Reflections on 2013

As this year draws to a close, I find myself in deep reflection. One of the darkest chapters of my life unfolded in late 2012--losing my brother Matthew. I was hardly in a celebratory mood as we entered the new year. I spent nearly all of January in a black cloud; I hardly moved from my couch most days. Oh, I did my job. I took care of the most basic of things. I found a few things to complain about on this forum. But beyond that, I simply couldn't function. Sometime in February I admitted to a close friend that my life was a wreck. Things needed to change or I was not going to survive this loss. That's when things started to turn a little. I started going to the gym every day, a habit that one friend would later call a "crutch". I started to follow politics again, and began an inward search to discover the "real" me. One discovery? I was alienated from the LGBT community, and that separation was KILLING me.
Sometime in the spring, I started to take a close look at what was happening in my state capitol. The atrocious behavior of both our Governor and his party finally got me off my couch: I began to blog about the issues, and eventually participated in the Moral Monday demonstrations. It was there that I sensed my true place in this life: law. I decided to have a career in law, something that might not have happened had I not lost my brother.That's not to say  I lacked the passion and interest before he died, but that I lacked the courage or even the will to try in the first place.
During the summer months, a season I generally loathe, I connected with J. Oh, we have always known each other, it turns out...at least we have since I moved to NC. But we didn't really KNOW each other. That changed this summer. I am not sure why, but I guess this was just our time. Our year. I fell in love with J, a process that turned what remained of my old life upside down. It threw the proverbial wrench into her life as well...
So here I am, one year out from one of the worst days of my life. The life I have today  is unrecognizable from the one I lived on the afternoon of December 7th, 2012, just hours before my phone would ring with heartbreaking news. I did not know it then, but my life ended that day, too. The relationship, the home, even the person I had become, all fell apart that day. One year later, I stand in a very different place. I have new career ambitions, I am with the person I always dreamed of being with, and I am making a new home for myself. I am different physically, and for the first time, I can truly say that I am happy. I have new dreams, too: I want to share my life with J, and eventually have a child with her. I want to get serious about both my writing and my artwork. But most of all, I want to make the most of every day I have. I don't want to squander the gifts my brother gave me upon his death.  I know what it means to love and to be loved, and I want to live a life that radiates that.

Grace will suffice, eh?

It's been awhile since I last complained about an idiotic church sign. Rest assured, I see plenty. However, due to my love-induced fog, I am more likely to let things go these days than I would have previously. Not this:

"God's grace is sufficient"

Really? Grace is defined as the "free and unmerited favor of God". I think that sounds quite lovely, but it is hardly pragmatic. If someone is hungry, it means nothing to have God's favor if that affection doesn't translate into an actual meal. You might argue that having God's favor guarantees that one will always have their needs met, but that is hardly the case. I see need everywhere, and due to the very nature of God's grace--that it is in fact free and unmerited--I have to assume that every person has God's favor. Yet those people clearly have not had their needs met, therefore, God's grace is not sufficient. Instead of oversimplifying God's love for us, we should show our gratitude for that love by meeting the needs of those around us. Only then will God's love truly be sufficient.

When memories reveal a truth you don't like...

When I fell in love with my companion, J, I marveled at this: what stood out to me was not the way she made me feel, but the way I felt about her. Previously, I could list a "thousand" things about the way someone made me feel: I felt loved, happy, beautiful, alive, valued, or even safe... But I never thought too much about the way I actually felt about the person I was with. And that difference led me to a pretty shattering conclusion: although I have loved previous romantic partners, I've never actually been in love with anyone. I have no emotional memories of having felt anything more than deep caring, or in some instances, flat out obsession, for the individuals in my past.
This, naturally, is not the typical realization one has. J herself has been in love, and subsequently heartbroken, on more than one occasion. I have no frame of reference for such things, because my sorrow over losing past "loves" nearly always involved what I was losing in terms of physical or emotional gratification, not the actual person herself (or himself, as the case may be). I feel pretty terrible as a result of this realization. Not only is it embarrassing to come this far in life without being able to say I've had the experience of truly loving another individual, but at times I feel emotionally ill-equipped to handle the demands, and grown up aspects, of a truly romantic relationship. As a result, there are multiple misunderstandings and deeply hurt feelings on a pretty regular basis. I know it is not unusual for Aspies to say they have never been in love. I also know that a deep connection with another individual is possible for an Aspie, but it takes the right person to make that happen. Without question, J is that person for me.
And that leaves me with quite a bit of work. Not only must I overcome my insecurities, handicaps, and general anti-social tendencies (for it is much easier for me to simply be alone and, quite frankly, be miserable) but I must also continue to stretch myself. I must participate in the tending of our relationship, lest we lose this incredible gift we've been given.
A final thought on the difficultly of falling in love with the right person, or simply falling in love period: my wise friend Laura pointed out that it's actually very difficult to find someone to love. If it weren't, she says, then everyone would be in love and the world would be a much better place. Indeed.

The shame I was never meant to own...

When I was 19, I came out to my family as bisexual. It did not go well; within a couple of weeks of making my "announcement", I was kicked out. But I had a girlfriend at the time, and she kept me fairly happy considering the circumstances. I started to envision a life with her, but to my surprise, I could not. Instead I was plagued with feelings of deep guilt and shame. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just love--and truly have sex with--a boy? Why did I have to be some sick pervert?

That internal dialog won--twice. I married two different guys in an attempt to be a proper, healthy straight person. In between those relationships I had girlfriends, including one DURING my first

marriage. I tried hard to deny the "ugly" truth: I was not bi, but in fact gay, and a damn miserable gay individual at that. I buried myself in denial, living a lie that, at least, protected me from the awful shame I felt every time I allowed myself to be real. 

Denial comes at a huge price though, and in the end offers very little in the way of true protection. I nearly lost "me" in my attempt to avoid feeling ashamed.

When I met the traveling companion I so often allude to, I tried to run away again. The shame I felt washed over me in a tidal wave that nearly drowned me. I did not want to feel the guilt that my "perverted" feelings induced. And then it hit me: I was never truly ashamed. Those hangups were not mine. They belonged to someone else. I only thought that was the way I felt because I'd been convinced of that. When I made that discovery, I ran right back to my companion. I realized she was a gift, someone to cherish and spend my life with. I could find no shame in that, but I would have been terribly guilty had I allowed such an incredible gift to go to waste.

My brother's incredible gift...

In less than a month, my brother will have been gone for a year. It's incredible, really, that he's been gone this long. At first, I lamented the fact that it was him that had to go. I told my mom it should have been me; after all, Matthew was in medical school, had touched more lives than I could count, and was a brilliant, loving individual. I could claim no such things. But then something happened: I realized life is not so much short (as people love to say) as it is fleeting. It's not guaranteed; it is here one minute and gone the next. We must make the absolute most of the life we have. We must have the courage to live the life that is meant for us. In losing Matthew, I became aware that not only was I living a life that was not my own, but that living that way was killing my spirit. Matthew, upon dying, gave me a truly amazing gift: the courage to get up and walk into the life that was meant for me. His gift was twofold--when I embraced the path that I was meant to walk, I found the traveling companion I had spent a lifetime searching for. I can never thank my brother enough for giving me both my life and the love of my life.

The next leg of my journey...

During the last few months, I have journeyed with the most incredible individual. Intelligent, sharp witted, loving, loyal, talented, and dedicated, my friend is unlike anyone else I've encountered. My life is different because of this person, and it is due in part to her that I emerged from the deep sleep my soul had fallen into. But we find ourselves at a crossroads now. I am going one way, and
for a time, maybe forever, she must go a different way. My heart is broken, my soul
in shock. I cannot imagine walking without her companionship. I only hope she knows just how much she changed my life, and that I will always be grateful for that.

Awakening

Recently, I was awakened from a long, deep sleep. I had slept for years, and no longer knew who I was. I'd forgotten how to live, how to love, how to hope.
But then I awoke. Like Chopin's Edna Pontellier, I saw that I was living, and dying, by attempting to live within the acceptable confines of a world I truly do not belong to. I see that living that way is no life at all. It is a type of slow suffocation, my breathing becoming more desperate as I attempt to survive. I just cannot do that any more. And now it's too late--I have risen, and I am taking the steps toward a full life. I can never go back.

Is there a "right" time?

What is "time"? One beautifully written definition simply describes it as [that thing] that keeps everything from happening at once. Time, in some ways, is undefinable, though. It can race beyond us, over us, and even through us. It can slow down, crawling along, each minute feeling like an entire day.
Newton argued that time was an essential component in the structure of the universe, independent of events, yet allowing for events to happen in order.
Is there a "right" time? I imagine that things happen exactly as they should, therefore rendering each moment a perfect one. But perhaps it was St. Augustine of Hippo who put it most eloquently: time is an extension of the mind by which we simultaneously grasp the past in memory, the present by attention, and the future by expectation.

A few thoughts on love...

What is love? Deborah Anapol writes that "love is a force of nature. However much we may want to, we can not command, demand, or disappear love... Love is bigger than you are. You can invite love, but you can not dictate how, when, or where love expresses itself."

The Apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians that "love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."
What is love? I think I finally know.

Proud to be a 'sexual pervert'...

I went to NC Pride yesterday, a first for me. I don't know how I went all these years without attending at least a minor celebration, but I did. NC Pride is a major event, so it is safe to say I made up for my lack of participation all these years.
Being among members of the LGBTQ community, and not just supporters, was elating. I felt completely at peace and accepted. Actually, I felt normal. Then I saw the church vans...
I'd wondered if they would be there, and I was not disappointed. The 'kinder' people simply sang hymns. Others were less careful in their so-called outreach to us. They shouted scripture verses at us, carried signs declaring homosexuals hell-bound sexual perverts, and one man even disrupted the event by reenacting Christ carrying the cross to his death (for us, I can only presume).
I know this kind of stuff goes on, but I'd never seen it in person. It is despicable, hateful, and totally pointless. I will never convert to their religion, go to their churches, or worship their god. Why would I trade the love and acceptance of my community for what the church is offering? No, I'd rather be a perverted sexual deviant than treat others the way I was treated at Pride.

Balls on a play field...

Most days I view life as a cosmic pinball machine. We're the balls, batted around seemingly at random. The popper launches us into orbit, and we proceed around the lane. But unlike actual pinball, we don't spend our time en route to the drain. Ok, perhaps some folk do, but I think most people don't do exactly that. Rather, we get popped around continuously, occasionally bumping into others on the lane. Our encounters with others on the lane might be brief, last some moderate amount of time, or perhaps they will last for years. No encounter is truly random--the universe controls the flipper, remember--and perhaps more important, no encounter is ever a waste, although what is gained can most certainly be. I think most encounters, however long in duration, only happen once. The flipper keeps us in perpetual motion, and we are all being tossed into other directions on the play field. But once in awhile, we encounter the same person twice. What we do with that encounter is entirely up to us, however. Do we meet briefly, learn something, and then move on, or do we allow for something more? I think it's important to consider it carefully. Most of us never get that chance again.

The year of finding me...

Next week is the 9-month anniversary of the worse kind of 'anniversaries': Matthew's death. Since then, my life has been in a strange place. In many ways, I have this floating sensation, like I'm not really here. Part of me doesn't believe he  is gone. I still have not deleted his number or email address from my phone. I keep his business card with all the other cards I have, as if I am going to need it for some reason. And I live with regret. Two months before he died, he wanted to meet in Boone for lunch. "Too far", I complained. I said I would see him next time. That time never came. We talked on the phone all the time, but had a stupid fight on Facebook right after the election. We never spoke again. I cannot express how awful that feels. My brother could be an arrogant know-it-all, but we rather enjoyed each other, and I miss that.
Losing him impacted me in a profound way. Who am I? Is this the life I really  want? Am I happy? I have a long way to go before I find the answers to these questions. Before that, I have to get through a few of the worst kinds of anniversaries.

Christian Mingle vs. Reality

The latest "thing" to grab my attention is Christian Mingle, a dating site for straight, single Christians. The site itself is not so interesting to me, although one person (on Facebook) pointed out that searching for God's choice "for me" online is a bit odd. I think so, too; isn't that usurping God's role? But I digress. What has captured my attention is their ads, which I  see a lot on channels like the Discovery Company's crime channel, ID (seems like an odd choice). The couples in these ads, who proudly display their wedding date, are sickeningly "pure". They are the epitome of white privileged America. The kind of folks who follow all the rules--you know, straight marriage, sex AFTER marriage, and of course having babies--and feel that they are due multiple blessings as a result. Yeah, maybe I'm reading too much into this. But I know a couple like this. They are very proud of their love, and boast pictures of it all around their home. They of course plan to have children, and she is the dutiful wife, he the head of the household. They believe they are entitled to all the blessings and privileges that come with following the Christian playbook. And what of gay families? Well, no, they can't have those blessings or privileges.  Well, they can. All it takes is entering into a God-approved relationship with someone of the opposite sex. Maybe they can find someone on Christian Mingle...

Justice Delayed is Justice Denied...

When it comes to sweeping cultural change via the law, there is often bitter disappointment on the part of those resisting change. In addition to predictions of "buyers remorse" that will surely come, they often argue that change ought to come slowly and deliberately. I suppose that is so the opposing party has time to come to terms with the impending shift. But Rachel Maddow said something interesting on her show Friday evening: justice delayed is justice denied. When we know something is wrong and

oppressive, and the law is changed to reflect that knowledge, then why must we delay at all the execution of justice? When one has waited for years--maybe even a lifetime--to live life to the fullest, then there can be no just reason for delaying their right to exercise their freedom.

Love triumphs over discrimination...

Love ruled the day, and as it turns out, the nation's highest court, too. It might be, as some are already noting, a minimal ruling in a very complicated set of laws, but it busted the so-called door down, and full marriage equality is surely in sight.
As a member of the LGBT community (yep, you read that right; I'll let you figure out which "letter" applies to me), I could not be more thrilled. What an exciting time it is to be in our country.

My Continuing Frustration

I have been in a bit of a hole--the perpetual abuse of the middle class (or what is left of it) has really gotten me down. Taxes, increases in everything that one needs to live even a moderately comfortable life, and stagnant wages have led to a deepening frustration that our lives are not getting better (as many ads on TV suggest)--they are in fact getting worse.
I don't want to resent those who have more than I do.  But it's hard not to when we work so hard and have relatively little to show for it. Our home needs many improvements; our cars are 10 and 17 years old; we are trying to pay off personal debt and college loans. At $40,000/year, I'm not sure we're even a part of the middle class whose assault I am so lamenting.
What about you?  Are you frustrated?  Envious?  Hopeful? Do you think I am a spoiled American who should be happy for every little thing I have? Mind you, I am starting to understand why some say that religion is the opiate of the masses--if a wealthy religious person can convince me that I should be grateful for God's blessings--however meager they might be--then I won't be in a position to be pissed off at their immense riches. And believe me, it has worked--I feel guilty even complaining.  But if we don't get mad, who really stands to benefit from our complacency?

Freedom Is Back In Style…

Well, this won’t take long. I heard a nifty little tagline on the Sean Hannity radio show yesterday—freedom is back in style. The topic of yesterday’s show? The Supreme Court hearings on California’s prop 8, which if the court refuses to strike down, will allow states to deny “certain” couples the right to marry.  So, I guess freedom isn’t in style for everyone, Mr. Hannity. But you’ve made it clear you’re okay with that.

It’s Nontraditional, So Women Won’t Do It?

I heard a pretty interesting story on NPR’s All Things Considered yesterday. It was about military enlistment numbers.  Increasingly, males are having a harder time getting into the military.  Why? They simply don’t qualify.  Arrest records, dropping out of school, or simply being overweight keep young men from being able to join.  But recruiters report fewer issues with female applicants.  And as the military accepts more women into their ranks, it makes the recent decision to allow women into combat even more appropriate.

But as might be expected, not all men like this.  Some complain that fitness standards will be watered down to allow women to pass. Never mind that 20% of men fail as well. One very high-ranking man, Bernard Rostker, doesn’t think they’ll come and join in droves, though.  His reasoning is simple: “forcing” women into combat roles is nontraditional, and the work is really hard. Now, I don’t know Mr. Rostker, but I’m going to make a huge assumption and say that he’s never been pregnant (nor have I, for that matter).  But if a woman can carry and give birth to a child, I think she can handle “hard work”. Really, how insulting can one be?  To suggest that women won’t accept a job because it’s not what they typically do and it’s hard is so incredibly offensive. Historically, women have stepped into these roles with no problem—just look at WW II.  The only reason they left those jobs was because the men were back and because the “real” workforce had returned—it was time for the women to get back into the kitchen.

Let’s be clear—I am a Quaker and inherently oppose war and the preparation for it.  However, I am also a feminist, and will be damned if some man is going to tell my gender what they can or cannot do, and whether or not we’ll take a job because it requires hard work.  Mr. Rostker (and all your good old boys who agree with you), the world is changing. Women can and do want to work—and you can join us or get out of the way.

Ending the Guilt-Trip Journey

I'm easily guilted--whether it's into donating money, food, time, or questioning my skills as a pet parent.  Or how good of a spouse I am. Or whether or not I'm ripping off my clients by charging what I charge. You name it--I've probably agonized over whether or not I'm doing it well enough or am even worth it to begin with. 
Evidently, I am not alone.  Sheryl Sandberg writes about this in her new book, "Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead". She argues that women are perpetually guilty, while their male counterparts give no second thought to whether or not they are doing the "most perfect" job, or are even "worth" the salary they earn. I thought about this for a few days, and realized that I need to stop feeling so guilty--especially when I've done nothing wrong. I may not be a perfect pet mom or spouse, but really, who is? The fact that I am there, love my family, and do my best to give them good food, a good home, and good medical care is okay. Actually, it's more than okay.  So "Bark" magazine be damned--I need not feel terrible because I don't give my animals home-cooked meals, or take my Dalmatian to the best agility programs the area has to offer. He is loved, has a good home, and most of all, was saved from dying in an animal shelter.
Which brings me to the salary issue. My other half--a guy--has never once come home and worried that he is not worth the money his job pays him.  He never says that maybe he should be doing more to really earn that money.  But me?  Every time some potential client "knowingly" informs me that my rates are high, I feel horrible.  I say "knowingly" because if they really knew, they would, in fact, know that my rates are on the lower end of what folks are charging for my line of work. This changed yesterday.  A woman from a considerably wealthy area of town balked at our rates. Specifically, she wanted an additional visit at no cost, since, in her opinion, I was already charging her so much.  The price she was haggling over? $59 a day, which included having me stay in her home at night. I happily--but politely--told her to call someone else. I was not budging. I am worth the money I charge because I am a professional.  I have business overhead to pay, plus I'd like to be able to have a nice (yet modest) home, pay my personal bills, and not be dirt-poor. The fact is, she'd want to be paid what she is worth too, so why should I want any less? Just because I can live on less doesn't mean I shouldn't earn a living wage. And it also doesn't mean I should work for "free". I felt so good letting her go.  And you know what?  She called back a few minutes later and booked me.  Score one for the newly "non-guilty"!
 

It sounds like a lesser crime, but it's worse...

I have become increasingly frustrated with the use of the term "sexual assault". It seems like people just want to shy away from the uncomfortable term "rape"--as in, "she was a victim of sexual assault", instead of saying, "she was raped".

Yesterday I heard about the 14 people taken hostage in a Nordstrom store near L.A  It was reported that one of the hostages was 'sexually assaulted'.  One radio station even reported that the victim was 'sexually abused'. Sexually abused? Was her uncle the perp? Give me a break.

But I did some poking around this morning, and it turns out the terms 'rape' and 'sexual assault' are actually different. I always thought they were interchangeable, the latter being preferred because folks were squeamish (or worse, they were downplaying the incident).  But, no. Rape, by definition, means "vaginal penetration without consent". Sexual assault, however, is broad in scope, and "includes oral and anal penetration without consent and is not limited to body parts such as a penis or fingers doing the penetration". (taken from Answers.com)

So, while I truly believe there is a war on women, apparently the use of the word 'rape' is not  a part of it.

"Forever Lazy": this is why people hate us...

Just a few days into a new year, and I fear we're already doomed. Culturally, that is. I saw an ad for this gem the other day: "Forever Lazy, the wearable blanket". Really? The ad boasts that you can now relax without the  inconvenience and general aggravations that accompany the use of a traditional blanket. You know, having to cover yourself up, and of course the biggest disadvantage of all--that a regular blanket does not come with footie attachments. Or maybe the biggest problem for you is having to remove the blanket (and yourself from the couch) when "nature calls". Not an issue with "Forever Lazy"! This one-piece delight comes with zippered openings in the front and back so you don't have to bother removing the entire "garment" before using the potty. You probably don't need to bother with having relationships with other people, either, since buying one of these indicates that you have reached the end of your journey on the path to "giving up". Or have you? The makers of "Forever Lazy" insist you'll want to wear your big-kid onesie everywhere--tailgating before the big game, partying with your friends, or just relaxing with your pets (who are the only beings that won't crack up when you put on your wearable blanket).
We wonder why so many people hate us.  Could this be it?  That they view Americans as lazy, unimaginative, and lacking the type of moral fiber that prevents one from taking such a product seriously? And I thought the "Snuggie" was a disgrace...

P.S. If you still want one of these after my disparaging post, here's the website to get your very own "Forever Lazy": https://www.orderforeverlazy.com/