I'm OK; You're OK (I hope)

I've often said that this blog is for me, and if anyone stopped by to read along, all the better. I throw around a lot of thoughts here, and am encouraged by comments from fellow travelers, from people I did not even know were also traveling with me. I'm glad you're here. Well, I wish you weren't necessarily right "here", because "here" can be a tough spot and often you and I would rather be "there." In any case, I thank you for the honor of sharing your journey with me.

So I take this slight diversion from my stream of conscienceness to specifically talk with my fellow travelers, however many or few of you there are. It occurred to me that I put a lot of depressing stuff on this blog. Usually that's because I come here, to my tiny piece of electronic real estate, when I need to process and think and perhaps even vomit up whatever is going on with me. So you see and read about me at some of the valleys, and not many of the higher points.

I'm certainly not done with this journey; I've actually just begun. But I pause near the end of 2006 to let you know I'm OK. Not every day is good, but most days I believe I will make it. Where I'm headed is unclear, but I will make it. And often the reason I keep blogging on those rotten days is to erect the appropriate mileposts (pun intended) along this journey of mine. It helps to recall where I've been; and a sliver of is beginning to believe that those dismal posts will eventually be a great piece of my story, serving as fuel for a light I may someday hold to encourage other journeyers and help them to believe too.

So I'm OK.

Not great.

Not 100% at peace.

But OK.

I hope you are too. And if you're not OK, that in and of itself is OK.

Thinkin' Too Much

I hear this from my closest friends: "You're thinkin' too much." I do have the ability to slice and dice my thoughts and feelings into oblivion. Like those goofy Magic Bullet contraptions from the world of 30-minute infomercials, I take a simple idea in my head and pulverize it beyond recognition. I've been doing that a lot lately; thinking and analyzing and pondering thoughts until I twist myself into a nearly paralyzed state of mind.

I've been looking into my past; reminiscing about my past attractions. Or more accurately put, lack thereof. I know I've always found men more physically satisfying than women. When my mom would bring home the Sears catalog, I would always fast forward through the many pages of women in their personal items to find the much smaller section of men with strong chinlines modeling the best Sears had to offer. I even remember asking my parents for permission to be on my own at the store. They probably thought I was looking at toys, but I was really in the men's department checking out the boxes of underwear and the beautiful men gracing the packages. (Geez, this is embarrassing, isn't it?)

But...I don't recall many--or any--real live guys from my younger years with whom I desired a relationship. There was my neighbor Doug, who was a few years older than me and far more built than I ever have been. Thinking back, he was gorgeous. Sometimes our parents would take us swimming. He was beautiful. But was I ever in love with Doug? Did I want a relationship with him? Not really. But did he interest me more than my neighbor on the other side, Kim? Yep. Without question.

Why? Why didn't I feel "those" types of feelings when I was younger? I have always found men more physically attractive than women. But that hasn't always translated into emotional or spiritual or even sexual desire to be close to men. Maybe I just enjoy pictures of men, but not so much men themselves. Or maybe I'm still denying some things? Or perhaps the right guy hasn't come along yet? Or the right woman? I've held the hands of a few men, and my heart went flutter, flutter. Why? Wouldn't a woman's hand feel just as nice? I honestly wouldn't know. Perhaps being alone isn't so bad?

Yep, here we go...the Magic Bullet is at it again. And I am what is being ripped apart inside that little plastic dome.

Merry Christmas

It has been a quiet time for me. I've been kicking around some things in my head. That only seems fitting because life seems to be kicking me around a bit too.

No big deals; just a series of small things that are hard to carry on a journey.

In case I don't get back here before Christmas, I do want to wish anyone reading along a Merry Christmas. It is an incredible thing, to consider that among mooing cows and noisy sheep, God arrived in a stable. Happy birthday, Jesus.

Peterson Toscano

I want to give some recognition to a fellow blogger and journeyman. Peterson Toscano travels the world performing his collection of self-written theatrical dramas which details his own journey through an ex-gay ministry. And though I maintain some anonymity here, I will say that I have seen one of Peterson's dramas and even had a chance to meet him and visit with him at length. He is an incredibly nice guy and I grew from the experience.

Peterson wrote something at his blog which I have revisited many many times. In his post titled The Bible and Homosexuality, he makes a compelling case that many people have not fully pondered how faith and sexuality interact, and points his readers toward God to continue working out the issues. I have begun to consider just which parts of my faith I have taken at face value without ever examining them. In my opinion, a faith worth having and a faith worth building my life on ought to be open for inspection, and where necessary, adjustment.

I just merely wanted to say, "Thanks, Peterson" for your words and the amazing transparency with which you deliver them. Drop by his blog; you will be better for the time you spend there. And I hope it does not bother him too much to find his picture here.

Stairs

Funny how the smallest of life events can trigger fear. I fell down some stairs. Thankfully, it wasn't all the stairs in this picture. I fell down just two stairs--or was it three? Perhaps that was part of my problem to start with. That, and the left shoe and grocery bag at the bottom landing that I had previously been too lazy to clear.

I was left with two minor injuries: a bruised ego and a scraped toe which didn't even bleed. (I can hear my dad now, explaining that it shouldn't have been a big deal because I didn't draw blood.) The triggered fear, however, was far worse. Standing myself up at the landing, I gained composure, but then nearly lost it again crying. Suddenly I was reminded that I live alone, that my life is essentially about being alone and that I fell alone.

I myself was the proverbial tree in the forest--if the Journeyman falls down the stairs and no one is there to hear it, does he make a sound?

Would anyone know?

Or care?

I have a tremendous--possibly irrational--fear of growing old alone. This goes far beyond the desire for companionship. Instead it drives at the heart of wondering what will happen to me when I am too old to feed myself or manage my finances or whatever. The bottom of the stairs may be as good as it gets.

Most of me knows that God will continue to take care of me like he always has. Even so, the stair incident really scared me. Using the phone, I told one far-away friend about my fear, if only because he couldn't laugh directly in my face. I want to give God my fear, but that alone seems harder in practice than in word.

I am thankful for people who have told me I am not alone. I sure feel alone. My quiet home confirms it. I hope someday soon to remove the loneliness from the lives of other people. It is something I truly sense the Lord saying to be lately. What an honor and privilege it would be to remind someone else they are not alone.

Stories

Today I couldn't help but wonder what other people face in their lives that challenges them. The woman next to me at the library; what scares her? The artist I met yesterday over breakfast; will he recover from someone stealing several hundred dollars from his house? That guy in the white sweatshirt who sat alone at church this morning in the very back corner, avoiding every person's eye contact; what is his story?

I guess I simply long to know people better, and to have them know me. Several years ago one of the broadcast news networks aired a weekly segment in which the same reporter would go from town to town across America. He selected someone randomly from a phone book--or at least that was how it was presented. The reporter would learn their story, and I was continually amazed at what people had been through. One person lost his wife, and played the piano now in her memory. Another made kitchy lawn ornaments. Everyone has a story; I am no different.

Yet our society often prides itself on how well we conceal our stories. Don't let them see you cry. I'm just as guilty; I tell my friends things are "fine" when I know they are not. Therefore I cheat them of my story, and I cheat them of their chance to share their greatest burdens--and greatest triumphs. I rob them of their story and their chance to retell it, with all its jewels and warts combined together in some mysterious way. Bringing me even more sadness, the church is no different, as I and many others play a hopeless game of putting up facades in an attempt to fit in. I wonder how long we can keep it up?