or that first doomed USCA. We can do it. With shoestrings and breadcrumbs, if need be. But we can do it. *I* can do it again. *I* have a voice, and I can speak out with it, to make certain that our movement is not hijacked again. To make certain that our country is not hijacked again. To make sure that our WORLD is not hijacked again. Because today, it is ours. I have a piece of that world again, and this time, I know that I cannot let it go. Because I've seen where that leads, and I never again want to go back into that dark, cold night.

Daring to Hope

I've been extremely skeptical coming into this election year. For me, it has seemed far too much that change has been too far away. That so often, our allies were even the ones who placed barriers in front of our goals for change.

Particularly in the past few years, being disillusioned and cynical, I've been keeping my distance from the political process, from the activist world that I have generally otherwise maintained as a part of my identity. I have not had very much hope in the world.

Even seeing the progression of the campaigns, I've maintained a certain emotional distance, thinking that it might be more of the politics of the same, even with the players being different in some way.

And yet, as I watched the election results roll in, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by emotion. Not only have we made a blip in history by electing the first black president of the United States, but we have seen a tremendous amount of change already. People came out to vote in record numbers today. People who have felt isolated from the political process, who have considered themselves to be outsiders to the decisions that have been made on the Hill, came out and voted in numbers that have not been seen before.

For years, I became jaded to the sense of apathy that I couldn't bear to witness amongst my peers, amongst the general public, amongst so many people that I've had contact with. And for once, I have to admit, ashamed though I may be about it, I began developing that hard shell of apathy even within myself.

The significance of what just happened today is more than just the fact that we have the first-ever black President. What happened today is far more significant than that. For the first time since I can remember, I feel as if the country is finally OURS again. That it is not a nation that is run by a few powerful families like the Bushes, it is not run by oil companies, the military-industrial complex, or any other industry. It is OURS.

I haven't felt this way in a very long time. The world seems possible again, in ways that I'd given up on since college. Just watching the speeches, I can recognize a connection to the process that I don't believe I've ever felt before. I feel like I can re-engage in the struggle, and dedicate myself 100% once more. That the work I've done before, and that the work I'll do in the future will MEAN something.

For the first time in a very long time, I am actually proud of my country again. I don't have to look at a flag and think that it is one of "their" tools. But I can look at it and say that it is a symbol of OUR country. That change is just as intrinsic to the symbol now as the hurt and war and bloodshed that I used to associate it with has been.

Today, I celebrate a new vision of America. I celebrate the fact that I live in a different country than I did before, because I live in a country that is so much more possible than the one I've been living in. I have hope for a new day. I have hope that tomorrow will truly be better than today.

I hadn't realized how far I'd sunk or how jaded I'd become until this moment. How much I'd allowed myself to be beaten down. Until now, when all doors are open again. Now that we live in a nation, a world, that has so much more possibility than it did before. That so many of us can step forward and work together toward a future that is so much brighter than I'd imagined it to be.

So from today, I am going to make several commitments. I commit to never allow myself to lose hope the way that I had again. I commit to re-engaging in the political process. I commit to making my life into a tool and instrument for positive change in the world again. I commit to looking into the future and seeing the possibilities inherent within it. But most of all, I commit to hope.

Writing My Book

So I have a major challenge ahead of me.

In the past, I've kind of viewed myself as a sort of competition between these two sides of myself that include being a selfish, manipulative jerk, which includes all of my cynicism, my calculating of other people's motivations and efforts, etc. And the other side being the more "reasonable" me, which is willing to do the right thing despite having been hurt or slighted, to do whatever I can to help people, and to try to make the world a better place in some way.

Apparently, there's a third component in there somewhere, which my therapist not-so-subtly described as the "core self". That both of those other Brants are themselves just an extension of my defense mechanisms and insecurities. In effect, they are the accumulation of my defense against being hurt, and my desire for affirmation within the world. But that neither one of them is truly me.

The problem is... I didn't even have an idea that some third me even existed, let alone that it is my core self. Which really gets down into the dirt of the statement "I don't know who I am." Apparently, my assignment is to delve down into myself, find that self, and start feeding it, because it's apparently been getting starved out for the past 30 years.

Ok, sounds like a good idea. But how do you learn more about and start feeding something that you still have trouble imagining in the first place? It feels to me like somebody telling you that you have a third psychic eye, and that all you have to do is tap into it to start moving objects around with your mind. Just do it. Where do you even start with something like this?

At least in theory, I'd say that I'd need to determine all of the things about me that have nothing to do with building up a wall against other people, or wanting to help anybody. I then have to take out all of the things that I enjoy that are simply reminders of things that I have done or used to do with other people, because those tend to muddy the waters a lot. Then, I start to think about games and things, as the fact that I am an avid Dungeons and Dragons player might be something that distinguishes me a bit, but there are a ton of questions even within that. Like the fact that I'm always trying to find a non-standard type of character to play, the whole concept that I like about it that it makes you feel as if you have some sense of control in a world that is bigger than you, where you don't have that same sense of control in the real world. In general, I'd say somewhere in there, all of my issues of all of my other two selves get wrapped up in there, so I don't think that I can use D&D or other role-playing games as examples there...

But with all of the questions that get raised in that, then it even goes so far as to be the same with movies! Do I only shy away from scary movies because of some bleak view of the world that they denote, or the basest parts of human nature that my affirmation-seeking self would like to steer away from? Does an enjoyment of action movies come from that same desire to wrest a sense of control and order in the world in the face of chaos and oppression? Do I land on comedies just for the sense of community gained from giving in to laughter? Is my sense of being drawn to cartoons somehow related to the loss of self I experienced from my early childhood, and some sort of innate desire to find that core self?

At the point where I can no longer trust that any part of my likes, desires, or activities is anything other than a part of those complex and competing internal struggles, then truly, how do you even begin to try to find a self that is somehow other than those struggles?

I feel as if I'm plodding blindly through a marsh without a guide or any resources, trying to find some sort of miraculous clue to a treasure that I don't even know what it is.

Or, going back to my writing example. I've sat down to write the book of my self, but I don't have any notes, there are no guidelines or bases for the topic, and I'm suffering from writer's block.

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry...

...or maybe you would.

The past couple of days, I've been surprisingly mellow, for some reason. No breakdowns, or long periods of loneliness or isolation or whatever. Just kind of going about my daily business, as if nothing ever happened.

Which shouldn't be a problem, but I was kind of wondering about WHY exactly that is the case. After all, given the fact that Matt pretty much said that there's no way he's sticking around as my friend given my emotional state, and then pushing Kevin away to do the same thing, you'd think I'd be a little bit more... broken down.

One of the odd things, however, is the fact that both of them, in saying that they can't be my friend right now, stated that they would, at some point in the vague future, like to re-engage in a friendship whenever I'm doing a bit better.

The odd thing is, what I've been thinking over the past few days, is that if they don't have the fortitude to be there when I'm at my worst, why do I want to have them be there when I'm at my best?

In that sense, I've come to the Dar quote from "Spring Street."

"I was thinking about the easy courage of my distant friends.
Saying 'you could let this bridge wash out, and never make amends.'"

At the same time, I'm starting to relate a bit back to the book "She's Come Undone." I admit that the most disturbing thing about the book to me was the concept that Delores might never make amends with her father, and the fact that a certain one of her therapists states that it's actually ok for her to decide never to make those amends. I can't say how much that concept bothered me, at the time.

Right now, however, I think that I understand it a bit. Like the fact that part of what all of my insecurities have been over the course of years is the fact that I've needed to be able to find some sort of closure on any of the situations that I've been in with different people. So the long period of not speaking to Ray or Steve bothered me, because that closure hadn't happened, and so long as it hadn't happened, I had a sense of overwhelming anxiety. The same, to some extent, with Matt.

I don't know what just snapped inside of me, but I've actually come to look at Matt's decision to not stick by me as a recognition of the type of person that Matt is. It doesn't matter that he is extremely intelligent, or how charming he is, or how much he tends to enjoy introspective music, the reality is that the way he has built his life is shallow and selfish. And seeing that, I actually don't have any need or desire to compel myself to get better so that I can try to be friends with him again. I can find other intelligent people in my life, and not all of them will be as selfish and shallow as Matt was, and I simply don't ever need to re-engage or reconcile with him.

The same is true of my friendship with Kevin. It's seemed way too often that Kevin's thought processes and moral convictions came after his decisions. Every time I heard him spout a "I'm the type of person who..." it seemed to be more of a justification for what he'd already decided to do, instead of a thought process that occurred in the preludes to making the decision. And honestly, I've been friends with too many females who have literally been "the other woman" to see a gay man go through the same thing, making the same mistakes, and pretending that he is completely unique and separate in what he's going through, when it's the oldest story in the book.

Do I wish them well? Of course. I certainly don't wish anything negative to happen to them, at all. But I wonder if this is where I let this bridge wash out, and never make amends.

There is still a part of me that wonders if this thought process is too soon. And the other theory I have for my own current emotional state is the fact that, to some extent, I'm simply working from a place of anger. After all, Matt abandoned me in my time of need, and Kevin stuck up for him and placed the blame on me. Certainly things that would provoke an anger response, and I have to recognize that all of the times that I've accomplished the best and most amazing things in my life, were times that I was working out of anger. I've used anger as the fuel for most of my best pieces of writing, as the fuel that shaped my early activism, and to stoke my motivation within a multitude of the jobs, classes, and positions that I've been in.

Granted, overwhelming "I can't see but for the red haze in front of my face" anger is overdone, but I can't help but wonder how I might be able to channel my anger positively, stoke it a little bit and keep it fueled, so I might be able to utilize it and maintain some sort of running motivator for years to come. I think anger suits me. It keeps me going, and my blood pumping. And it keeps me from going into that wallowing little mire of indignation and resentment where I become worthless.

So maybe that's the ticket. Give me a few days, let my anger run down, and I'll be back to wallowing in my own misery. But knowing that even just a little bit of anger can pull me out is a nice little trick up my sleeve for when I need to be productive later. In the meantime, here's to a healthy dose of anger!

Unconditional

For a very long time, I've struggled with the concept of unconditional love, and whether it actually exists. I've gotta say, I'm really thinking "no," at this point. At the same time, isn't it a basic human need? Isn't one of the bases for human beings having the ability to interact with one another having the ability to recognize that they have a worth that is separate from their own moods or behaviors?

For all that anybody may say that I have going for me in terms of looks, intelligence, or genuine sense of care for others, I can't help but believe that it's all a farce in some way. And I can't help but fall back on that sense, if I am so valuable and so worthy of love, why is it that nobody has been able to find a means to love me?

I have to admit that I've really put a lot of my friendships to the test recently. And I feel more than a little bit guilty for the way that I pushed Kevin away. He seemed to be moving in that direction already, and I gave one big shove. At the same time, I gave Matt the excuse that I pushed him away, and he took the excuse, but all of everything I did was practically begging him to stick by me. Perhaps the better parts of me will still be able to find a way to forgive him for it, and maybe one day I will. But right now, I can't help but just feel angry.

As I've said before, I'm having trouble letting go and ceasing my curating of the museum of my own personal injuries and slights, and maybe that's the one place I still need to manage before I can get any better. But in the meantime, I can't help but see the pattern of most of my friendships and relationships as a series of people who may think I'm fun or interesting at first, before they know me, and then, once they get close enough, they see whatever it is of me that is this horrible thing, and they find some way to opt out.

In that sense, I do have to be thankful for the friendships I have, where people have stuck by me, despite the fact that I feel like I'm taking so much more than I've been giving back. The people who have seen me at my weakest and my shittiest moments, and who are still willing to be my friend. Not only that, but not venture into viewing or framing my friendship as a burden to be endured, either.

I suppose in times like this, when I'm sitting alone, and the worst of the nasty little nagging thoughts erupt from my psyche, that's what I need to focus on first. It's so easy to remind myself of Matt, and Kevin, and Ray and Steve, and all of the people who have failed me in some way, instead of focusing on Andy and Ben, and Faisal, and Dan, and Julie, who stick by me every time, see me at my most vulnerable, and somehow manage to find something within that mess that they take away as something more to love.

In that sense, I suppose I have the tools at my disposal, after all. It's just a matter of figuring out when to pull them out when I need them the most, and how to use them properly. I suppose that I never was very much good at using tools...

Looking Overboard

Ok, so at the prompting of my friend Kevin, I've been listening to a whole lot of Savage Love podcasts. Which I enjoy because they're funny, despite the fact that the particular podcasts that Kevin directs me to are, for the most part, not really very informative on the particular situations that I find myself in. But he means well, and we love him for it.

There is one thing about the podcasts that has seemed to make a lot of sense to me, though, and it's centered around the concept of fluidity with regard to the openness of relationships. For a very long time, I've considered that most relationships that start out monogamous are better off staying that way, because at that point the first person to mention the possibility of opening up a relationship immediately becomes Public Enemy #1 and the relationship is doomed to end soon thereafter. Whereas, on the other hand, relationships that begin open stay open and succeed or fail of their own accord.

Apparently, according to the experience of Dan Savage, whose credibility, wherever it lies, is certainly better than my own... it seems that the most successful relationships are those that begin exclusively in order to create a security with both partners that shows them each that they are a priority for the other, and THEN they open up the relationship to others after they've successfully prioritized each other and feel more secure in one another's primacy.

Now, I've considered myself to be a long-standing believer that human emotions and affection should not be limited artificially, and therefore have remained pretty firmly on the side against monogamy in general. After all, if you care about somebody, why does that mean you should necessarily cut yourself off from being sexual, or even possibly caring, about somebody else, so long as you promise not to stop caring for your original partner?

I admit that one of the most attractive things for me regarding nonmonogamy is exactly the opposite of what most people accuse me of. Everybody who is monogamy-centric always says "you're just always looking for something better." This is really not the case, even at the times that I've been seeing multiple people at the same time. In fact, part of my PROBLEM has been that, once I fall in love with somebody, I become SO engulfed in my own emotional attachment to them, that I tend to lose myself in the process. Instead, a large portion of what I recognize to be an attractive feature of openness, is that if I assume that my partner is always going to be looking for something better, and because my self-esteem is low enough that I feel like they're pretty much guaranteed to find it within the week, then when they DO find something better, at least I can have some leverage for them not to immediately LEAVE me for that something better... I know, it's kind of self-defeating, but one of the few things I CAN say for myself is that I'm QUITE aware of what my issues are. Not that it seems to be helping me get OVER them very well, but whatever. That's why I blog. Because my therapist had no availability this week, and if I don't get shit like this out somehow, I do crazy things. Like lock myself in a bathroom at a queer wedding and text everyone I've ever been with telling them how much I miss them... I know, don't ask. And don't ask why I didn't make somebody take my damned phone away from me, either.

ANYWAY... part of the thing I'm really trying to work through right now is how in the world to resolve the situation with Barry. Barry, like so many of my other "relationships," is not REALLY a relationship. Yeah, I know, if I could have a dollar for every guy I ever cared about and was "with" without actually being "WITH" them, I'd be rich. There are really two obstacles that have made us pretty much say that a real relationship wouldn't work between us and therefore why we've never really tried anything. The first is that I live in Maryland, and he lives in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania very close to Maryland, but still... it's out of state and far enough away that we don't see one another very often. Even if we do share several text messages a day.

The other major obstacle comes from the fact that I've been very open and public about my stance regarding monogamy. He has been the same regarding his desire to have it. So here's the rub. Lately, after listening to these podcasts, and considering for a bit, I've realized that my own insecurities in the relationships... or non-relationships as most of them have been... have centered around the fact that, in private, those people I've been with have been very close, and very sweet, and we've had very intense personal connections. But in public, or even when anybody else was around at all, there'd been an almost nothing happening.

This has made me consider... maybe it WOULD be a good idea, at least for some indeterminate amount of time, to consider monogamy for the sake of proving a certain prioritization for one another. I admit that, given a monogamous relationship, I'd be able to be secure that I *do* matter and have primacy to the other person, because they are, in fact, sharing something with me that they are not sharing with anyone else, and also that they are making some sort of sacrifice for the sake of being with me.

Then, of course, my over-intellectual self steps in, and starts wondering about everything else, specifically with regard to Barry. Am I only thinking this because this is the largest obstacle between myself and Barry? Am I, instead of breaking out of one unhealthy dynamic of pushing people away through my insistence on complete openness right from the start, instead repeating another unhealthy dynamic pattern of simply paving over certain parts of myself in order to be accepted and loved by another person? Am I being so intensely focused on wanting to find a way to make things work with Barry only because of the fact that I have been feeling so lonely, and if so, is that really fair to him? Or am I over-processing this because I'm trying to find a way to justify my internal sense that I am doomed to forever be alone? And finally, even if we ARE able to work out this one obstacle, are we still doomed because of the distance?

The most trying thing, however, is the fact that I still have my insecurities. What if I mention the fact that I might be willing to try out monogamy, at least for a while, with Barry, and remove the largest obstacle between us, just to find out that the obstacle was more of an excuse for the fact that he pure and simple isn't really interested in a relationship with me? And would knowing that help me in some way, or would it set me back even further than I already am? After all, living with the illusion of hope sometimes seems as if it is a mixed blessing and curse in a lot of ways. Particularly given my current job prospects, having some sense that a ray of light can be coming seems to be pretty important to me right now. But at the same time, maintaining a delusion for the sake of moving on is never healthy, either.

Of course, the other problem is the fact that I've only very vaguely been talking to Barry about these concerns. On one hand, I feel as if it's important to have a discussion about a lot of this in person. But with both of our work schedules, combined with said distance, face-to-face time is rare. And we've already determined that I'm crazy enough that I can't keep on just bottling all of this in. At the same time, I also don't want him to feel as if he is somehow less because of the fact that things with Matt had just gone over so recently, too. Especially considering, had things not fallen through with Matt, it would have been particularly difficult to consider monogamy with Barry. At least not successfully. And it's hard to be able to give somebody the recognition that they are important and valuable of their own accord. I know as well as anyone, because I've been one NEEDY son of a bitch sometimes.

The fact is, I feel like I'm on a boat looking overboard at the ocean. On one hand, the water looks nice and cool, and pleasant enough to want to jump in and swim. On the other hand, this is a big fucking ocean, and I really don't want to drown in it...

Wedding Tribute

Instead of a regular blog, I'm just going to post here the words that I spoke for Julie and Sara's wedding. It was a little bit long, but it was very encompassing of most of what I feel regarding them and their marriage to one another...



"They say that relationships take on a life of their own in some ways. That a relationship becomes its own being, which requires attention, nurturing and respect for its own ability to grow and thrive. If this is true, then I feel especially honoured to be able to stand here today in front of all of you and give a testimonial for this relationship that we are honouring today. The reason is because of the fact that I have had the opportunity to be there from the birth of this relationship throughout the growing maturation of it over the years.

In that sense, I believe that today is the day that we are celebrating the adulthood of Julie and Sara’s togetherness. Today, I take the analogy of the quincenera or the bah mitzvah, the day that a child becomes an adult. Because truly, the love between Julie and Sara has grown, developed and matured over the course of years. And it has developed into something that I am proud to say that I have known.

It’s been eight years, and it is difficult to wrap your head around what exactly eight years signifies in a relationship like this. I think that we so very often cheapen the value and the lessons that are inherent in any experience by placing tags of years on things like this. But just to give some examples of how much the union between these two people has changed over the years, I’ll explain some of the major events that contributed to the shaping of this unit.

I look back and see so many things from that first, tenuous meeting at a Task Force table in the back of an Ani Difranco concert all those years ago. I remember Sara’s struggles with school, the years of manipulation and harassment she experienced from her church, including her excommunication, and the fact that she grew to overcome it all and be able to stand on her own. I’ve seen Julie through the Task Force’s largest financial and structural struggles, as well as through its period of struggling the most with its values. Where she’s been torn and uncertain about where she stood with the organization and whether she should continue along with it. I’ve been able to witness this couple through the development of friendships and professional undertakings, some of which have since been dissolved and others which have thrived, with many of you being here to bear witness for these two today. I have had the honor of being present at the birth of two children, seen them endure through some of the most terrifying medical crises and decision-making processes that any parent would ever have to go through. I’ve seen them through the growth and development of their children into school age, to see them move into their own rooms and beds, and begin a longer process of growth and development. I’ve been there to witness these two people through some of the best times, and I’ve also been there through some of the worst. I’ve seen them through the involvement of a live-in coparent who honestly has probably acted as just as much of a strain on the relationship as he is a support.

And to see this event as a culmination of what has come before, as the evidence that the relationship between them has come to maturity to be recognized... to see that it has thrived through all that has taken place before, I can only use that itself as evidence and testimony that I look forward to living through and bearing witness to all that they are able to do together in the years to come. Mazel tov."

Pushback

Ok, so I have to admit that, in my life, I've pretty much allowed myself to be a doormat. Coming with the whole thing of saying that I'll generally make sure that I'll do the right thing regardless of the fact that it might hurt me, I've started realizing that there's a great deal of harm to myself that I've been doing. To some extent, I've been telling myself, and everybody else as well, that I'm pure and simple not as valuable as others. That their feelings are worth more than my feelings.

So I've taken a step and determined that maybe being "old reliable" is putting myself in a position that I really don't want to be in. I take, for example, the Task Force. I've been applying to work at the Task Force since 1999. I've been an intern there, I've volunteered, I've been a consultant... I've done pretty much anything that they could possibly have me do, except get hired by them. A few months ago, my dream job opened up. Not only was it my dream job in terms of the fact that it was exactly the work I want to do right now, but it had potential to build into the position that I want to retire into. And Sue, if you're reading this, you're correct in knowing that your job is the one I'm talking about.

Now this job was great, and on top of everything, it seemed to be made for me in terms of the fact that I was completely qualified for it in every way. In those terms, I was actually far and above OVERqualified for the position. Not to get into the gritty details of it, but in a group interview process, where an entire department gave feedback, it *seemed* to me that the director of the department played a maverick move and hired somebody else for the position against the better wishes of the rest of the department.

It turns out that this other hire wasn't quite qualified enough for the position, and seven weeks later, they are no longer with the organization. And there is a big part of me that feels a flutter of hope that maybe they'll finally consider me for the position again.

Here's the problem, though. What kind of message does that send to the organization, to the director of that department, and ultimately, to myself? Gee, I'll just hold out here at a job that doesn't further my career, which doesn't pay very well, and which treats me like crap all the time, until you go through some of your other options, because they have timelines to follow, and after all, I'm not going anywhere, right? Don't worry about pushing me off to the side, it's ok! I'll just be here waiting for whenever you decide that you really can't do it with anybody other than me...

So now I'm thinking about the fact that their major annual conference is coming up in February, and not only did they put off the hire for two extra months to save money, but they also hired somebody else who didn't do the job satisfactorily for another seven weeks beyond that. So in effect, nothing has been done to prepare for this conference during the most critical portions of conference development overall. So again, that part of me thinks how great it might be to finally have an opportunity to take the position. Ok, and I admit it, I had a sadistic little fantasy about them opening up interviews for it again, and having me come in with a ripped pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing my feet up on the table, and saying "you know what? I dare you to not hire me again." But even doing something like that, wouldn't I still be allowing them to set me up for failure, since they already missed most of their deadlines? Would I then be putting myself in a position to be nothing more than a scapegoat for their own already-made blunders? And what, then, are the consequences to them for having made those mistakes?

I think that the road toward becoming a non-doormat is paved with me breaking a few dishes and making there be consequences for poor decision-making. I think that the greater road says "sorry, I had my availability to you, and you decided that you'd prefer to go with somebody else. You are now at a point where I can't even step in and fix the mess you've made with Creating Change this year, and I don't want to be your scapegoat." I think that my road has to allow them to go through a bad Creating Change and suffer through it knowing that they had the option for a better conference that they allowed to pass through the assumption that I would simply do whatever it was they needed, regardless of how poorly they treated me along the way. After that, sure, I'd be more than happy, even possibly thrilled, to take up the slack again and move into the position. But until then, I can't be as readily available as I've been in the past.

The same is true with my personal life. I recently came to the realization that I have never once in my life been with a guy who could publicly acknowledge who I am or what I mean to them in public. Even Ben, who was my boyfriend for a year, would have me hide when chatting with exes on ICU, and would just introduce me as "this is Brant" to people in public, not as his boyfriend or partner or whatever, and his fear of PDAs was outstanding, as well. And after I'd come to that recognition, I had to think about it.

Why in the world WOULD somebody take the risks associated with public acknowledgement of a relationship with me, if I never have any consequences for it? If I'll stick by them regardless of how poorly they treat me, or how often they place me in a box on the side, if I just pop up when they take me out of the box in private and say how grateful I am that they're paying attention to me *now*. There is no reason. Devoid of any consequences for failing to recognize my value, there is no reason for anybody to do anything other than failing me in that way.

Now, what I find relatively ironic, is seeing how much pushback you can get for finally standing up for yourself. And not even standing up for yourself in a hostile or nasty way, but just making simple statements acknowledging that the other person has done you wrong.

So I have a friend with a history of blowing off plans with me. About 50% of the time that we've had a plan in place for something, he's had something come up. And every time, I was understanding, and I told him it was ok, and that I understood, and all that jazz. Well, about a week or two ago, he mentioned going to a concert together. Great! A Dar Williams concert, so just for some background, he IS the only other gay man I know who is a fan of Dar. And given my family situation, me going with either Julie or Sara means the other one gets to stay home with the kids by themselves. So it's not like there's much of an option for me to go with anybody else other than this guy.

So a few days ago, I ask this friend what the deal is with plans, and are we still planning on going to the concert? If so, what should we do about tickets? He says "yeah, I definitely still want to go. Hey, why don't you buy the tickets and I'll just pay you back?" At this point, I get a little bit nervous because, quite frankly, we've put our entire household on a cash budget to save our credit cards for emergencies or gas, and I've got $40 in the bank and $30 in my pocket. The total of which, combined, doesn't come out to the $91 it costs for 2 tickets.

I go to lunch with him and a friend, and he asks if I've gotten the tickets yet. I admit that, no, I haven't, since I need to get a bit more money in my account since we're on a cash budget now. To which he responds with a snide remark about how I'm waiting for the tickets to sell out. Another day and anxiety attack later, I mention to him that the tickets are all standing room only anyway, and would he mind if we each buy our own separate tickets? He finally offers to buy them both and have me pay him back, which is ok, except that literally one minute later he says "oh, crap, I need to travel for work that weekend."

The old Brant would have said "wow, I'm so sorry that it's not going to work out. I know that you were really looking forward to seeing the show, since you haven't seen Dar in concert yet, and I know how much you like her." I would like to think that a far more prickish Brant would have said "so it would have been ok for me to shell out money that I don't have to buy tickets for a show that you never even checked you were able to actually attend, but now that you're laying your money down, NOW it's ok to take a look at your calendar?!"

I took neither route, since I'm neither the old Brant nor a far more prickish Brant. Instead, what I said was, "Not to sound like a jerk, but I kind of figured." He admitted that he thought that sounded kind of jerky, to which I explained that he was being really vague about it, and that I had the impression that he was leaving a back door open. He again stated that I was really being a jerk about it, and the conversation ended soon after. Just slightly upset that he would have accused me of being such a major asshole for saying that I assumed that he was going to cancel (which, just to remind everyone, that he DID actually cancel), I talked to a friend during my lunch break, who apparently had lunch with this other friend already, and agreed that what I did was act like a total jerk.

The fact is that this guy is, legitimately, going on a business trip, and he did really want to go to the concert. Ok, point taken. However, points should also be taken that he has a habit of bailing on me, some legitimate, and some like deciding to take a recreational trip to Rehoboth instead of showing up to my 30th birthday party. Point should also be taken that I specifically asked if he was still able/willing to go before we started nailing down plans, and he said yes. Finally, points should be noted that he actually made me feel bad about not buying the tickets sooner because I was allowing for an opportunity for the show to have sold out.

But why is it that all of these other points are somehow so easily able to be ignored, just because of the fact that THIS time, the REASON that he bailed out on me, is a legitimate one? So then it's not ok to point out that I assumed that he was going to bail on me? It's not like I called him names, or said that he was the worst friend ever, or anything like that. I just said that I figured he was going to bail. Which, again, he did.

Here's why both of these friends think that what I said was being an asshole. In a nutshell, I'm not being Old Brant anymore. And let's be honest, as much as Old Brant is not the guy that you choose to go out drinking with, or having fun with, or dating, or doing anything that you really WANT to do with, because Old Brant is the guy you come to when you're down, when all of your other plans have fallen through and you've exhausted all of your other possibilities, because you start thinking about Old Brant in terms of bad times, because Old Brant is the guy who's constantly picking you up OUT of those bad times. And we all want to have the security and reliability that is Old Brant there, ready for us, to pick up the pieces and not ask why, and not to judge the poor decisions that got us there, but just to tell us "it's ok. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sure that things will turn out better the next time."

But to not be Old Brant anymore, and to say, in effect "you know, you've made it a pattern of canceling plans with me, so I pretty much assumed that this time would be no different," suddenly creates a consequence for people's poor decision-making. Just like the Task Force, I can't simply allow my friends to exhaust every other possibility before maybe finally settling on me... until something better comes along again, that is. People don't want consequences, and they don't want to be told that they've made bad decisions. They just want to have Old Brant there, patting them on the back and telling them that everything is all ok.

But if I'm to stop making everybody else's feelings more valuable than my own, and if I'm going to stop settling to be sitting on the sidelines of life, waiting for somebody to get hurt so that I can go rushing in and make them feel better, then I need to start demanding that respect, and let people know the consequences of their actions. And I need to make myself matter more. The largest component of which is to say "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to brush me aside without consequences. I understand that you're in a bind right now, but I can't fix it for you this time. I would like to be there for you, but not as a last resort. I can prioritize you, but only if you commit to making me as high of a priority as you want me to make you."

People don't like that, and people are going to push back. But this time around, I'm the one who wants to put Old Brant on the side. This is a new and different form of Brant. One who will not accept other people defining how important or valuable he is. The Brant who is going to make himself a priority, offer consequences to people who fail to give him the respect and consideration that he deserves, and who is going to take a place amongst the rest of the world, instead of off to the side of them, watching out for all of their stumbles and scraped knees...

With all of that pushback on just one little statement, it would have been easy and tempting to say "well, I have felt kind of hurt that he'd canceled on all of that other stuff, but I understand that this time wasn't really his fault, and I guess what I said was a little bit insensitive." But that would have been giving in to Old Brant. So instead, I stood my ground. Even to my friend yelling at me over the phone and telling me how much I was pissing him off.

And for all of that pushback, I do have to say, I'm thinking that I like this New Brant, after all.

J'Accuse!

I was originally intending this post to be entitled "The Butterfly Effect" because of the fact that it really does seem as if there is some sort of malevolent force in the universe that just continues to take every good intention you ever have and corrupt it. To force every action that intends to make the world a better place, to instead leave hurt and anguish behind.

Unfortunately, in the midst of lying in bed, wallowing in my sense of my own wrethedness, I started staring upward at the ceiling. And without my glasses, everything looks blurry enough, but given the shadow that played on the ceiling at the time of day, I've decided that I hate those orb-like ceiling spot-lights. I hate them because I started staring at the one spotlight right at the foot of my bed, and realized how much it looks like a single, gigantic, eyeball. And like most giant eyeballs above our heads, it was staring directly at me.

The thing about giant eyeballs is that there's something in us that makes us believe that they see everything about us. Our entire lives, our souls, in one perfect snapshot. And, this eye being a light bulb and not really an eye at all, it was unblinking. Which is always that unnerving thing, too. There is no break in it, no room for a slip or a failure, just always, constantly, "on."

The truth is that I so often feel as if I'm such a fraud. Looking back on my early childhood, most of my memories revolve around being a spoiled, selfish brat of a kid. The kind who tormented and pestered his older brothers, but worked up enough manipulativeness even at such a young age to realize that just turning on the doe-eyes and saying "I love you mommy" would mean that I wouldn't get in trouble for anything I did. That was, at least, until my mother walked down the hall one day and caught me dancing in front of both of my brothers singing "I got away with it, I got away with it." After that day, I never really got away with anything anymore.

But since then, I can't help but wonder if that bratty little kid was my core persona. If perhaps, at my base, I'm just this selfish little rotten person that deserves to get his ass kicked because all he does is stir up trouble and manipulate people. And that this baseline persona is exactly the reason why all of my good intentions turn out wrong.

The fact is, Matt was still trying to let me down easy when he said that I was a healer. When he talked about all of the good that I do, and try to do, for everyone I meet in the world. And I admit that I've really made that desire to make the world a better place than I found it a part of my identity, that I want to leave each person I encounter a little bit better, happier. I want to find suffering and mitigate it to the best of my ability. I find somebody struggling, and I want to help them along their journey.

I did that to him, and he saw exactly what I was trying to do. And he praised me for it, perhaps in the best way it possibly could have been presented to me, too. So maybe this whole self-accusation problem, the eye and the accusation within it, is just my own inability to see the good in myself. That entire self-scouring, trying to find the answer to what there is of value within myself, when all I see is some twisted, malformed monster.

I gave Matt my journal on Saturday, but I honestly did it in anger. At the height of the issue, he was pushing me away just for the sake of pushing me away, and I admit that he was really cruel by telling me that I didn't know him and didn't understand anything about him. So I threw the most secretive pieces of my psyche, some of them from the time in my life that I truly hate who I was, as well. High school was a dark time for me. College was much better, of course, and I had a lot of writing from back then, too, but my writing had always had that sense of being some audience that I could write to, but still be my own private thing. That nobody would ever see it, and so it was a way to get things out without having to actually tell anybody.

But I gave it to him. Perhaps that, too, is part of the sense of the eye. For the first time, there is somebody out there who knows how terrible of a poet I am. Who knows some of the things that I thought about myself and about other people throughout both my worst years, and my best, as the dichotomy between high school and college both were.

Part of me thinks of it as odd that he doesn't see me as a monster, as well. Then again, everybody has their own nightmares to fight through, Matt not the least of them, and I remind myself that he was still trying to let me down easy. Because the fact is that we have inverse curses. He can't for the life of him come to fall in love with somebody else. And I am incapable of actually being loved. I suppose he still feels guilty about everything, and he knows, at least, who I've been trying to be. It really was a great gift. But the eye keeps on staring at me, even now while I have my back turned to it while I sit at my computer typing this. The accusation of true sight.

I keep on coming back to a song that has had all too much meaning for me over the years. Melissa Ferrick's "To Let You See Me," the refrain which states:
"But oh, to let you see me
because I am not that pretty
oh but you will find out, and then,
you will leave me."

That's it right there, the height of my own insecurities, in one well-worded and beautifully vocalized phrase. My fear of abandonment, my sense that I am completely incapable of being loved, my fear that I really have nothing to offer other than a host of good intentions that I constantly fail miserably at coming to the completion of. Because in all of his own good intentions, and his compliments, and his desire to build me up, the fact is that he truly did spend several months trying to love me. And whether it was his incapability or mine, the one thing I still walk away from is that it was one more of a series of people who saw me, and just couldn't bring themselves to love me.

Ok, I'm just realizing now that there are people out there that are actually going to READ this crap. To all of you, I really apologize. This is not the type of shit you read this blog for. Or maybe it is, in which case you are one masochistic son of a bitch. No, really, though, I'm sorry. This is my process, and unfortunately, paper and pen stopped working for me after college. For the most part, at least. Typing is what I do, and I don't have some elastic-bound, private, never-to-be-actually-read volume that is somehow going to make me excise all of this cancer from my being so that I can move on to something a little bit less paralyzed.

Which, I suppose, brings me back to the topic that this blog was supposed to be about. And yeah, I admit that I was reminded of it by watching Heroes. Not that I didn't already have some sense of it, but the last episode had actually rung it home a bit in that way... It's the sense of not knowing what to DO. So what if there actually IS some sort of rule that if you are doomed to cause more pain and suffering every time you try to do something good, or that every time you attempt to mend a wound, that you're destined somehow to cause it to grow, then what do you do? I can't for the life of me imagine even being able to try to stop myself from doing the best I can by the world. I can't help but attempt to step in and take action when I see suffering, or a need that must be fulfilled. And even knowing that my own intervention has the potential to make things that much worse, how can I help myself but still at least try to intervene?

This is why I choose not to believe in God. Because in a universe that is inherently meaningless, finding yourself in a situation where you do the best you can with what you have actually makes itself into a positive lesson. A sort of putting an order to the chaos. Whereas the world being as it is, and knowing that there is a being the likes of which we are nothing in comparison to, who actually made the world this way... I may know that my mission is bigger than myself, but at least in the universe that I conceive, every little bit counts. In a world that was ordered specifically in this way by a divine power, however, I simply refer back to the words of Elphaba in the musical Wicked: "No good deed goes unpunished."

And perhaps it's not just in myself that the rule goes. For all of what it was worth, Matt telling me that I'm a healer would have been the best thing that he possibly could have done. But the eye still mocks me, looking through my floundering to witness my failure, and as it stares at me, all I can think of it saying is "J'accuse!" And in that sense, I'll never know the alternative, but... I wonder if perhaps it may not have been better for him not to have tried to point out the good in me, after all...

Jumping the Track

Ok, so I haven't updated this again in a while. It's kind of sad when you check back in to edit the profile, and it lists you at a different age than you are now.

I've probably got a lot to post about, but I think I'm still working through most of it, so for now I guess I'll just talk a little bit about the fact that I'm 30 now.

Yeah, I know, 30 is just a number. But it represents a lot of things. Like the fact that I'm yet one more year working in retail at Home Depot and making excuses why I haven't left yet. Or like the fact that my age has finally caught up with my dating pool, as I always preferred the company of 30-something gay men to anyone else.

I honestly had been looking forward to 30 a great deal, though. My 20s were a little bit of a train wreck in terms of the fact that they started out with me feeling like I was on a train ride where the rails were already set in a certain path, and that's where I was going to go. Well, I jumped that first train when I went off and lived in the New Haven Catholic Worker instead of taking the obvious path out to grad school. Then I jumped it again when I moved to MD in order to parent.

My own train got derailed a bit when I was laid off by NMAC, and I honestly have gotten to the point where I really don't like the train I'm on. To the point where that grad school train is looking extremely worthwhile. Heck, I'm even considering law school now.

But even through all this, I've already found myself making excuses that tuition is too difficult, and that the failure of several banks that provide for most financial aid means I likely won't be able to make it. I've cut myself off from the possibility of working anywhere other than the Task Force, and yet I haven't really done enough work of looking at other places to really know that there aren't a ton of other places where I'd really like to be.

And even through all of this, I haven't gotten myself up the motivation to actually DO anything about this. I've actually allowed myself to become the victim of my own apathy, a trait that I railed against everybody else for having throughout my school days. In that time, nobody seemed to care about anything but their own career paths, and in the meantime, now, I'm stuck with apathy over that one very thing. It's almost mocking in the sense that it's almost as if they were all right, and I was wrong. I focused on the wrong things at the wrong time, because I didn't focus on myself and make sure that I was taken care of. And now it's a struggle to recognize that I have to be my own priority.

So here I am at 30, trying to figure out what it is that I want to do, and needing to build up the will to make it happen. I guess the first step to that is getting off of this website and setting myself some priorities... We'll see how that goes next time...

Curating the Museum

I've always been impressed whenever literature can truly act as a mirror for my own soul.  When a character can learn a lesson, be floored, and at the exact same moment, be floored myself right along with them.  I want to give props in this blog to Wally Lamb for that, as the book "I Know This Much is True" gave me one of those moments, as well.

For those of you who haven't read the book, I'd definitely recommend reading it. And possibly holding off on this entry until you do. Not that I'll give anything major away, but still, even the lesson itself is sometimes best left as a surprise, for it is sometimes best to have it whallop you across the temple from out of nowhere.

That said, I admit to having been left in a bit of turmoil by the book.  For all of the growth, reconstruction, and stabilization I've done in the last few months, I feel that I was forced, through Dominick's character, to examine my own "museum of pain" or "sanctuary of justifiable indignation."  To consider what I was doing with my collection of painful memories and the sense of myself that I've had for such a long time, that I would be able to do the right thing, even in the face of great personal loss or pain. ESPECIALLY in the face of great personal loss or pain.

I see the problem, and the solution, but it's hard to simply let go.  Even now, when I can still see how everyone is coming from a place of hurt, and knowing that I don't want to contribute any more to it, I still cling to my wounds and injuries as if they're a series of treasures.  That every slight, every rejection, every sacrifice, can then be put together with all of the rest to give me... what?  That's what I don't even understand.  That I don't even know what they give me that I have so much difficulty letting go.

I have the whole collection laid out before my eyes, too.  My mother, first of all and most of all, then moving to my father, all of the kids I grew up with, went to school with, moving on to all of the betrayals, whether real or only real to me when I experienced them, such as those inflicted by my best friend in high school and my crush, who later became my girlfriend, and the further collection of wrongs that I've placed on my mantel from her... I move to college, and have a whole new set of wrongs that I've collected, the writing on my college dorm door, the rejection of the gay-straight alliance to become part of a larger anti-oppression network of student organizations, the isolation I felt from other queer students, the isolation from Mike... Mike, whose hurt holds a special place as a prize in my museum of misery, even today.  Moving on to Bond, another special little hurt.  To Ben, and after that to my self-inflicted wrongs with GC, just to prove to myself that Ben had no more power over me... and onward out to Ray and Steve, and the wrongs I've placed in my museum from them.  All of the wrongs and hurts that I've catalogued, all of the times I've been stood up, or rejected, even Matt's struggling conversation based entirely upon honesty, sure, the conversation was great, and we've been able to talk well with one another since then, but what did I do as soon as I hung up the phone? What else but twist the entire thing in the most self-deprecating way, and feed it into my twisted collection of pain and injustice?

The book is brilliant, really, in its scope and purpose.  For its ability to simply tell you to let it go, cleanse yourself of the hurt and forgive, in order to better move on.  But it's simply too hard for me to accomplish right now.  And looking back, I know how hard it has always been. That I've been collecting these early, and had the struggle even way back when.

I remember having such a sense of injustice in theology classes, and at masses, with the story of the prodigal son.  Because, after all, why DID the good son have to miss out on the ability to have some sense of validation that he had done the right thing all along?  Even as a child, it burned me up to think that religious figures like Paul and Augustine were the centralized figures of the Church's development and power because of the fact that they were such despicable people throughout their lives, and just up and one day decided "hey, I'm going to do something different now."  Suddenly, they were literally saints and could do nothing wrong, could not be contradicted, and in many cases, the teachings and decisions they'd made since their conversions were just as despicable as their acts before.  And where did that leave us? Those who had been faithful all along and done what we were supposed to do?

It's why, when I left Christianity, I've STILL found myself returning again and again to the book of Job as my favorite book of the Bible.  Because it's the book that shows us what a son of a bitch God is.  That's the irony, though, as well.  That my identity as an atheist doesn't come about because I straight-out don't believe in God at all, but more of the fact that I feel that, if God *does* exist, then He's a massive son of a bitch, the biggest bully out there, and that it's better to simply not believe in a God than to believe that that bastard has any control over us, because you know that the first chance he gets, which is infinite, he's going to screw any one of us over.  Just to prove a point, or to force us to obey him, or to make us place value on Him more than anything else... as if He *needs* it.  Human beings, all frail creatures, every one of us who has been broken by the world in some way, all needing a little bit of tenderness, and what does Christianity tell us? Put God before anything.  As if every single human being immediately and eternally ceasing to give God credit for anything would even have any sort of negative impact upon God... would hurt Him, or make Him cease to exist or something.  But we're supposed to bleed out our lives to *serve* Him?  That's a fucked up recipe if I've ever seen one.

But here it is again.  I'm left back to my sense of righteous indignation and the fact that I just can't seem to let it go.  To just allow all of those past slights, injuries, rejections, and attacks simply be in the past.  To just look forward and live, and stop tending to my museum of pain and injustice...  I don't know what the answer is, honestly.  What the trick or the secret is to just letting it all drift away from me.  I know it's there, and I know it's unhealthy.  But it's the thing that you just can't bring yourself to throw away, no matter how rotten it is, or how much it's stinking up the place.

I guess I still have a lot more work to do...

Damaged Goods

Ok, it's been a really long time since I've updated this blog, and it's more than time to do it.  Over the last few months, I've really honed in on something major, and I think I've really hit on a breakthrough. At least to me, though everyone else may look at it as a "duh" moment.

I have, for a very long time, considered that most of the human race is damaged or has been broken in some way.  And I always thought of it as a very sad reality, as well.  Just seeing so much potential within each individual, yet never seeing that potential realized because of all of the hurt and mistrust that we always end up having for one another.

Within the queer community, this reality is even more realized, and then again even more so within the bear community.  We have all been given messages from outside of us that we are not of value, and we all have been broken or damaged in some way.

What I've found is that we often then close ourselves off to the rest of the world, the rest of the community, and often end up having in-fighting, drama, and bitterness continue to drive further wedges between us within the community.

I'm no different, and I have come to recognize a lot of the ways that I've hurt other people and put them on the defensive by doing things that were meant to simply protect myself, or to cover, hide, or detract from my own pain.  But I've come to the realization that I'm only multiplying the hurt, rather than reducing it.  In this case, it is NOT better to share, but to let the hurt end with you.

So here's my commitment, from here on out.  I'm no longer going to allow my hurt to dictate my behavior.  I'm not going to take out my hurt, disappointment, or insecurity on anybody else outside of me.  And most of all, I'm not going to pass on the insecurity or isolation that I have felt to others.  The hurt stops here.  I've been hurt before, and I've survived, so I can survive it again.  People have lashed out at me due to their insecurities, and I've made it through, so I can again.  But this time around, I'm not going to keep myself at a distance from the rest of the world to insulate myself, I'm going to engage.  And I'm not going to take my setbacks as proof that the world can't be trusted.  Instead, I'm going to take my lumps and keep on going, proving to the world that I'll still be here to take what they've got to give, and that I'm not going anywhere.

And my hope is, maybe others can follow along and do the same.  We're all in the same boat in that sense. We've all been hurt, taken for granted or taken advantage of, and we've all responded in kind.  Let's remember that even the biggest jerk out there is acting, at base, from a place of hurt.  And I'll commit myself today to be the first one to recognize that, and instead of firing back, turn around, see the hurt that their cruelty is coming from, and tell them that I understand, and that it's ok.

Maybe, if I'm able to continue to live up to this, then we can make some progress to TRULY create some change in this world...

House of Mirrors

I have had a number of relationships in my life where I view a high degree of similarity between myself and the other person, and within that similarity, I'm able to come up with a single difference between us that I see as defining. I liken it to being a mirror image. The image in the mirror is effectively the same, but inverted. There are actually three of these sorts that I find particularly informative to myself at the present moment.

The first, and the longest, is dealing with my elder brother. Not only do we look frighteningly similar to one another, but we also were the nerdy, awkward kids growing up. Both of us are gay, and both of us have had at least some degree of "needing to be needed." There's a lot more to it, but I think you get the point.

My brother's favorite book of all time was "The Catcher in the Rye." And he still firmly identifies himself with Holden Caulfield. The baseline reason for this is that, for him, adults are selfish and hurtful beings, for the most part. Children, while being very self-centered, tend to also be more giving and ultimately concerned for the well-being of others than adults. Particularly when one considers the hurtful ways that many parents use their children against one another, children themselves are often the victims of the selfish posturing of adults. And so thus, not only do those children become victims of adults, but they then have the tools hard-wired into them to become those hurtful adults who had victimized them. Thus, my brother has become a school psychologist, has a very small group of friends that he feels that he can trust, and otherwise remains wary of the rest of the adult world.

I have found that I am similar to him in this fact, not because I'm focused on children versus adults or anything like that, but because I do see that there is a lot of hurt in the world. Even with regard to activism, I have always taken the position that human beings are intrinsically able to have so much potential, but because every single person in the world has been hurt, they act out to hurt others. This hurt takes on such a large scale that the hurtfulness seems overwhelming. I can't help but sometimes take the look that everyone in the world is broken in some way... and that those feelings of being hurt and broken frequently lead people to act out in ways that hurt and break others. It is thus a never-ending cycle.

The true extent of finding myself similar to my brother was shortly after my last break-up. He had stated that every time he has fallen in love, it was *just* at the moment when he felt somehow safe. Not only did I come to a major realization within myself for that reason, but was put in a bit of a more agitated position when talking to Julie about the recognition, as she flippantly stated "but relationships are never safe. They're always a risk." This to the guy who was really hurt, but who kept running to one of the guys he was seeing whenever he felt hurt to hold and feel better... it wasn't one of my best moments, I'll admit. But I learned from it.

And yet, here's where the difference between myself and my brother comes in. We both see the world as a place that has so much potential to hurt people. And both of us see ourselves as taking an essential role in mitigating this hurt in some way. But where my brother, from my perspective, sees no hope in the world of adults and thereby attempts to protect children from the world, I see things differently. I see potential hope for all of us, so long as we can move PAST the hurt, past what has broken us, and to allow the cycle to end there. I believe that there are adults in the world who have been able to say "I've been hurt. I have this broken piece inside of me, but I'm not going to allow it to control me or to cause me to hurt or break anybody else."

And this is where I see my own role in mitigating the hurt and the brokenness of the world. And where I've made a determination for myself even within the realm of relationships. No longer will I fear love as an inevitability of being hurt and fight it every step of the way, and no longer will I build up barriers to trusting other adults. I will give everyone a fair shot of trust, respect, and mindfulness. And if and when they take that trust, reject it and reach down into their own pits of hurt to throw that trust in my face? I will not allow it to contribute back to that hurt and cause me to continue the cycle. I will communicate my hurt, and I'll be open and honest about my position, but I will write nobody off completely, and I will continue to validate the existence and feelings of those people who have hurt me. And my hope is that my example of allowing myself to be hurt without lashing back out will have a true and lasting impact upon them, and it may help them move past their own hurt, to stop the cycle of hurting other people.

And with regard to love? I'm not going to build my defenses higher, or put up more barriers to prevent myself from falling in. I'm in the process of breaking them down. I've been hurt before, and I've survived. And even the most painful of those relationships have left me learning a great deal about myself and other people. And so I give myself over. I am ready to be hurt again, because I am not going to try to protect myself and others FROM the world. I'm looking to fix the problem, and to begin the process of healing. Starting with myself, and moving on to others...

The second of these is far less on a grand scale. But it's a reflection nonetheless. It is actually a sense that I've had from one of the couple I'd last dated. And sorry to everyone if you thought I should be more anonymous with my blogs, or change people's names, but... that's not me. I'm honest, no matter what.

While I was never as close to Steve as I was to Ray directly, I also saw many frightening similarities between myself and Steve. One of those particularly, became especially apparent during my birthday dinner, when Steve had discussed a certain strategy for manipulating a supervisor to get a dispensation he'd been looking for. Apparently Ray had not agreed with Steve's ability to get the dispensation, or the method that he was using to get it. Steve's response, of course, was to merely point out how much Ray didn't understand how to properly manipulate people.

Sadly, I got this. For my own point of similarity, my mother was, and still is, one of the most manipulative people in existence. To this day, she has excelled at making it seem as if her meeting some of her own needs is somehow tied to something important for YOU, and as such, you owe her something for it. It's like getting a two-for deal. She meets her own needs, and then gets you to feel obligated to her for it besides. In high school, this meant that there was an all-out war between us. It was mostly a "silent" war, as of course it involved *relatively* little violence... well, for my part, at least. It was instead a war of manipulation, as I saw my only means of escape as being able to beat her at her own game. And I became VERY adept at it. Which again brought out many issues, including a sense of profound satisfaction any time I managed to drive her to acting out in violence, as I never reciprocated. It gave me a sense of victory, of winning... and when I finally went to college, and when she attempted to direct my course in college, I had what I'd considered my "final victory" where she no longer had any power over me.

The degree of the manipulation was immense. To the point where my brothers and I even to this day will point out a habit, a thought process, or even a way of arguing that one or another of us will use, and say "you know that's not normal, right? That comes from Mom." And yet, at least at the time, I'd taken a profound satisfaction from the fact that, in fact, I had beaten her at her own game.

The problem becomes that I have absolutely no desire to be that person, and therefore attempt regularly to NOT engage in such manipulation. It has taken me years, but I've come to see the silver lining in it, which is the fact that the attentiveness that comes from knowing how to manipulate, also brings with it a sense of empathy. For the manipulative person, like my mother or Steve, to get back to the original topic, you need to be able to read people and see where they are, in order to understand where to push this or that button and therefore to trigger the effect that you're looking for. After you become adept at reading the signs, however, you can also turn things around and do what you can to help *prevent* the breakdowns, recognize what somebody might need despite what may or may not benefit you, and help to ease tensions instead of generating more of them.

And so is the difference in the reflection of what I see in Steve. He takes a great sense of pride in his ability to manipulate others, and maintains it as one of his greatest strengths. In effect, he uses it as a means to protect himself by trying to be in complete control over every interpersonal relationship he has. He benefits from it in a great many ways, as well. For a brief while, I was actually even somewhat jealous and upset that he managed to get away with it so amazingly, whereas my refusal to "stoop to the level" had managed to mean that I got to be the person hurt the most by the situation... and yet, over time, I've recognized one thing. By controlling each relationship, you are maintaining a static environment, and you are never growing. I may have been hurt, but I've grown from the experience and have moved onward. And even when I sent my last message stating that I understand the place of hurt that he had come from, and that I still cared deeply for both him and Ray, his scathing response... the one that came from that place of hurt and brokenness, made me realize that mine is truly the better way. And my hope is that my refusal to give back that hurt and pain will help him to realize that maybe there is some room for being open to hurt, after all.

Finally, and I apologize for this being a much more long-winded entry than it should have been (now that I think on it, I should've broken it down into 3 separate entries), is my friend Aileen. We both had gone to the same Jesuit college where we met, and she has been one of my greatest friends. I still remember her as having one of the most positive reactions to my coming out, having put her arms around me and hugging me, and congratulating me on being able to come to that point. Aileen is also an activist. Aileen is a strong feminist, as am I. After Fairfield, both of us spent the same summer at the New Haven Catholic Worker. Our positions are very similar to one another.

But in many, many ways I am a separatist. Aileen is a reformer. I saw the Catholic Church, and indeed Christianity overall, as being horribly linked to sexist, homophobic values and have summarily rejected it, in favor of coming to a cosmology that is more humanist, affirming, and value-centered. Aileen always saw the same problems that I have, and yet has always felt that there is room to reform the institutions from within.

It is similar with regard to the idea of marriage and monogamy. I reject both institutions, seeing marriage as having started as a means of documenting possession and control of women, and having not improved substantially since its inception. Aileen has always been more "traditional" when it comes to dating and relationships.

In taking on our activism, it was always somewhat profound to me that we would be able to go about our work in such meaningful ways, and with such a continuity of spirit, when our philosophies were also so different, as well. In a sense, and you'll forgive me for the nerdy comic book reference, I have always seen myself as the Magneto to her Charles Xavier, or for a more realistic reference, as the Malcolm X to her MLK.

I admit, however, to being a little bit nervous about one thing. In most of our discussions, I can remember having said "I hope I'm wrong, and that you are able to make the changes that you want to make within the institutions. But I don't think I am, and that the institutions are doomed to forever be perpetrators of oppression."

I'd lost contact with Aileen for many years, and only just recently have re-connected with her again. She is still one of my best friends in existence, despite the years and distance intervening. And yet, on her facebook profile, the one thing I've read that I have yet to mention in my conversations with her thus far, was that her religion section lists the word "Episcopalian." It makes sense, of course. She can become the minister she has always wanted to be within the Episcopal Church, and the teachings of the Episcopal Church are still extremely similar to the Catholic Church.

For once, I get the fear that I was right. I can't help but feel conflicted. She is clearly going to be happier as an Episcopalian than she ever could have been as a Catholic. But the fact remains that I can't help but imagine what it must have been like for her on that day, to come to the conclusion that, yes "this institution is not going to change. I no longer have hope for it, and therefore I must leave it to become a part of something better." Part of me is relieved that I was not around on that day, because such a decision speaks of having a sense of lost hope. And yet, I wish that I could have been there to tell her, at least, that yes, there is more out there that is better. And even though you are rejecting this institution, you are leaving room for building something that is better.

These are my mirrors. I admit to taking a bit of satisfaction in witnessing how much I've developed by relating back to them again, in some way. But even in the course of writing this, I've even still learned something else that is new. Each of the people who I consider to be one of my mirrors, the difference that I see, is dealing in some way with growth and the way we relate to the world. And it is a question of growth versus safety. Whether it is the safety of an institution, or safety in distance from the adult world, or even in manipulation and control over your relationships, there is a safety that comes as a result. In each of these, however, I have taken the path of less safety. The path of risk. And yet, I think that the safety I take from my position is knowing that I can always relate myself back to each of them. That to some extent, while I have prioritized my need to grow and become something better, to create something greater, I can always turn either back or to the side and see those who have found an anchor. Perhaps they aren't my mirrors after all, but my lighthouses. Those who provide a point to which I can always refer back, even as I venture out into uncharted territory...