A Westward Journey

Noodling

2011-07-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

What to do? What to do?

The relationship with "the guys" continues to be a

crazy experience. I so enjoy their company, but at some point I am going to wake up to the obvious realization that I am putting WAY too much energy into a sinking ship here.

I can see the pattern for myself: they sort of do what they please, on their schedule, and I take what I can get. Now I don't mean this in a mean way. They are not malicious, at least not purposefully.

But the pattern is clea

r: I love the time I get with them. I love every minute. I find myself counting down days and hours and minutes until we have some time together. It's right next to insane. And here's the really crazy part: I suspect they do the very same thing.

And yet, our actions toward each other don't support the anticipation. For example, they recently took a vacation of their own, without me. Any time their schedule presents a conflict for us, I lose out on the time together. We get to be one group of 3 people sharing life when we are in private, another group when trusted friends are around, and another group altogether when others are around. It's not fair; someday my mind and heart will BOTH accept that.

These are guys who routinely move heaven and earth to remove obstacles. They rarely let circumstances get the best of them; it just does not happen. I watched us back when we began to fall in love; on a whim, they called to say they missed me and would travel back to my town the very next weekend to see me.

I had a huge event last fall for which I had been preparing for months, and it all culminated in a big event several states over. I found out two weeks ahead that they had made preparations to be there, and to support not only me but many of my friends too.

But circumstances got the best of us; barriers exist that prevent us from ever being a polyamorous triad. I do not happen to understand those barriers because I view them as rather selfish, especially given the promises we all made to one another to journey together. But we won't be a family, and that breaks my heart over...

and over...

and over.

So I have been noodling on what I do next. What is best for the Journeyman?

I have no fucking idea.

On one side of the aisle is my conviction that I stick with this in the incredibly slim hopes this could come back together. But months after "the breakup," I am best served by giving up those hopes. So then what?

Be friends, or part ways altogether?

I realize that I absolutely love them, singly and together. I realize that I love myself when I am with them. I realize that I am having an awful time making plans for a life without them as partners.

Being friends sounds so nice and sanitary. Yet I cringed this week when I visited them and I spent the night in a guest bedroom. I hated it. And not because I needed wild rock-star sex. I just wanted to be close--or closer--than I was allowed to be.

I want more than this relationship can sustain, and being near them is so much harder than I expected. I keep seeing myself as part of their world, and I am almost certain they do not see it that way. They are moving on; I am not.

So what's best? Moving on completely? Breaking all ties? It brings me almost to tears just to consider it.

Yet how will my heart learn that those two aren't family unless I kill the relationship completely?

Steadfast

2011-07-17T15:24:00.000-07:00

Major breakthrough for me this week...

I have a hard time moving on from things and adapting to change. I can do it, but only after some kicking and screaming. With this last relationship, there has been a lot of kicking, screaming, digging in heels and doing whatever it takes to keep it alive.

That could be tough because perhaps I should learn to on more quickly. But, what a gift, to remain so steadfast that my point of view and my goals did not change throughout this unorthodox relationship. Even now, I am still maintaining my original position, that I want to put our relationship back together. *That* should be admirable, and lend stability to an otherwise tough situation where some of the others made promises that were later broken and changed rules midstream without much consideration for how those would fully play out.

I never miss an opportunity to feel bad about myself; it seems I self-flog my own self repeatedly. For once, I found a reason to like myself, and I sort of like this new approach to find even small positivity in myself. Good for me, to be steadfast. Seems a lot like how God would want it.

"I wish I knew how to quit you"

2011-07-09T10:47:00.000-07:00

(I have maintained quite a bit of anonymity here, though I suspect what I write about next will tip a few folks off as to who I am. So if this rings a bell, I just respectfully ask you allow me to remain anonymous.)

How do you quit somebody? Or somebodies?

In my last post, I lamented losing a boyfriend. However, that's not quite what I lost. Instead, it was two boyfriends.

Somehow, someway, without notice and without seeking it, I fell in love with a gay couple. And they with me. And it was good.

So good that I got lost in love all over again, and this time twice as bad because there were two guys. I wouldn't have gone seeking this, but I cannot help who I love, and I was willing to explore it. Unfortunately, we did not all see eye-to-eye on the future and on sacrifices and on supporting one another. And it was over.

On the breakup alone I could write and write and write, which I have in my journal.

My thoughts today revolve around a complete inability to move on. I still want them. I suspect one of the two guys also wants to continue, but dude #3 has closed the door in his mind. He has moved on. So the two guys are back together, but I am out there on my own.

We continue to communicate regularly because once I commit to something (and in this

case, I committed some extraordinary energy to making this relationship work), I stick with it. My word is everything. In my head, I continue to hope that we will come back together. I continue to dream about this great future in which the 3 of us tackle life, just like we said we would. I continue to honor the promise we made that we would not leave each other alone, that there would be no distance between us.

Yet on this very day, I am alone and without them. And they are on a vacation, without me.

"I wish I knew how to quit you."

I want to shout it from the top of my lungs. I want to cut off all ties and communications and scream aloud how wrong this is that I am alone again. I want to be angry, and then in the very next moment, I melt with memories of the triad we were and the tenderness that existed between us.

They brought some amazing things out of me, and I rose up out of a depression during our relationship. People who barely knew me asked why I was so bubbly and positive. Life decisions that had confounded me for years were starting to come together. A chance for a new career, a chance for a new place to live, a chance to receive love, a chance to shower my love onto two other people. Amazing stuff.

The affection, the fun, the exploration, the positivity, the companionship...ah, the companionship. It was more than I ever thought I deserved. So perhaps I fulfilled my own prophecy.

I cannot give up hope that we can get back together. Yet there is no evidence that we can ever be together. Dude #3 is not in favor of getting back together, and this is not a majority rules situation. We need 3 YES votes to continue forward.

Bad as the situation looks, I keep thinking about how great things could have been, and how crappy they have been since. And although there is so little hope for us to be together--to be a true Modern Family--I keep clinging to that virtually non-existent sliver of a promise of a chance that we can reconcile. I knew who I was when that relationship was great, and I loved me then. I know who I am now, and I like it a lot less.

So we keep talking, and I keep looking for clues that we can get back together. I hope we can experience a miracle of rekindling that great relationship. Yet it's not going to happen. In my head I know it; in my heart I refuse to admit defeat.

And so I torture myself. Continuing to stay in touch, hoping we can make it happen. I get a little hope up, then it goes away again. It's like tearing a bandage off my skin slowly, repeatedly, and experiencing the pain over and over. My friends all way, "Haven't you broken up with these guys 4 times by now?" In my mind, I have, because I catch a glimmer of hope and then I am crushed all over again when it doesn't happen.

I had dinner with them last week. I counted the hours and minutes until I could see them. Now they are on vacation for a week, and we have no way to communicate. It's crushing me; I wonder if they even remember me.

I wish I knew how to quit them.

When a break feels like failure

2011-06-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

Crashing right into stuff after a two year absense...

I'm almost certain my current relationship is over, with a hard break taking up the month of July (at minimum) with little or no contact. Things really escalated around here when I shared my feelings, and that pains me greatly. I explained that I was feeling like an outsider and not always feeling safe because the rules kept changing and I was always at the receiving end of the changes (you can sleep here this night, but not that night; we'll introduce you like this when these people are present, and like that when those people are listening, etc.)

I was very careful to be factual with my feelings and not angry. The response was, "How dare you be so ungrateful, especially when work is so busy." About my personality: I need to have that environment in which I can explain myself safely, where someone is willing to inquire gently when I seize up (which I did over the weekend). I think this current relationship cannot provide that for me right now. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it is bad for me. It's not an indictment of the boyfriend; it is rather a realization that unless some things change, the current format is not a good situation.

So my loneliness kicks in, and I feel like I am being excluded. This is probably the healthiest thing which could happen, but still....

I want to visit a nice, comfortable homes. (Actually, I want to come home to him; I'll never forget walking into this very room in which I am sitting for the first time and hearing the words, "Welcome Home".) I want to go to the Mediterranean on a cruise. I want to hang out with on a Saturday. I want to cuddle up at night. I want to walk around a warm and finely decorated home in an awesome area with two awesome dogs to play with. I want the backing of partnership as I go through a job/career change. Yet, I cannot have it. And honestly, I'm not overly angry about this...more like disappointed. I didn't make the cut. I failed the interview. I wasn't worth the hassle.

I know friends who met 18 years ago, and they lived on different coasts at the time. Within 6 months, they were living together in Philly and have obviously made it work since then. Of the longevity of that relationship, I am truly jealous. I had hoped to have a similar tale, and for a time I saw it happening. But it isn't happening. And it won't be happening.

So this feels like a failure. I feel like a failure. I couldn't keep up and I still feel terribly lonely with all my feelings and doubts I just had lunch with the former boyfriend, and damn it all if I didn't want to grab his hand and kiss him right there in the restaurant and listen to his friendly drawl for as long as he would talk. But it can't happen. And I feel like a failure.

So that's Square One....talk with you a bit later.

I'm back

2011-06-22T16:36:00.001-07:00

I'm back...and I need to talk some more. If there is anyone, I mean anyone, still out there, stay tuned.

Hold, Please

2009-02-27T06:13:00.000-08:00

As anyone who still stops by here has figured out, I am not blogging so much just now. I feel as if I am facing some fairly monumental changes right now: career changes, personal growth, and now, even a relationship (and for those wondering, it is with a guy.)

These all require my attention, and in some cases I have been avoiding the confrontation within myself by blogging, surfing porn, or just going to bed. No more: I have to face the fear within myself and press forward.....somehow.

The blog stays up for now, though I may not update the blog for quite some time. It is time for me to update my life.

Baggage

2008-12-27T07:02:00.001-08:00

Prepare yourselves. You are about to head toward territory that I have taken you to before. I ask for your patience.

I remember finding the underwear sections of the Sears catalog hot.

I remember vacationing in Phoenix when I was in junior high. At the hotel pool, this Adonis of a man arrived and soon stripped down to a white speedo to catch some rays. I was awestruck.

I remember the first time I rented gay porn--which was a trick because I had to find the right store to rent from.

I remember spending the last 60 minutes surfing porn. It literally just happened. Like literally in the hour. What a waste.

All these memories become baggage. They become heavy items which I lug around, perhaps as some self-imposed penance for my attraction to the male body. The load, however, becomes too much at times.

I can be quite agnostic about many things, resisting the idea that I can know things for absolute certain. There is always some doubt. Always. So for me to arrive at the "I'm gay" conclusion and then just get on with my life is a very very large piece of baggage. I find myself asking, "How can I be sure I am gay?" Pinning my sexuality on which photos I liked (ie, Chippendales) and which I was ambivalent about (ie, Playboy) seems like a lousy way to arrive at conclusions about my sexuality.

But it gets worse...I know one of the reasons I struggle so much with accepting about myself what is often so clear to others is that I find so much of the gay culture disheartening. I am not a party boy. I am not a social activist. I am not a social butterfly with the hippest clothes. I do not want another Craig's List hookup, because I have done that, and then been just sick about it. I just find guys more attractive than girls.

There were not lots of guys in high school and college that I crushed on. Sure, Ian the tennis player was so cute, and Mark the pre-med student was built. But I never thought to myself, "Hmmm...I would like to date him" or "I think about him day and night" or "I wonder what he would be like naked in my bed." (Ahem!) Instead I just surfed porn in the corner of the library, usually finding my way to male underwear models.

And then sometimes I am just not sure. I saw the movie Milk last night, and I wondered if I was supposed to be attracted to the guys in the movie or turned on by the gay intimacy therein, but I was not. But when I saw the movie Marley & Me on Christmas Day, I also wondered if I was supposed to be excited when Jennifer Aniston got naked. Which I also was not.

The burden of being gay is too much for me knowing that (1) it's sometimes not all that clear and (2) what is out there does not hold much appeal. Many of the stories I hear about gay people is that they just could not hold back any more. Being gay was such a part of them that they had to go public. I don't feel that way. I feel like I could just go on being single and alone for a long time, because then at least I wouldn't have to feel the brand of society, especially in my part of the country.

But then again, I have to consider the couple times in my life where there was close intimacy with another guy. And it was wonderful. To just hang out with someone, to make dinner with them, to cozy up on the sofa to watch TV, to plant butterfly kisses on his head, to buy small inexpensive gifts which actually held much sentimental meaning, to go on a date. It was all pretty great. Like really great. Like, wow, holding a man that I really care about or having him hold me is amazing. And falling asleep with a guy....sign me up.

My words are failing me today, I can tell. Sorry gang. Perhaps this is what happens when one trudges over the same territory day after week after month after year. Perhaps my assumption is this: The weight of being gay and dealing with the stigma and pondering if God finds it acceptable and wondering if I will find someone to love is so heavy, that I occasionally wonder if I should just go try the ex-gay thing and see what happens. It has to be easier than this life of mine now.

The Prayer

2008-12-24T15:29:00.000-08:00

I watched this. I cried a river.

If you like Celine Dion (I do) and Andrea Bocelli (I do) and ballads (I really do), check this out.

Of the many prayers I could offer on Christmas, this one seemed best. Merry Christmas, friends.

I pray you'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know

Let this be our prayer
As we go our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
To a place where we'll be safe

La luce che to dai
I pray we'll find your light
Nel cuore restero
And hold it in our hearts
A ricordarchi che
When stars go out each night
L'eterna stella sei
Nella mia preghiera
Let this be our prayer
Quanta fede c'e
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe.

Sognamo un mondo senza piu violenza
Un mondo di giustizia e di speranza
Ognuno dia la mano al suo vicino
Simbolo di pace e di fraternita

La forza che ci dai
We ask that life be kind
E'il desiderio che
And watch us from above
Ognuno trovi amore
We hope each soul will find
Intorno e dentro a se
Another soul to love

Let this be our prayer
Let this be our prayer
Just like every child
Just like every child

Needs to find a place,
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe
E la fede che
Hai acceso in noi
Sento che ci salvera

I Remember, Part 5

2008-12-14T05:27:00.000-08:00

I need to address something less pleasant today. It has been eating away at me for 4 years, and I need to share.

Last year I embarked on something of a journey of memories, trying to make sense of some of my past. They are just little memories that I had hoped would help me see a bit more clearly and hopefully give me a connection to someone out there who might say, "Yeah, you are not alone. I felt that too." You will find all those entries here: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; and Part 4.

But now I need to address Part 5:

It was September of 2004, over four years ago, when I made a decision. Thirty years old. Surfing porn--mostly the gay variety--in my tiny apartment. Isolated. Lonely. And about to attend the wedding of my final college friend to be married. Earlier in the year, I had had a fascinating conversation with a work friend about the wild oats she had sown over time, and that while she was much more restrained now, that she really did not regret what she had done.

So I made this decision: I was going to go experiment sexually with guys. But the precondition was that it would only last for 4 months, until the end of 2004, and then I would stop.

I find myself regretting that decision, and yet it is hard to explain why. Somewhere in my mind was this idea that I was still going to be married to a woman someday, and have children, and a simple life in the suburbs. It was going to happen, and I just needed to continue to trust and wait on the Lord to bring her along. And I also held pretty strong convictions about sex before marriage, in that I was not going to go there. But somehow I rationalized that if I messed around with guys, it did not really count and I could continue to carry around my virginity as a prized possession.

So I started using websites heavily, no longer just looking at guys but attempting to contact them. I quickly learned that not all guys where what they seemed, but I managed to find some super nice guys--two actually--who where patient and understanding with my inexperience at everything sexual and helped me along a bit.

Since you did not stop by here for a homemade porn story, I will skip over the juicy details. I never did anything which made me uncomfortable. For the first time in my 30-year life, I had experienced naked closeness with another man. And at risk of plagarizing or even defiling the creation story, "It was good."

Yes, I had some guilt and shame. No, I couldn't tell ANYONE what I had done. But it wasn't bad, and I actually fell for one of those guys and suffered through my first real broken heart (another long story for another post).

I am so stuck with that idea that I made this 4-month decision 4 years ago. I promised myself I would sow some wild gay oats for 4 months, and then head back to the straight and narrow. I broke my own promise. What if I had kept my promise to myself? What if I had decided to head back to Straight-ville?

My words are not doing me justice right now, because I am having trouble expressing my true thoughts around this. I think I am asking, Would a person with a gay sexual orientation make such a promise to themselves? Or is this more indicitive of a person with a straight sexual orientation who "wasn't gettin' any?" Was I playing the system, holding onto a straight orientation but cheating myself in the process? Was I confused? Did giving myself license to "gay it up" for a while lead to all the heartache in my head and in this blog?

I have said before that I was not with all these woman for my entire life and then decided to go fool around. In fact, I have been on very few dates in my life, I have never steadily dated a woman, never had a girlfriend (the hand-written will-you-be-my-girlfriend note I passed to Rachel in 9th grade does not count), and honestly, I have never even romantically kissed a woman. Not once. Not in my thirty-plus years. How pathetic is that?

I spend so much time arguing with myself that if I had just dated girls, and kissed them, or if I did now, that the confusion over my orientation would fall away because I would see that girls are not so yucky after all. I would have the confidence to go be straight. And suddenly my desires for a woman's body would bloom. Maybe the Journeyman doesn't know what he's missing?

But do straight guys honestly cuddle up with another man and think, "Wow, this quiet masculine moment between us is amazing. I could stare into his eyes for a long time, and touch his face, and run my hands through his hair, and dispense with anything overly sexual involving genitals and be really really content and at peace right now?"

So I am lost between a homosexual world that I do not fully understand, which is marked with trouble and prejudice and even a sense that I may never find a man for me, and a heterosexual world that I have never experienced in the first place, perhaps out of lack of desire or perhaps out of lack of confidence or perhaps even just plain fear.

But my 4 month experiment has now stretched beyond 4 years. Has it brought happiness? Maybe some. But has it brought confusion? You bet. And hurt? That too. And perhaps a sense of hopelessness? Yeah, that came too.

I'm going to stop here, but I think I need to root around in this subject a bit more in another post. Thanks for letting me think out loud.

Not to worry; Still here

2008-12-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

Not to worry; I'm still here.

I have been buried under just a bit of emotion, but mostly under Christmas shopping and work and school and a small home remodeling project and some unnerving job news. Overall, I'm hanging in there. Hope to be back soon with more tales from the journey.

This is an All-Play

2008-11-25T10:25:00.001-08:00

OK, gang. Call me a comment whore if you need to, but I do honestly want to get some feedback on this one. So if you have any advice wisdom or other words, anything at all, drop in and leave a comment.

I have really had to wrestle lately with the damn closet door, and how open I want to or care to be. Remember, I still struggle with my sexuality at times, and yet I want to live authentically with the people in my life. For several years, I have quietly and subtly pulled the door shut from the inside, almost able to hear the creaking in the unoiled door hinge. Most times, I have no appetite or strength to defend myself or "my chosen lifestyle." I just want to say, "This attraction to guys thing is a part of me" and not get berated or tossed into the middle of a laying-on-of-hands ceremony. (And yes, that practically happened to me once when I miscalculated and came out to someone not prepared to hear it.)

Yet, because I have pulled the door shut to an extent, I have lost many friends anyway. This is not because they explicitly rejected me, but rather because I snuck off and saved them the trouble. I made assumptions about how they would react and idly watched the friendship die.

So....to what extent is the closet killing me and my relationships?

Some people know about my sexuality, but I have been quite calculating lately about who knows what. Or at least I have convinced myself I have control of who knows what about me. On the other hand, someone who is my age and has never brought a girlfriend around might be fooling fewer people than I think. So I am not in an air-tight closet all alone; I trust a lot of people around me. But I have a big challenge coming out to those who are left, which is a large group of church folks and some family that occassionally has a hay-day telling gay jokes.

One thing I have heard other gay folks say is that they feared coming out because it was almost something they could not take back. Once it is said out loud, publically, for anyone to hear, there was a sense that they had been labeled and assumptions made about them.

To be called on the carpet and be told I am going to hell and that I need to read Romans 1 (always said as if I obviously have never even heard of the Bible) are not going to be pleasant for me to handle. I do not want a fight or a debate or a lengthy time answering closed-ended questions. I am not up for a fight; I am up for an honest friendship.

So I am left swinging on this trapeze, my knees hooked over a bar swaying back and forth over the arena, knowing that I cannot stay here for too much longer. And I know the way off is to let go of the bar that now holds me up, and fly though the air un assisted, hoping the person promising to catch me by the wrists and swing me over to the safety of a secure platform will really do so. Or will it be a lengthy and horrifying drop to the floor, with the impending reality that the approaching collision with the ground will cripple me?

Thankfully, I had coffee with a great friend today who I usually see once a year. I share a tremendous amount of my doings and feelings, and he helps me process them. He tells me I am different every time we talk, each time for the better. He says I am becoming courageous in my decisions and in my progress on this journey. Today, he said the same thing. And I think even the mere authorship of a post like this should tell me something. I am debating doing the "publically out" thing.

Attractive guys turn me on. Intimacy with guys is something I like. The touch of a man is wonderful, and the masculinity of being held or holding in a quiet moment is hard to capture with words. These things I know. Since forever, I would stop in the mall kiosks selling next-year's calendars and walk right past the scantily-clothed girls draped over cars seeking the Chippendales, hoping no one would notice if I picked it up and looked at the shirtless hunks on the back.

Do I explain that to someone? And how? Is there really freedom outside the closet? Or is there just a lot more people with a lot more questions which will make me feel like a second-best citizen? For those of you who made the journey, what happens on the outside of the closet? Was it painful? Honestly. Tell me. Even if there was joy in being open and authentic, was it all pain-free?

Here comes the audience participation; this is an All-Play. Raise your hand and hit the Comment button. Your turn....

A break

2008-11-19T16:49:00.001-08:00

I've been all serious for the last several entries. I need a break in the action to just say, WOW!! Robert Gant is a beautiful man.
Yep...I'm still gay!

An Odd Prayer

2008-11-17T09:05:00.001-08:00

Dear God,

We have not spent a great deal of time together lately. I found other things to occupy myself, mostly because I am scared. I am scared that you don't like me very much. I am scared that you care for me only because you have to. I mean, isn't this in the rules somewhere that God is supposed to do things for people, regardless of how much they deserve it or are grateful for it?

Those guys who represent you on TV seem to imply I don't have much going for me: gay; not much of a church guy; lonely; don't pray very much; don't tithe. They spend an extraordinary amount of time begging me to sow a seed--which is always to them--so that I can open the doors of blessing in my life. Is this how it works, God? Are you like a cosmic jukebox? I insert my money, and great things come? And they say I have lots of "flow-blockers," a term I heard repeated in person by one of my former pastors. Because I have low self-esteem and I occassionally surf porn and have not picked out that root of homosexual attractions--like it is an awful planter's wart--that you can't do much for me. I blocked the flow. I'm sorry.

Amazing to me is the idea floating around Christendom that so much of how you relate to me happens because of what I do and don't do. That's strange to me. If you are all-powerful and all-wonderful and all-loving, then do you honestly wait for me to make a move before you do something too? That's a lot of pressure on me, or at least I feel like it is. And that's why I scared of you. Because I don't think I am holy enough or reverent enough or hetero enough or (insert your own adjective here) enough to bring a smile to your face.

I am scared that I am going to lose my job soon, but we have been over this many many times. I am scared about being a loser. I am scared about my car that needs $1,300 worth of work. I am scared about having trouble setting goals. You have seen me try; I know you have. You have seen me set out on my Believe Project to get some of these things done and make some direction for myself. But setting goals does not come naturally to me. I can do what I am told, and do it well, but deciding what to do? Way harder. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it, but I need some direction.

I even struggle with tiny things in life, like socks and decorating and heat. Between you and me, God, you may have given me an attraction to guys (though whether that came from you or from elsewhere is still a bit of a mystery), but I did not get the expected accompaniment of interior decorating skills or ability to select nice clothes. I love free T-shirts. I hate $100 pairs of jeans. So my home is sparce and my closet desperately needs a visit from Tim Gunn or maybe the Queer Eye guys--ALL of them.

I need to update my resume, but I don't know how. I need to buy some black pants but I cringe at the thought. I need new tires, but they are a lot of money.

And relationships. God. Hello. Are you serious? I have zero idea what I'm doing here. I spend enough energy being comfortable with me, and then some guy happens by that I really enjoy, and I get totally discombobulated. I could put a good foot forward, but I know I will never have a solid relationship unless I can be 100% honest about who I am and the struggles I have, no matter how embarrassing. For all the talk the gay community often does to the straight world about acceptance and diversity and uniqueness, I am not as sure the gay community wants diversity WITHIN its community. Better to have a bunch of hot jockster models in a 6-page Mens Health spread. But me, a stocky guy with nice eyes but hair on my chest (gasp!!) and a weak chinline (oh the horror!!), I don't feel so much like I belong.

So I'm trying, God. Sort of. I'm not trying to get to church, but I am trying to reconnect with you. When I started figuring out I am gay I had to throw away sooooooo many assumptions about you and religion and Christianity. I had to start over, and it was tough. But maybe I will make it through, maybe. Once I get the car fixed and the resume done and some goals made and the clothes updated and something on my walls and some idea why my furnace runs too much some new socks and some idea of what a relationship would be like....then maybe.

But could I make a small request? Could you show up a little before I get all that figured out? It is too much for me right now.

How I long to crawl up into your arms, find that spot on your chest where my head would fit nicely, and nuzzle up under your chin, listening for your heartbeat, and knowing it beats for me. I don't know if it is reverent for a gay guy to think of You like this, but it would be nice.

Maybe I am not as bad off as I sound. Day-to-day, I am doing OK? But I feel the pressure building, and I sometimes wonder if I can keep up. But so long as you keep appearing in strange places (like you did this weekend, in my kitchen), then I will try to keep going.

I need to go now. Maybe to write a resume and maybe to the mall to look at shoes (you know I haven't purchased shoes of any kind for at least 3 years.) But if you hear this, and aren't too disappointed in me, I would love to hear back.

Thanks, and Amen.

Conversations from a Time Gone By

2008-11-11T07:52:00.000-08:00

I re-read an e-mail conversation with a dear friend from my church family that took place over 3 years ago. (How could it possibly be that long ago?) Though I was in a terrible emotional place then, I did have some profound--and controversial--things to say about myself, God, faith and church.

They're worth repeating, because I still see true wisdom in what both of us wrote, and I wanted to share. That's me in the black text, and her responding in blue. (And no, the photo is not us!)

I'm so very hard on myself. I administer pretty regular mental and emotional beatings to myself. I think so little of myself. I've had 3 gay friends independently say to me recently "You've got to start realizing what a great guy you are. You are WAY too hard on yourself." I feel like a complete failure most times. I'll do OK, but it's still a daily battle that I don't think I'll ever win. People who have gone before me tell me this is very normal and even familiar to them. They tell me it eventually gets better. Let's hope so.

You are soooo hard on yourself. I know that you are an amazing person as well as everyone who meets you. I am so glad though that you are not hiding (well as much as you used to) and you are being proactive about just figuring out who you are and what God is going to do with your life.

I'm challenging myself so much with regard to my faith and my church. I'm realizing how much tradition has short-changed the church and dumbed-down the gospel. I hope not to be struck by lightning, but I'm beginning to think the gospel is not the sanitary neat outline-driven academic exercise the church has made it into. I think of our church: For a few moments we sing about how amazing and beyond comprehension God is, and 20 minutes later hear a sermon proclaiming God's absolute truth on this or that. If God is so huge and beyond comprehension that we don't get Him, then how do we get to a neat outline about the unquestionable truths about Him? It's like a strange infomercial: Boil down the unfathomable into 3 points in 20 minutes. The offering plate will be by soon to take your $19.95. Free shipping and handling.

Can't we simply say we don't get it all?

I love your thoughts on faith. I think that faith is never neat or tidy. Just look at the church body for the most part..it's messy...why? because people are messy and untidy. The thing is that God continues to move in us even with all the mess. That my friend is grace, love, and hope.

Then I asked a question about her reaction to my sharing my gay orientation, and she wrote...

I don't ever want to put a label on you. Because you are more than just being gay...there is soooo much more to you. You are a wonderful friend and a great listening ear. You love and cherish people for where they are at rather than what masks we put on for the day.

You are important to me. I am proud that you seek God in all of this. That you struggle and that you are communicating with people who want to love you,whether or not they are struggling with the same thing. People who hate"homosexuality" have no clue what that means or what that looks like. Most of the time they don't even know anyone who is gay. You are not the first friend I have had who is gay and I don't think you will be my last.

Some tremendous people have been part of my journey. I am thankful for them all, but today, especially for this particular woman of beauty who walked with me when I really needed a friend.

Olbermann on Eight

2008-11-11T07:26:00.000-08:00

So far, I have tended to steer mostly clear of the Proposition 8 dialog. The conversation can get so divisive so fast that I usually just can't handle it. Besides, I know I have enough growing and enough work to do for myself before I expend a great deal of energy in this debate. (Had I lived in California, Arizona or Florida, I might have been more emphatic about this.)

Nevertheless, here is a very well-said piece from Keith Olbermann of MSNBC. I'm not his biggest fan by any means, but this commentary is very well done and worth 7 minutes of your time.

Believe

2008-11-08T12:02:00.000-08:00

I just spent the last 30 minutes crying.

To explain why I am crying is a bit embarrassing and even a little convoluted, but it relates to this portion of my journey which is headed somewhere new.

I express emotion quite easily, and this time it was manifest while watching a YouTube video...one from the Shamu show at SeaWorld, of all things. You see, I have been to that very show in person twice in the last year, and I am perfectly capable of sitting in the bleachers at that show and bawling my eyes out. While the mother next to me removes cotton candy from the hair of her 4 year old and the camera-laden tourist takes enough Shamu pictures to fill an encyclopedia, I cry.

If you have been to this show, then you know it is more than an orca whale jumping around. Actually, the whales do little more than that, but while Shamu leaps and splashes in his pool, the stadium fills with music and fancy video displays which tell the loose story of a small boy kayaking into the ocean for an encounter with a killer whale. And the deep voiced narrator takes you though "the moment in everyone's life when you begin to BELIEVE."

And that's about the spot where I could no longer subtly keep the tears in my eyes and I began to cry.

I was outside in the sun, a place I love.

I was watching a beautiful, powerful, graceful creature swim, a sight I love.

I was listening to music, a sound I love.

I was inspired, a feeling I love, but unfortunately have truly experienced far too few times. That was months ago, but watching it on YouTube brought it all back.

This week, I began a project, with the name quite shamelessly swiped from Shamu himself, simply called BELIEVE. The project represents my desire--and more importantly my need--to be restored and to move foward and to be whole and to begin believing again. There is so much to this for me, so much at stake, yet my project remains somewhat unstructured on purpose, allowing it to evolve and grow and change.

I keep coming back to that word: BELIEVE. Packed within are so many levels of change:

Believe in my story.

Believe in God.

Believe in change.

Believe in progress.

Believe in this journey.

Believe in me.

This is no school project, yet I am giving myself homework: There will be some real honest and tangible products that will come out of this for me. I am working toward several goals, some emotional, some spiritual, and some physical, all inspired by 7 sequenced letters which have been floating around within me for months and even years. BELIEVE. I don't even know what all will come, other than to say that today I have a little bit of hope and a little bit of courage and I'm going to run with it for now. That hope came from some incredible friends who don't even know they gave it to me yet, and from a killer whale who will probably never know.

I know some of what is coming, and that may just unfold on the pages of this blog. I will try to chronicle what comes next. For now, I will....

come touch the face of a mystery,
call in your heart to live,
to breathe,

BELIEVE.

Voting

2008-11-04T15:05:00.000-08:00

It's an amazing thing, this voting that we do. Every time we vote, but especially during the presidential years, I well up with pride at our country and the way we govern ourselves.

Today as I wandered around my city, I saw so many people with small oval "I Voted" stickers on their clothing. And that made me happy. All day long, I have been considering that millions of my fellow citizens are standing in line, darkening little ballot bubbles or punching out chads (wow, I hope that isn't done any longer) or touching screens to voice their opinion on who should represent them on the local, state or national level.

It's amazing to me, that the people I work with, the people I ran past, the people on the bus, the people I pass in traffic all get a voice today. Hopefully an equal voice. This is the way we govern ourselves, and I am impressed.

True, I will not agree with how each person votes, but I will take pride in the idea that many people do. The system is flawed in some ways, and I have heard of local allegations that some unusual votes may have been cast here. But the idea that we get a voice, that we are allowed--even encouraged--to express that voice just excites me.

What we vote on sometimes confounds me. That some are going to vote to remove rights in California, and write that into the state constitution, in the form of Proposition 8 confuses me. I do not know that it is appropriate to vote on rights. Our democracy tends to value and protect the rights of the minorities; we ought not allow a majority vote to determine rights. And that is as far as I care to go on voicing an opinion on the issues.

So thanks, America, for making me proud today. Regardless of whether the outcomes meet with what I hope for, I am amazed we can express our voices in this incredible way. What an honor.

Wordle

2008-11-03T09:51:00.000-08:00

I just found this fun little website called wordle.net.

So never one to pass up some fun little thingy like this, I created a Wordle based on this blog. I would not have even posted it here, until I saw an incredibly beautiful theme come through using the three predominant words in the center: Still Just Love.

If you know me--and one or two of you do--you know this is me. I don't have it down pat, but I sure do try.

Still Just Love.

Brilliant!

Hang with me

2008-10-20T15:40:00.001-07:00

Two and a half months.....and I haven't said a darn thing. And even before that it had gotten a little sparse.

Some stuff has happened here, stuff I'm trying to sort through. Hang with me a bit; I'll be back soon.

Olympics

2008-08-06T06:11:00.000-07:00

OK, gang, I'm still here. It got a little crazy there for a while, and at one point I had given up. I honestly hung my head so low that I had given up any shot at happiness or closure or comfort. I just assumed it wasn't meant for me.

Fortunately, the sun came up about 3 days later and I'm trudging again. It will all come out soon enough. Just stay tuned.

For the moment, I need to just be frivolous and light-hearted, so I pass along this quite disappointing Olympic news from OutSports: Beach volleyball: Guys, keep your shirts on

I love the Olympics. I love 'em, love 'em, love 'em. Expect to find me parked in front of the TV for the next two weeks cheering on the best athletes in sports, and even some of the not-so-best who are there simply to show they can proudly complete. I am watching for those magical stories birthed only in the Olympics. There are guys like Derek Redmond, who finished last in his 400m track heat in Barcelona, but came away with one of the greatest Olympic stories ever, finishing his race with his dad.

Or there is Eric Moussambani, who literally swam alone in his 100m heat in Sydney, while the crowd coronated him an Olympic hero, with a time more than double the medal contenders.

I am ready for a little inspiration. Bring on the Games.

Using Someone Else's Words

2008-06-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

I am totally 100% ripping off someone else's words today. Specifically, I am borrowing from PomoProphet, and you ought to spend some time reading his blog. I use his words because so many times he has given me words for feelings and emotions that I could not figure out for myself. I swear he walks around in my head sometimes.

In his most recent post, he writes about going to a gay wedding, and concludes with these words:

On a personal note I admit that part of me is still uncomfortable with being gay. And with all the gayness I was surrounded by. I mean I spent almost 7 years in exgay ministries trying to change and thinking how horrible homosexuality is. That's alot of residue to deal with. And i'm not just going to change over night. I wish I was alot more comfortable. I wish I was more secure in my relationship with Jesus over this stuff. So I haven't arrived yet. I'm still a mess. And i've got to work on the negative feelings I still hold towards homosexuality. But what I saw in that wedding was beautiful. And I hope that it becomes alot more common place in the future and more people get to see how wonderful love can be.

I get that! I know appreciate those feelings and many days wonder if I will ever come out from under them. Though I did not spend a signficant amount of time in ex-gay ministries, the rest makes perfect sense to me.

Thanks, Pomo. I really appreciate you.

Finding My Voice

2008-06-06T07:03:00.000-07:00

There is sooooo much to write about lately. The presidential election. (I found that whole John McCain / John Hagee fiasco intriguing; I could go on and on and on.) The California gay marriage deal. The slow pace with which I am becoming ever more comfortable with myself. It seems as if I am having trouble deciding what to say, or how to say it. Ironically, this could be a good thing, as it might indicate some progress on my journey.

There have been a busy couple weeks for me, and I have had some small but very neat victories for me in my personal life in areas completely unrelated to sexuality. (By the way, I love the word neat. I think it is very much underused!)

In the meantime, just know that I am thinking. I am very good at thinking, and analyzing, and pondering, and wondering, and probing, and analyzing some more, and turning over, and then doing it all over again. Once I find my voice, I will be back with more.

Take care, my friends.

Finding the Underside of Power

2008-05-08T10:58:00.000-07:00

I have been mulling this series of thoughts lately about power and the church and civil government and the like. I truly doubt I will finish these thoughts today, mostly because my ideas are still a little jumbled. But I might try anyway...

It seems to my simple mind that at some point a couple decades back, some church leaders determined that the church (speaking here of the large corporate church) could exert influence on the people around it by flexing its muscle with respect to government. By energizing Christians in a particular direction, many religious people did become a powerful political force, voting several candidates, mostly Republicans, into office. Simultaneously, parts of the church found power in their newfound influence and began wielding that power with respect to conservative social issues, the most notable being abortion and gay rights. Or maybe I have it all backwards; perhaps by becoming influencial on social issues, groups began to band together to support certain candidates. I am not certain which came first, the chicken or the egg.

Either way, the question I am left with today is: How effective has that "soldier in the culture war" stance been in advancing the church's original message of Jesus Christ? It just seems that as some leaders insist the church "stand up," and "not take it any more," and "fight against the culture war," a corresponding number of people have become the church's enemy and yet another group of people blow off Christians altogether. What does that accomplish?

I have played that part, the holy roller who ran around with flyers and went to rallies and the like. To this day, I am not sure it did any good other than make me feel accomplished and productive in those tasks that I thought a good Christian should be involved in.

Alternatively, I got to know persons. I use the word persons deliberately, because I got to know one person, then another person, and then another person. I would talk honestly about myself and all my struggles and attempt to get inside their hopes and fears and messes themselves. And somehow, I was given so much more power and influence in the lives of those persons just by being my real one-on-one self than I had ever attempted to claim. Somehow I had stumbled into the underside of power.

I have met some gay people who would go out of their way to spit on some church steps, but I never felt the need to hide myself as a Christian from them. I would simply say I was a Christian, and that lots of things did not make sense to me and that I had more questions than answers. I was not deliberately evangelizing. I was just being me. And more often than not, those people who hated the church so much would gain a respect for me. One guy told me, "I have no interest in being a Christian, but if anyone ever made me think about it, it was you." And this all occurred AFTER my lengthy pity party about how much trouble I was having reconciling homosexuality and Christianity. Here I was, spilling my guts and problems out more than anything, and being granted a spot of influence in his life because I was real.

Somehow, that is the underside of power. And I honestly think the church in general has missed it on this one.

I want other people to know I am a Christian by how I live my life. And that does not mean that they see my drive to church in fancy clothes on Sunday, or my yard sign for a particular candidate, or that I boycott some companies over their advertising. Instead, I am just real, explaining myself when it seems good and learning from someone who might differ. And in the process--and sometimes quite unintentially--finding the underside of power.

Church

2008-04-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

The church I once attended--and I attribute much of my growth to that church--had placed a mark on me. Given the members' stance on gay-related issues and the poor reaction I got from a selected group of members to whom I actually came out, I left. I spent years volunteering at that church, and a lot of people knew me. (Or at least the me I chose to share.) But when I finally decided to stop supressing my sexuality and actually deal with it, I had no safe place to go. My plan was not to come out in a flaming gay-affirming blaze of glory, but to at least say a very small set of my fellow church-goers, "I struggle with my sexuality. It is part of me and my journey. I do not know if it is right or wrong or changable or anything. I just need help. Would you walk with me through this pretty depressing and dark area for me right now? Would you help me ask the questions and process the answers?"

But after one or two pretty bad reactions, I bolted. I was told that I would have to submit to several men in the church and have them hold me to a very high accountability level for my feelings. (Mind you, at this point, I had not done anything that would even remotely be considered acting out.) That was odd, because previously I had asked three official office-holding leaders of that church to be a mentor to me; each of them met with me twice, and there was no more mentoring or discipleship. Until, that is, I said the GAY word, at which time the warning sirens sounded. I was told pretty much everyone under the sun was going to know about me and I would be removed from all volunteering and I would have to meet weekly with these three older guys, etc, etc, etc. I found myself actually pitying the people at that church, because they essentially overreacted, not knowing themselves how to deal with someone who is gay.

I went home and cried myself to sleep. I asked the empty space in my apartment where I was supposed to turn, when my church could not (or would not) care for me. I remembered all those conversations with people--mostly youth--about their pain. The son who told me his dad did not love him; the child who closed his bedroom door to drown out his parents' daily fight; the kid who slept on my couch during a winter storm because he had just been kicked out of his house. I had cared for them; now who would care for me?

The one place that was supposed to be safe.

It was not.

And so I left.

I left and went somewhere else for church. I wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere but "there." It has been years since I quietly left that church, and to this day very few people know the pain I left with. I cringe to even think about going back. And weighing most heavily on me: I have a great deal of anger toward the people "there."

I don't want to be angry, but I also know I cannot go back. It just hurts too much. My opinions of churches changed quite dramatically during that episode, and I am only beginning to unpack my feelings. I have not landed at a perfect church, and I do not know that I would be affirmed by my current church as a gay man. But I have found some grace, some love, someplace to be real, even if only with a very few people.

Churches are odd like this: Getting hurt is painful in a rotten way. Learning to be vulnerable is similarly painful, but somehow leads to beauty. My journey continues, learning how to do the latter without the former.

Thank you, bloggers

2008-04-04T05:51:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to drop a little note to say Thanks to all those who stop by here and think of me or leave a note or whatever.

I seem to have stablized just a bit, and managed to get in touch with some long-lost friends with whom I really shared my hurting heart and I feel much better. And I am working toward some professional help with my depression.

There's a pattern here: I get stuck and the pain gets bad enough that I reach out to people. Then I try to be strong and resolute on my own and I get stuck by myself once again. Someday I'll learn.

So thanks, friends. It pretty much blows my mind that people I have never met (and may never meet) stop by my little piece of cyberspace to show their care.

Stuck

2008-03-26T11:15:00.000-07:00

I guess I killed my own blog. Or at least I let it die.

I feel like one of those kids who begged and pleaded and groveled for a goldfish and promised to take care of it and love it and feed it daily and clean the tank and

and

and

...then it dies.

It hasn't been for lack of things to write about that I have been away. My mind is clipping right along sorting through every imaginable thing to think about. The thought process I am dealing with now goes more like this: Perhaps if I just resign myself to my plain existence where I eat, sleep and work, then I will no longer be disappointed in myself. Quit trying to make sense of it. Quit trying to work it out. Quit hurting other people. Just quit.

It is a dismal feeling, but one I cannot stuff back into the tube from which it escaped. And for better or worse, I am growing ever more OK with the idea of just eeking out an existence rather than truly living.

I read other blogs, and I am so excited for what I see there. For guys working this out, and getting better, and learning more about themselves. I am not so sure I am making similar progress, and that gets me down all the more.

I spent a *lot* of time alone now, a *lot*. I spent my birthday alone; I spent Easter alone. And as much as I know some of your are pounding your hand against your mouse shouting, "Then get out and meet some people and do something about it," I also know that being around other people really wears me out. I'm an introvert to the core.

So for now I'm stuck. I hope it passes; I really do. But for now, I'm just plain stuck.

Googling

2008-02-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

Apparently because of this post from August 2007, my blog shows up on the first page Google results for image searches on the word Chippendales. That's about as famous as I have ever been. How funny that my newfound bit of fame is tied to the Chippendales.

How long as it been since you Googled yourself? Admit it, everyone does it. I tried about two weeks ago, and I could not find myself. Honestly!! How poetically humorous! Someone with some fame, or at least enough fame to have his own website, shares my name, so most Google searches result in several links for him. As for my blogging screenname, there's the NBC show Journeyman, which I actually have never watched. Perhaps everyone wants to share my name.

God of the Impossible

2008-02-11T10:56:00.000-08:00

Hopefully, I’ll be back for a little bit now. Hopefully. The journey got a little crazy there for a while, and I actually expect a few more hiccups shortly. But for the meantime, I am back. Sorry I was gone so long, almost as long as the wait on hold when I need service on my cable TV.

I declare myself to be a Christian, but I’m not so sure any more. Yes, I believe there is a God. And yes, I believe I am not God. For which you should all be thankful. I cannot even keep my own life in order; I don’t want to be in charge of all of humanity. Not today, anyhow. I spend almost no time reading the Bible. I pray, but it is half-hearted at best, and even then usually at the request of someone else. I go to church…sometimes…but less recently. Does God even want me anymore? I certainly haven’t given Him the time of day lately. Of course, I doubt God needs me to give him the time, as if he is a pedestrian racing down the sidewalk without a watch. Time spent with God is not all that important to me.

It has created a crisis of faith for me, because I know how to be compliant. I know what is expected of me. The Sunday school answers roll off my tongue, as do the happy little sayings that Christians are supposed to put on the changeable sign out front and say in church and to each other. You know...

“Seven days without prayer makes one weak.”

“God never promised an easy journey.”

“What a service. God really showed up.”

Let me back up. I know some people who say those things and have a heart of honesty and genuine care for the people in their lives which they love. I hope not to be mocking Christianity with this post. For me right now, however, those phrases seem disingenuous for me to be using. I really do not think I have followed Christ very well lately, nor have I earned the right to say such things.

I have stayed away from God because I figure I am a colossal disappointment in his eyes, and if I back away, then he won’t have to push me away. I can spare God the trouble. Besides, a lot of television preachers (and for as distant as I feel from God, I sure watch a lot of television preachers) say things like, “God can’t use you if you aren’t speaking to him,” or “God cannot hear your prayer if you are sinning.” I wonder if anyone told Paul that while he was killing Christians. Next thing you know, God blinded him, talked to him, and set him on course to be the writer of a significant portion of the New Testament.

Perhaps part of why I have walked away is because I am scared of what God might expect of me. Buried deep deep down in me is this sense that talking with God will require me to do or be something impossible, something I will most likely fail at. God will ask the impossible of me. Oh, I know what comes here: Another catchy church phrase about how God specializes in the impossible or that God will not give me more than I can handle. I get it. I really do. But if God asks the impossible of me, and I cannot do it, then how could he possibly be happy with me?

Could God ask me to give more money? Maybe to watch more television ministries if preachers in fancy buildings who say God wants my money. Perhaps I will have to come out as gay. Or become accountable to some people in my church. Or be straight.

I already feel like a disappointment to most everyone around me, God included. Why would I want to try something else and fail at that too? Why would I want God even more mad at me? According to a lot of folks, God already burns in anger over my physical attraction to guys. Then fine, He can just be mad. He can boo me just like the evangelicals boo John McCain. At least then I will not be living under the illusion that I follow him anymore or fit into the expected mold of some of his most fervant followers.

I’m scared. Scared of God. Scared of the impossible. For all my attempts at authenticity here on this blog, I am no longer authentic before God. Based on what I have witnessed of some of his followers, I’m not so sure I care. And that frightens me all the more.

Tales From the Journey

2008-01-20T12:10:00.000-08:00

Hello friends.

I know there's been a break in the action here at my blog. It's going to last just a bit longer. But I should be back soon with more tales from the journey.

Grace and peace, my friends.

A Year That is NEW

2007-12-31T09:58:00.000-08:00

New Years may just be my favorite holiday, perhaps because it is among the most frivolous. New Years marks an arbitrary passage of one year into the next, and that’s about it. A change in the calendar. A lengthy day of college football. An attempt to remember to sign checks with the right date. (But does anyone really use checks anymore?) Anyone who uses a calendar—and I think that is just about everyone—participates. It’s an “all play.” We all get a fresh start.

Last year, I happened to be walking around my town on New Years Eve. There were people everywhere, impeccably dressed to the nines, ready to party and dance. I guess I had no idea so many drop-dead gorgeous people went out in expensive clothes clubbing all night for New Years. My New Years had tended to involve cocktail weenies from a crock-pot, some Pepsi in a plastic cup and a few friends watching Dick Clark--and now Ryan Seacrest--drop the ball in New York.

Three years ago, I spent New Years alone. I honestly just sat in my tiny apartment and watched the ball on my little TV, not wanting to face anything or anybody. As 2004 ended, I was really coming aware of being gay. I felt so alone, so flawed, so toxic that I did not want to see or do anyone. I still stayed up ‘til midnight; I saw 2005 come in on 13 inches of TV, alone, laying a borrowed couch. And even in my extreme sorrow and depression, I found hope in a New Year, a new set of days which hopefully meant something good.

There is something really hopeful about New Years. It gives everyone the opportunity to close out a less-than-ideal year and start in on a new one. No one gets exempted from New Years, though it seems each person has his or her own way to observe this passage of time. For some, there’s a great celebration of the wonderful things that happened in 2007 and keep building.

For someone else, there is the chance to start over. When the calendar flips from 12/31 to 1/1, we are back at the beginning. There will be another January 1 and another January 2. There will be a new February 1 and April 13 and July 29 and November 11 and December 25. There is something very fresh and new and even unknown.

So I toast you all, fellow journeyers. Happy New Year.

(Oh yeah, and if anyone needs to get me a late Christmas present, here’s an idea…)

A Merry Little Christmas

2007-12-22T18:11:00.000-08:00

Here comes Christmas 2007, and I just might survive it this year.

Christmas—and the entire holiday season for that matter—drives me up a wall every year. First off, the weather starts to deteriorate. I realize this is not Christmas’s fault, but I dislike the cooler weather that comes with the season. Second, the days get shorter and shorter. I go to work in the dark; I come home in the dark. It’s depressing, and I mean that quite literally. Although today, the 22nd of December, is one of my most hopeful days of the year because the light pendulum finally starts swinging toward longer days beginning today.

This year, I became completely baffled by how some Christian organizations deal with Christmas. I guess there’s a war on Christmas, and Christians across the country are now called to defend Christmas. Huh? I missed the part of the Bible where the followers of Christ were instructed to defend days. I am no expert here, and I’m too lazy to look it up, but didn’t Christians essentially hi-jack a winter solstice festival and attach the birth of Jesus to it? Shouldn’t the folks whose more earthy holiday got overrun be boycotting or protesting the Christians for taking it away?

Even more strange to me, there is supposedly some connection between a business using the word Christmas in its advertising and whether Christians should shop there. What’s with assigning public pressure or praise on retailers like Kohl’s or Lowe’s or Old Navy for the presence or absence of the word Christmas in the Sunday sale flyer? I do not care if Target uses the words Christmas or holiday or anything else. I do care if Bath & Body Works is selling great-smelling candles at a discount or if I can find a great deal on fleeces. Otherwise, not so much. The spiritual health of my community or country or even the individual citizens therein should not rest on how a department store advertises. AND IF IT DOES…then things are worse than I had thought. And now this week, now that Christmas is very much here, the same people who want to see Christmas advertising now say that we’ve let Christmas get too materialistic. But you just spent the last month demanding that Christmas be materialistic.

If anything, I would love to see all the stores advertise holiday sales rather than Christmas events. That would allow me and my Christian brothers and sisters to reclaim the Christmas moment to remember a very humble beginning of the mystery of God becoming a fragile person. I dislike how a small baby born to an unlikely virgin in a Middle Eastern barn has become attached to a multi-month-long marathon of stress, shopping and overeating. Give me a Christmas of small wonder and peaceful moments and leave the commercialization of the season be a holiday.

It is in the quiet between all the parties and food and gifts and shopping and crock pots and parades and candy canes where I find God. I find him saying, “Journeyman, in your quiet, you honor me. I know you are down. I know you struggle to keep up with the season, and you get confused by all the crazyness of this time of year. I know you hurt because you have unanswered questions and being with family and friends is really hard, even moreso now. But I am here. I came.”

Each time I hear this song, I stop and listen. I am reminded that even if my Christmas doesn’t look like anyone else’s, even if it is little or gay or merry troubled or light or golden or muddled, it still is Christmas. He came.

My friends, please...Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

Still Here

2007-12-11T11:41:00.000-08:00

"Hey Everyone," the writer said, wondering if anyone was really left now that he has virtually abandoned his own blog.

I'm still around. Thankfully, I have made a couple steps forward. I have also been churning some ideas lately for some new blog posts, which I hope will materialize soon.

In any case, stay well folks, and treat yourself well.

Sending Up A Flag

2007-11-22T03:53:00.000-08:00

It's been bad lately. Really bad. I want to surrender.

I would guess I have some form of Seasonal Affective Disorder, since I get really cranky and depressed each year as the days get shorter. Or perhaps I am just allergic to cold and snow, which would be a bad thing considering where I live. For the past six weeks, it has taken all my energy to get out of bed in the morning, show up for work and eat.

My self-esteem is back in the crapper. That statement, of course, presumes that my self-esteem must have left the crapper at some point. Given what I know about me, I just truly cannot imagine why anyone would think anything of me. Even on Thanksgiving, I pulled back from virtually everyone I know, because I would rather not tarnish anyone's Thanksgiving with my toxic presence. If I had my choice, I would hang out at home quietly today alone, hands occupied by some leftover ham pizza and a TV remote.

This pointless essay about self-pity could go on and on. Enough!! I will spare you the whole thing; you all know how the rest goes anyway. At this moment, this early moment on Thanksgiving morning, I am thankful for this group of people who have come by here looking for me. This band of men and women I have never met who kept asking where I had gone. I'm still trudging. Perhaps someday I can trade my white flag of surrender for a flag of pride. But not yet.

Pictures

2007-10-19T11:33:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about pictures today. In fact, I put pictures in my blog posts more often than not. Today, I think I'll just leave them out, as if their absense drives part of my message.

Over the past few days, I have looked at some beautiful pictures of men. Oh man, beau-ti-ful!! This thing called the Internet connects millions of people at a moment's notice, and allows us to communicate in ways that boggle my mind at times. But it also brings pictures with it. Lots of pictures.

I'm not always certain what to do with my browsing of pictures. I'll honestly tell you that I find G-rated photos probably more appealing than the full out XXX version. I want to see someone's face, to see their smile and their eyes and their demeanor, if that's even possible to capture with a picture. (Can you photoshop something as vague as demeanor into a picture??)

So I'm left with this uneasy feeling as to what to do with pictures. Some friends of mine tell me I'm way way way too hard on myself about looking at "those kinds" of pictures of guys. And I am quite hard on myself, because I don't know that it's something God would want me to do. They tell me that most people look at those kinds of pictures. And I wonder if that really is true.

Then I think about what goes through my mind when I look at these pictures. It typically is not, "Boy, I'd like to do all sorts of things to that guy." I don't regularly get the stirring down below. Instead, I find myself appreciating the beauty I see in the male form. And I hear in my head all those things I heard my straight college friends say about straight pictures, about how God created the female body and it should be enjoyed. I do not question that so much, but I know that I personally have all those thoughts about dudes and images of dudes. Strangely, it gives me a small amount of comfort to know that while the object of my interests may be different from a majority of society, that the feelings that accompany those ideas are quite similar.

So what do I do with the pictures? Even the ones on my computer screen right now? Eliminate them? Enjoy them? Moderate them? Censor them? Thus ends my really odd ramble cleverly disguised as a blog post.

Take care, good friends. Enjoy your weekend.

Coming Out Day, 2007

2007-10-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

Happy Coming Out Day, everyone.

Once again, I find myself uncertain what to do with this day. I'm really glad organizations like the Human Rights Campaign put together a Coming Out Day. It does create an opening for people like me to come out, or at least to assess where I am and where I am going with respect to being a publically out gay man.

(I even saw a rainbow this morning, as my work publically recognized Coming Out Day. I'm not so sure the people here would all affirm me, but it is reassuring to have a job at a place which recognizes and celebrates days like today.)

Like last year, I still find the Coming Out process a little awkward and unnecessary. It's not that I think I should live in the closet. Spend about two minutes here or at a bunch of other blogs and you'll see how much pain and anguish that causes. It's more that I have no earthly idea why I need to have this awkward conversation that may or may not go well to express to someone else that I find guys attractive.

Recently, I spent some time with some friends from the past who I haven't yet discussed Coming Out with. I wanted to tell them--or at least some of them--but I found myself wondering how to start the conversation and/or what to say when it happens. Again, it isn't that I'm requesting advice here, but more that I don't know why it has to be such a big deal. They didn't pull me aside to tell me they like the opposite gender. Likewise, they didn't sit me down to explain how they like Coke more than Pepsi or why they use their left hand instead of their right. They are my friends; my friends that I love and who love me. BIG DEAL if you have some this trait or that. Yet society has almost placed this obligation onto GLBT people to Come Out, as if we should be pre-identified or something. Rant over: Really folks, I find today to be more of a celebration than an obligation, and I'm not as sour on it as it appears. I'm just sharing, and perhaps even longing for a new day. A day when I am out of the closet. A day when "Coming Out Day" isn't an annual event assigned to particular spot on the calendar. A day when "Coming Out Day" isn't as necessary as simply Being Day.

To reassure you that I find Coming Out Day to be a positive, let me share something else than happened today. A thing called PRIDE. Honestly, today, for the first time that I can honestly recall, I wondered what my life could look like if I was PROUD and comfortable with who I am. I thought about Coming Out, and joining so many other gays who have broken down the obstacles for me. I want to be associated with people like Nate Berkus, the interior designer from Oprah.

Or Dale Levitski, the self-proclaimed big gay chef from Top Chef. Dude, you are so funny, and I sure was pulling for you, especially after you declared that the "queer eye guys have nothing on me." Thanks for coming back to cooking, and in so doing, thanks for giving us a chance to know who you are and what you're about.

Or Chad Allen, who I distinctly remember finding extremely cute during Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and who has wrestled with and found peace with the dual identities of gay and Christian. Thanks for raising money for AIDS research, and for doing so shirtless, Chad!!

And there is one other group of people with whom I want to be grouped. They are people that I probably have never met, and may never. They are people who stop by here and check in from time to time. They are authentically on their own journey, figuring things out along the way and encouraging the rest of us to keep on trudging. To guys like Steve and Warren on the shores of Lake Superior and Dave in Cleveland over on Lake Erie, thanks. And Peterson--who to my knowledge doesn't live on one of the Great Lakes--your unique humor and the form in which you deliver it is amazing, and your blog profound. You all kept me going by lifting me up, and by letting me read your stories in the "Blogosphere." (I realize naming a couple people in a blog entry is dangerous because I risk leaving other people out. Just go check out some of the blogs in the right column. There's some great reading and profound wisdom just one click away.)

I'm not sure I will come out to anyone today. At one point, I had even considered making today the day I threw back the veil of anonymity on this blog by posting my name and picture on it, but I can't do it just yet. As for the future, we'll see how things go. But just considering being out, however that ends up looking for me, is starting to sound pretty good.

Dark Closet

2007-10-04T06:46:00.000-07:00

This morning, I opened a closet door (a literal one, not a figurative one), flipped on the light switch, and after a little burst of blue light and a quiet puffing sound, the light bulb went out.

I tried to select clothes as well as I could in the dark. I'm already challenged enough in this department, and certainly didn't get any fashion sense when the gay card was issued to me. I wish Tim Gunn or the Queer Eye guys would stop by and help me out.

And it dawned on me like a light bulb (a figurative one, not a literal one) that it's dark inside this closet. Hmmmmmmm......

Calming Down

2007-10-03T09:07:00.000-07:00

I got myself calmed down a bit from the last post. It wasn't easy or pretty, and I spent the better part of a weekend wandering through the valley of loneliness. And I got some good sleep, which for me is often is 80% of feeling better. That said, I am really quite happy to have gotten that blog spot written, because those were feelings and ideas I have been fighting with for a long time but hadn't been able to actually put to words until last week.

My counselor and I had a long talk about these feelings, and after a time she encouraged me to hang in there, and to work on focusing on those times when I truly am content and happy. I am beginning to realize that I am a pretty good guy, for the most part, who happens to find men attractive. And some of the temptations and struggles I face are quite similar to any other guy, but they manifest themselves differently and have different objects of desire.

I am praying for the day when I can be proud of myself. I'm awaiting the time when I can think of myself as a guy who likes guys and not collapse in shame. And honestly, I'm getting there. It's not as bad as it used to be. Life is a journey, right? And I am the Journeyman, right?

Thanks to everyone who reads and writes comments. You each put such thought and wisdom into what you leave here for me to read, and I am floored that some of you would write to someone who you haven't met (probably), and who hasn't revealed himself yet.

Take care, my friends.

2007-09-28T11:24:00.000-07:00

I'm just wondering when things start getting better, or when the questioning stops, or when the uncertainty evaporates.

Without fanfare, or an outline, or even a sense of where this post will end up, here are my thoughts today.

There have been several times over the past few weeks that I have questioned everything.

Maybe I'm not even gay. Maybe I just like pictures of guys, and wish I had a body like theirs. Yeah, I would love to work outside without a shirt, but I can't put my friends or neighbors through that!! LOL Maybe if I quit surfing gay porn and jacked off to something "straighter," I would be different. Maybe if I actually wanted to be with a guy, then I wouldn't be the sexual novice I am today. Maybe if I knew which rug really could bring together all the colors of a room, then I would fit the mold a little better.

Besides, the load of being gay just seems like too much to bear. Maybe I am gay, but honestly, the crazyness that being gay brings with it is enough to push me right back into the closet. I don't want to get lambasted by John Hagee or James Dobson or somebody with a sign. I don't want to endure any more lectures from long-time friends who, immediately after giving me said lecture about how wrong it is to be gay, then won't talk to me at all. I don't want to be the weird sheep of the extended family who just keeps getting older but hasn't ever had a girlfriend. I don't want to be alone, knowing that my thoughts and lack of self-confidence put me into a prison that I wouldn't want to put anyone special through the trouble of breaking into.

Then today, I stumbled onto an interesting website from Joe Kort called Straight Guise. After looking around, I have a lot of respect for Joe and his writing style appeals to me. Even so, now I figure I fall into one of these categories of a straight guy who thinks he is gay for some other reason. It reset my whole damn mind. It's not Joe's fault; it is simply me being me.

Then again, put a picture of Salma Hayek in front of me, and I'll probably show a bit of interest and evaluate that she is beautiful. Show me a picture of Nick Lachey and you'll have my attention. (Isn't it obvious? Salma only gets a link; Nick gets a picture.) Yet I don't find myself drooling all over myself hoping to have wild jungle sex with a cute or hot guy. I just find them attractive.

(Complete tangent: I wonder how many times a mention of John Hagee and a shirtless picture of Nick Lachey have been in the same blog post.)

Ultimately, I'm tired of the uncertainty. And it seems like the very presence of uncertainty should be a pretty good sign that I'm not gay. After all, aren't most gay guys pretty certain they are gay. I mean, there's not a lot of doubt on this point, right? So why why why do I run around in circles and isolate myself and continually get stuck here? I know some of you readers have been through this with me before, and some of you are rolling your eyes because I'm back in this spot again. Just bear with me, OK? Thanks.

When you're buried, at least you have less chance of falling

2007-09-21T07:45:00.000-07:00

I feel buried lately.

Work has been absolutely out of control, with me working lots of "bonus" hours over the past six weeks. Then there's the helping hand I have been giving my friends with whatever they need help with. The computer that won't work, the dishwasher that leaks, the garden that needs tending, the forms that need to be couriered from here to there.
But I also feel buried emotionally. I feel that at times I intentionally make myself so busy so as to avoid the quiet, those moments where thinking and struggling mix, those times in which I grow. After all, if I'm going at break-neck speed helping everyone else, collapsing into bed exhausted after going, going, going all day, I feel less pain. I can't spend time worrying about myself, or blogging, or thinking,...

...or growing.

I realize now that keeping my head down and plowing forward is a coping strategy I have employed for years. If I can just stay busy, perhaps helping other people, then I won't have to look at myself. And I wonder if that "selfless" principle is not so much an abundant love of the people in my life as it is a example of how my low self-esteem ranks me dead last on my list of things to care for and nurture.

But it does hurt less. I can't fall from a high place when I'm already buried.

So I am trying over the past few days to discover those things which mean something to me, those things to which I need to devote time and effort and love. Perhaps even those things to which God calls me.

Apologies to ya'll for the long blogging pauses, and especially to Dave who has been worrying about me. Get yourself well, buddy. I hoping to keep peddling, to keep moving forward, and to keep growing. Wish me luck!

Ready to Rest

2007-08-31T13:43:00.000-07:00

I am worn out. (Insert large sigh and exhale here.)

Once again, I'm here apologizing for not blogging. But honestly, life has been absolutely on fast forward lately. I would LOVE to get some rest.

For now, just be sure that I am still continuing the journey, and I hope to write about it more soon.

Hopefully soon, hopefully.

Happy Labor Day, everyone!

I Remember (Part 4)

2007-08-14T08:27:00.000-07:00

Today is completely random. No big long stories to tell, just tiny little things that I figured every young boy thought growing up. Of course, none of this EVER was verbalized. The questions simply wandered around in my head, much like they do today.

I remember wondering why game shows never had male models. If the Price Is Right was going to give away a sailboat, why keep showing that busty Dianne in a one-piece? Maybe a shirtless guy in some board shorts would be nice.

I remember watching Miss America pageants and wondering when the male version of said event would be aired.

I remember actually seeing a clip from a male beauty pageant on a show like Entertainment Tonight. All those cute guys with great smiles and matching black and white speedos. Wow!!

I remember watching the summer Olympics, one of the rare times when this young boy, growing up with rabbit-ears TV in the country, could actually see swimming. Oh, those guys were so cute.

I remember not ever getting enough of watching Greg Louganis. (Maybe I had just an ounce of gay-dar, even back then.)

I remember being in junior high and visiting the metal shop owned by one of my Scout leaders. In his office, tacked to the wood paneling, was a pinup calendar of some lady wearing dental floss draped over a car. My reaction: Nice car. My second reaction: Why are the rest of the guys going nuts over that?

I remember church camp, when I had a really cute counselor. Unfortunately, I can't remember his name. Also unfortunately, he completely crushed my spirit me when he needed to borrow my flashlight, but couldn't remember my name, so he called me "Chubs."

I remember venturing into that one back-room at the video store and trying to rent straight porn (because I hadn't given much thought to being gay yet and I thought all guys watched porn), but leaving the store empty-handed because I didn't see any box covers that I thought would have enough "guy footage" for my taste.

I remember driving down Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood years and years ago and thinking, "You know, here are some of the places I've seen on the web." I prayed to God that the people giving me a tour of LA didn't notice.

I remember a youth pastor once explaining how important it was to not look at a girl's breasts. I should "bounce my eyes up," to look away from her breasts and concentrate on her face. Until that day, I hadn't ever looked at a woman's breasts in that way.

And lastly, I remember *loving* December because all of the new calendars would be in the stores for me to look at while my mom was Chrismas shopping. One word: Chippendales.

The Life Happened

2007-08-12T13:29:00.000-07:00

I feel kinda bad that I haven't been blogging lately. First, I miss the connection to some of you other bloggers and readers. Second, I've short-changed myself by keeping a lot of stuff inside rather than working through it in this written forum.

But blogging has taken the back seat to this thing called LIFE. Things have gotten goofy around my work and I've little time or energy left by day's end.

Sorry folks. I hope to rejoin the blogging world soon. I do kinda miss you.

I Remember (Part 3)

2007-07-31T11:30:00.000-07:00

I remember my neighbor Daniel. He lived next to my dad, and so I didn't see him very often, maybe every other weekend and a few extra days during the summer. But I remember him nonetheless.

Daniel was a few years older than me, and he was beautiful. Me...I was the portly younger kid who wore "husky" size jeans and was quite ordinary. Daniel didn't come into the house all that much, but he did water ski with our family all the time. I even remember that he took to it right away. For months and months, I wiped out behind the boat unable to even get up on skis. Daniel got up on his first try and skied half-way across the lake.

Though I wasn't completely aware of it at the time, Daniel looked fine in a swimming suit. Smooth chest, abs, pecs, winning smile. He had it all. Plus, he was always really nice to me. As a pre-teen, could it be possible I wasn't aware of how much I liked Daniel? In the house on the other side of me was Karen. She was always nice too, but I really didn't care so much to keep track of her or her business. Daniel, however, I liked it when he came over.

Somehow or other, all of us were playing the famous childhood game of catch known as Pickle. I was a lousy thrower, catcher and runner, so I wandered around the game much more than I actually played it. There was no expectation that I could competently play the game, but I was welcome to be around.

This particular day, somehow Karen and Doug and their friends decided to play Strip Pickle, which made absolutely no sense to this little kid. I remember them telling me I didn't have to worry about losing, so I just did my normal wandering. But once Karen had gotten out 3 times, our little entourage went between the our houses and Karen got really really nervous. Before I knew what was happening, both on that day and in life, she unbuttoned her shirt and flashed the boys with her bra. Really, I've never seen anything happen so fast. I didn't think anything of it, other than I had never seen a girl without all her clothes before. (And given how quick the flash was, I probably still hadn't.)

Later, however, Daniel got out 3 times, and I realized Daniel was about to show Karen and the rest of the girls his penis. Panic struck me, because I had been on Daniel's "team," but again, they all assured me I didn't have to do anything. And right there, right then, Daniel unzipped his pants and showed Karen and her friends his dick. This was no flash, folks. Daniel put it on display for a while. And I stared.

Nothing happened in me. I didn't want to have sex with him, I didn't have a boner. (Who knows if I was even capable of one then.) I didn't think very much of it at all, I guess. But I did feel a bit more of a man that day, perhaps in the same way my straight counterparts feel when they've first seen the flesh of a woman.

I'm not even sure why I put this story here. But I do remember. Maybe somebody can tell me what it means.

I Remember (Part 2)

2007-07-18T08:03:00.001-07:00

Stop #2 down Journeyman's memory lane involves this guy: Jim Palmer. I believe he was a major league baseball pitcher. I posted a picture of him yesterday near the bottom of my post. There, he's looking quite stately behind a neat little podium giving what is probably some inspirational speech to an adoring crowd. Here, he's burned into my memory as "The Underwear Guy."

About the same time as the girly porn incident I describe in Part 1 of my tale, I saw this picture. I can still recall the place, a hair salon on the 2nd floor of an old building that still stands today. Next to the color television complete with rabbit-ear antennas and tin foil on a flimsy TV cart was a stack of magazines that I began to flip through. Why a pre-teen boy was leaving through magazines waiting for his mom to get her hair done on a summer morning is beyond me. It would have been much more logical for me to watch "The Price Is Right." But there I was, and there Jim was. I stared and stared and stared, then stuck one finger in the page while pretending to keep flipping, but my finger bookmark gave me quick access to return and look some more.

In the weeks that followed, I remember seeing him laying out on billboards around town. I remember leaving through magazines at home, searching for another ad and promising that once I was grown up and could buy my own underwear, I would buy the Jockey brand. But alas, I never did buy those Jockey briefs. LOL

That incident, however, gave birth to the idea that I could look at displays of underwear at the store in hopes of catching some very nice looking guy on the package. Able to navigate the department store on my own, I would ask my mom if I could walk around for a bit on my own, perhaps to look at toys. Once safely out of her sight, off to the men's underwear section I went, amazed that anyone could look so beautiful and even taking in the sight of mannequins dressed in only tighty whities. Ugh...it's almost embarrassing to think that I found the mannequins interesting. They were plastic, for crying out loud.

Even so, the Sunday advertisements followed, where I realized several things: (1) The guys underwear section was typically just beyond the midway point of any weekly sale insert. (2) The guys got significantly less space. (3) I could look anytime I wanted in the Sears catalog always stored underneath our living room couch.

Once again, I feel foolish now, but not really because this happened or that I found excitement (no, not that type) in the men's underwear section. More because that would have been a sure tip that I was a little gay boy, but that thought never entered my simple mind. I wasn't consciencely denying that I had attractions to these guys. It was more that I figured this happened to all boys. Everyone must like the guys underwear pictures, but we were all too scared to admit it. It wasn't until years later--perhaps decades--that I learned the truth, that most small boys thought it was gross and spent their time a few pages to the left, in the bra section of the Sunday inserts.

Some people will say I simply wanted to look like these guys. They would be right. I did want to look like them, but I was also fascinated in a way I could not explain at the time. And even today I have a hard time explaning myself. That's part of why I feel so confused here sometimes. I'd like to know that what I feel is more than attraction to a picture. I think it is, but far more of my memories revolve around pictures than around actual real boyhood friends.

I guess I'm a little melancholy today. Remembering is tough, and sometimes painful. I'm glad to do it, and hopeful that someone will understand. Still, it would be nice to have a memory about a real guy than about the Sears catalog or the mannequins at JCPenney. It might make me a bit more sure of myself.

More journeying to come, my friends...

I Remember (Part 1)

2007-07-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

One of the parts of my story that doesn't make any sense to me is that I spent a lot of my life not really being aware of being gay. Some people can say that they knew when they were 6 years old that they were gay. I can't say that. I didn't have a serious conversation with myself about being gay until I was well beyond 25 years old. From reading previous posts here, you might even think I STILL don't have it figured out, and you'd be partially right. But then, a lot of my development seems to have been behind the norms.

I thought I'd take some energy and go back in time, thinking and trying to remember. I'm not certain how long this will go on, how many blog entries I might have on remembering. I suppose it's simply my first crack at a series. And it is my true hope that someone will read along and identify with something, or perhaps even identify with me.

I can remember getting the mail one day, and based on which house we lived in at the time, I had to be 12 or younger. In the mail was a over-sized envelope with all sorts of warnings about censored material and age requirements and the like. I guessed it was dirty pictures or women, something that I honestly can't recall being exposed to before then. I can remember not really having a strong desire to open the enticing envelope, but I was more curious than anything. What was all the fuss about? And perhaps I should look at what was inside the envelope so I would avoid it in the future. (Kinda justifying my case, I guess.)

So I hid in the house, and opened the forbidden envelope. And inside were a few more glossy envelopes and as expected, naked women. I'm guessing, though I guess I really don't know for certain, that most preteen boys would be lost in amazement, excited about the gold mine they had intercepted between the mailbox and the house. Me? I was simply bewildered. And to be honest, kinda freaked out. I didn't like what I saw; I might have called it unpleasant. I didn't get it, I guess. All these women in various suggestive poses and leaving nothing--and I mean nothing--to the imagination. My thoughts were not, "This is wrong; I shouldn't be looking at this." It was more like, "Ick. Girls are yucky." Perhaps I thought they all had cooties; all I know is that I was not interested, just confused.

Now I had to dispose of the evidence, so I took the pictures and ripped them up, stuffing the bits of paper back into the original outside envelope and hiding them at the bottom of the trash, somewhere underneath moldy leftovers thrown out from the fridge.

Perhaps I was shocked, or scarred, or not old enough to know what I was looking at. In any case, it did nothing for me, and still wouldn't. I can honestly tell you that to this day I still have yet to endure one of those "young boy" rites of passage, leafing through a Playboy magazine. No interest. None. Zero. I guess I really could read Playboy just for the articles.

Tangent: I do sometimes watch Girls Next Door on E! It's a show about Hugh Hefner and his girlfriends at the Playboy mansion. I think it's more funny than anything. And I wonder if sometimes I watch simply to test myself, wondering if I'll be at all attracted to or aroused by this slightly racy fare. I have concluded that the women are beautiful, but that they look best in clothing, and that I wouldn't ever care to be all that close to them. Tangent ended.

I have no idea what the hell this all means. Maybe all boys get confused and somewhat disgusted when they first run across girly pics. Or maybe just the gay ones. And I suppose I'm in that latter group, especially based on the other two memories I have from that same time period. This picture is a small teaser.

And I want to end this by saying that I really appreciate all of you read my blog and that leave comments here. The idea that you stop in, read, process and sometimes respond to my thoughts is completely amazing to me.

Frustrated

2007-07-12T13:55:00.000-07:00

This pretty much sums it up lately.

Frustrated at work.

Frustrated with finances.

Frustrated with too much free time.

Frustrated that when I try to plan something, 18 other things happen that derail me.

More than anything, Frustrated with myself.

Staying Ahead of the Wave

2007-07-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

Whoa! It got a little quiet in here.

I think I feel lately like this surfer. I'm staying ahead of the wave, but just barely. And one false move and I will be swallowed. It's been a very busy time for me, which can be good because it keeps my mind occupied. A couple of days of time away are my reward.

I'm OK though. I really am. The journey is brutal, but at least for today, I'm able to make something of it.

Happy 4th!

One out of Two isn't bad

2007-06-18T13:00:00.001-07:00

After a lengthy conversation with myself, during which I alternatively won and lost several times, I went to the gay pride celebration near me. Overall, I felt OK. I met a few people I knew (no surprises, though!). I really wanted to learn more about one organization with a booth, so I spent all my extroverted energy at once talking with someone I didn't know named Eric.

I didn't arrive with anyone, and just to calm any inquiring minds, I didn't go home with anyone either. LOL I just summoned some courage to go, and found that I survived.

Gay Pride...I think I at least one of those two words apply to me.

Crushed

2007-06-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

I'm just needing to keep mulling over what I wrote yesterday. Once I re-read my post, I realized it sounded a bit more dismal than I had intended. I'm not typically dragging my tired self around whining about singleness. I just know that I am quite introverted and that I enjoy my time alone. Probably a little too much, and so I choose to stay by myself in situations when I should be a bit more social. I suppose it makes joining the gay community hard when I'm not very outgoing. But I also know this has little to do with the gay aspect and much more to do with fear of joining a new community. It could be a new gym, or a support group, or a alumni association; I'm just not comfortable in new groups or any sort.

Someone told me yesterday of a crush he had from way back when on another guy, and how hard he had fallen for him, etc, etc. That reminded me that I can't recall most any time when I had a crush, male or female. That really bothers me. Wouldn't this puzzle called my sexuality be more clear if I had had some sort of undeniable crush at some point? I was just on my own; I never thought much about dating or having someone special in my life or whatever.

In fact, not so long ago someone said, "Everyone has crushes." I beg to differ. Not me. Perhaps I had crushes and have completely forgotten them, or that my poor self-esteem prohibited me from even considering a crush, or that I have just pushed away intimacy of any sort. I don't know.

So I come across a picture like these two hotties. And I imagine how nice it might be to wrap my arms around another guy, or to be held. It's exciting to me, and I even can tell you I think about something like this FAR more than I think about sex. But I cannot think of any guys from high school or college who I had a real-life crush on. Those ideas make this picture more of an idea in fantasy than something I think might actually happen to me.

I can think of one singular time in my life when I truly got flustered over a guy. Of all places, I was eating a burrito at a counter by myself when this very rugged guy in jeans and a blue shirt walked in unaccompanied. He was about my height and just looked good, his stubbly beard was beautiful. How exciting was it for me to peek to my left as he ordered and watch stealthfully from behind as he ordered. I was truly speechless, kinda fumbling by now with my napkin and praying to God I wouldn't be ridiculously obvious. I truly couldn't stop staring.

Of course, he came and sat down right beside me. By now I've managed to drop rice all over the floor and I'm futilely trying to be interested in the magazine I had been reading at my counter. I wanted so badly to say HI or something, anything. But doubt came, my fears resurfaced, he was out of my league. My one crush...there at the burrito place; I didn't even know his name. I lingered for as long as I thought I could, then picked up my stuff and went on my way, resealing myself back into my insulated world.

Hmmm...That was a bit of a tangent, I guess. Something of a daydream. Anyway, I'd like to have had one crush at some point or another. I'd like to think my world is composed of more than touched-up photos of hunky guys I can add to the blog. Crushes are just foreign to me, I guess, and that leaves me just a bit crushed.

Have a good weekend, everyone. Be good to yourselves.

Loner

2007-06-14T12:24:00.000-07:00

I've always been a loner. I am certain that if someone came into my neighborhood asking about me, they would say I was the quiet guy who had some nice flowers out front but generally kept to himself.

I was an only child and grew up in a rural setting. There were no best friends or sidekicks or buddies whose house I could wander into unannounced whenever I pleased.

Often, I imagine my future, and I am sure that it will be me alone, and so it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's not so much that I want it that way as that I just figure it will be. I'm quite shy and would just wet myself from fright if I ever wandered into a gay bar and got hit on. Not that I'm all that concerned about getting hit on. Or of me hitting on anyone else. I wouldn't know what to say.

Besides, I'm so much more about a great conversation than anything physical that I'm certain much of the crowd would find me boring. Last summer a friend dragged me into a bar where we watched the cutest go-go boy; he was adorable. (Something along the lines of Steve Sandvoss from Latter Days.) He was not the most muscled guy there, but he was certainly the nicest, in my book. When he got done dancing, he walked out still shirtless and smiling. I thought to myself: "I just wish I could walk down the street with him and talk. Find out more about him. Laugh a bit." There was no fantasy of a "happy ending" or a passionate naked wrestling match. Just a hope of making a friend--one who looked damn fine in swimwear!!

Why do I even write about this?? I guess because it feels both counter-cultural and yet cheap at the same time. I mean, I'm not looking for a hookup or a big sex fest. But I also understand my physical draw to attractive men. And layered over all this is a sense that I'm quite broken and confused inside and that I'm no catch and that I'm so uncomfortable with myself much of the time that even if someone did show interest in me, I'd *have* to question their judgement. (And when you have no gaydar--I mean none--that's not so helpful either.)

And so I drift more toward being a loner than anything. It seems less likely that I'll be disappointed that way. It seems less likely that someone will criticize me if I just stay on my own. It seems less likely that anyone will notice that I feel guilty for being attracted to guys if I just work alone. It sucks, and I'm trying to work toward undoing some of this fear. I even made some really basic plans with some friends tonight just so I wouldn't be home alone tonight. Small steps, I guess, on what seems like a road thousands of miles long.

Kinda scared. Kinda frustrated. Kinda stuck. (Happily no longer sick!) Kinda disappointed in myself for another loss in the porn battle. Kinda sure that my life would be perfect if I just preferred women. (And realizing how irrational that thought is.) But trying to understand and work through it all in the meantime.

Sick

2007-06-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

Leave it to me, the guy who hasn't been seriously sick in years, to break that streak in a most unmistakable way. I went on vacation, and noticed not more than 5 hours after leaving home that I was getting sick. I tried to be valient, but two days later I finally gave in and headed to an ER to get some help for an infection. I spent the rest of my vacation trying to get better from the inside of a hotel and felt quite good as I was leaving for home, until...

While flying home I thought, "Why am I getting the sniffles?" Of course, that's because I was about to get sick AGAIN with something else. I am blessed with good insurance and the ability to take care of myself, but I still say being sick sucks.

For a while I was stuck, then I was sick. God, could I just please be neither of those??

Stuck

2007-05-31T13:31:00.001-07:00

Looks like the furball got stuck, even in spite of KJ's sound advice. I haven't taken the time to process a few things, and I'm heading away for the weekend.

But to those of you who embrace prayer as a part of your life, I would ask for your support. I'm tired, I'm a bit cranky, I do feel stuck, in many many ways.

Wow

2007-05-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

Wow! Put something referring ex-gay in the blog and watch what happens! There are some amazing comments from lots of differing perspectives, so thanks for chiming in.

The long weekend got me mulling over a nasty 'furball of thought'. I'm still processing it, but when it comes up, I sense it may not be overly pleasant to look at. Even so, it is my journey, and I find that the more honest I can be here, the more I learn about myself. The journey continues.

An Ex-Gay Therapy Badge?

2007-05-21T08:13:00.000-07:00

Hello Blog. We haven't talked in a while. But then, you know how things have been for the past two weeks. A lot of happiness, some big milestones accomplished, an unhappy but not-as-bad-as-it-used-to-be couple days and the ever-present lots of thinking.

Today, I'm thinking about ex-gay stuff, and reparative methods in general. I once sought therapy for my attractions, but I could hardly say I was 100% committed to the cause. I did it to make some other people happy, in hopes that they would dislike me less if they knew I had done something to be other than gay. I went about 4 times, and consistently felt like I was being almost herded into saying I liked some guys because they had qualities I did not. That said, my therapist was an extremely nice guy. I have no doubt he was doing what he thought was best, and that he truly cared about me.

Very quickly, I learned the right answers, much like a Sunday school class. I knew the pat things to say to make the therapist happy, to pass the test that I wasn't even taking. I have always been one to get A's, to regurgitate information that I knew would produce a satisfied educator. So ex-gay therapy was sort of interesting, because I had done so much reading on it head of time that I knew what was coming.

And also, I wasn't in a big hurry to be straight. If I really look inside of me, I know that I'd like to wake up next to a man that I love. I want to share life with him, especially the ordinary parts like buying groceries and vacuuming out the car. And then there is simple physical attraction; I just don't have very much interest in the female form. Can I evaluate that a woman is beautiful? Yes. Does a woman's body interest me physically? Not really. I didn't see how therapy was going to change that, nor did I have an absolute self-mandate that I come out straight at any cost. Yes, it would be much more socially comfortable to hold hands with a woman in public and have a typical marriage and family and look the part. Things would be easier, but I didn't want it. I didn't want a physical or romantic relationship with a woman--I never have. I simply want the social comfort of conforming and not being different.

I prayed that God would make me straight, but quite half-heartedly. I wanted to hold a man, and be held by him. I went to therapy, but didn't give it 100% of my effort. I certainly cannot say I did everything in my power to be straight...like so many gay people have said.

Soooo...do I not qualify for the gay Christian club? Am I supposed to go through the experience of the ex-gay and reparative ministries before I have the credentials to be a normally-adjusted gay Christian? What if for once--for one damn time in my life--I decided that I really knew that I am more attracted to men and actually tried to work that out in a Godly way rather than conform once again to what so many in my conservative surroundings would love for me to do? Do I have to have the ex-gay therapy badge to be authentic? Or accepted? Or do I just get to stand up for myself and say "I really don't want to go. It seems a bit silly and unnecessary to me"?

Do I have to prove something to myself? Or can I just trust myself, using the beautiful discerning mind God placed within me?

Chemistry

2007-05-08T13:20:00.000-07:00

I saw this ad on TV a couple nights ago and laughed so hard I nearly fell onto the floor.

Of course, I know nothing of the website it promotes, but what a funny concept.

Odds and Ends

2007-05-04T08:04:00.000-07:00

I have been quite hunkered down in work and school lately, so my time has been limited. (Note: I'd like to say I'm quite the hunk, but that would be oh-so misleading.)

I simply want to say thanks to the many many people who stop by here from time to time and leave comments. They really do mean something special to me. To think that you took time to browse, read and write really astounds me. And I appreciate the encouragement.

I am just me, writing my thoughts down more for me than for any reader, but glad to have you along for this goofy journey.

Blessings, my friend. Have a great weekend.

Big Deal?

2007-04-24T12:58:00.000-07:00

I was thinking pretty hard the other day. I was sharing some of my lingering anxiety over my sexuality and my mis-handling of it with a trusted friend. He asked me a revealing question: Did I feel all that anxiety and guilt when I'm surfing porn? And comparitively, did I feel the same anxiety and guilt on the few occasions when I actually experienced closeness with another man? (And I'm not using "closeness" as a ephemism for sex. I truly mean closeness, nothing more.)

I recalled those times when I held a man, or he held me. I remembered how peaceful I felt inside. We could just be close, and quiet. I might gently run my hands over his shoulder, or look into his eyes. Or he would touch his nose to my scruffy beard. Really, just those sugary things that I find amazing about closeness to a man. Maybe closeness would even take the form of a long deep conversation, or of wiping away a large single emotional tear.

All the anxiety I write about here and all the confusion and the unending questions and the analysis. For a few fleeting moments, it would be gone, chased away by the tender care or even the physical warmth of another man.

And as I reflected on those few-and-far-between moments, I wondered why some people seem to stake their lives upon making gay people feel bad. Is it really that big a deal? For me to experience one bit of closeness with another guy? We're not having sex, we're not even kissing. And though I really like this picture, all my clothes and his also are still ON.

We're just enjoying a moment of mutual peace and quiet. At that instant, I'm not clamoring for acceptance or marriage benefits or marching down the street with a bullhorn. I'm simply finding a peaceful spot for myself, and it happens to be with another man. And some want to paint me as the herald of the downfall of America, as the twisted fore-bearer to the Virginia Tech shootings, as the guy with a disgusting lifestyle.

WHAT'S THE BIG DAMN DEAL???

"This" is what you're upset about? This closeness that happens in private. This intimacy where I actually understand what it is to be loved and cared for, where I catch a glimpse of God's tender embrace? And you want to make my life miserable? Call me names? Point at me and laugh? Roll your eyes? Move away? Be silent?

It's the one spot in my life where I find peace. Where my thoughts do not race. Where guilt and fear do not govern my life. Maybe it is a big deal after all, just for different reasons.

On vacation

2007-04-19T12:33:00.000-07:00

I'm back. Of course, who knew I was even gone?

I took myself on a vacation (ironically, I went west. Of course, to get home, I had to go east again.) Getting away was good for me. I got some thinking done and made some courageous moves for me. Nothing major, and nothing I feel like diving into here at the moment. But still, I shed some tears, experienced some openness and honesty with myself and some friends and went outside my comfort zone in some major ways. All in all, I am proud of myself. And if you have read this blog for ANY length of time, you know how un-proud of myself I typically am.

There is a lots perking in my mind again. So hopefully I'll take the time to come here and work through some things.

And for whatever reason, there has been a definite uptick in the number of hits on this blog. So no matter what brought you here, welcome. Feel free to walk with me for a while. I typically do not bite, and welcome the company.

Distractions

2007-04-10T13:09:00.000-07:00

It's another one of those slop-fest kind of days. I've had so much on my plate lately that I've really been going at full speed for work and school and the like. Not much time to spend on me, which has been good and bad. Good because I get to focus on something other than me. Bad because busy tmes seem so much like a distraction, a balm, almost like a pain-killer to what churns inside me.

I've stayed away from the porn monster for about a week now, and that makes me proud. I would say it makes me happy, but I'm not so sure that's the case. I would LOVE to spend some time looking at some built guys on-line or on a DVD, but I know where that usually puts me, and the frame of mind that I have after looking. So I'm staying away from that for now.

I feel so different. So different from everyone...gay or straight. I have a very hard time accepting love from people around me because I convince myself I am not like them. That I am different, unworthy, or whatever. I know, I know. Someone is reading this and thinking, "Journeyman is at it again, on one of his down days." Even isolating. Yep. I just want to know that I'll come out of some of my confusion whole, and loved by my friends, and loved by God.

What a random post today!

Trouble

2007-04-02T12:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was not a good day.

I really got down. And when I get down and I'm bored, my on-line trouble roars its fiercest threat and rears its ugly head highest. I started surfing porn again.

I wonder if deep down I either don't believe there is anyone out there for me or if I just feel so alone with my feelings that I medicate them with porn. Some days I just long to experience my sexuality; but I don't have the balls to actually hookup with someone. I even wonder if I should hookup. I mean, at the very least, I would be with someone else instead of taking care of business all alone.

And after the porn, I feel so guilty inside, so gross, so ugly, that I just want to fall asleep and not wake up. I feel so inadequate and unlovely and so certain that I'll be alone. Is it possible I take all those feelings of ugliness and pour them onto my sexual orientation, rather than the inappropriateness of its expression? I mean, maybe I layer all kinds of guilt onto myself for being gay, when really it's just that I don't handle my sexuality in a very healthy way right now. I've been known to mutter to myself, "I wouldn't feel this bad inside if I was straight." Could that be true?

History shows I'll snap out of this funk. But for this moment, I just don't feel so great. I want to be held; I want to be held my someone who loves me and cares for me and may not even say a word until I'm ready. I want him to hold me.

Spring

2007-03-28T09:08:00.000-07:00

Lazy. I've gotten lazy about my blogging again.

But, in my defense, spring is arriving. Spring is my very favorite time of year, when grass turns from brown to green and things hidden underground begin to push their leaves and flowers upwards. I love it. Thank you, God, for spring. And for things which grow and become new.

Speaking of growing, I tripped across this fascinating blog entry at Pam's House Blend. I truly can't tell you much about Pam or her blend, so I issue a mild disclaimer that "all views and opinions are not necessarily those of the management." Even so, I enjoy the blog.

In this entry, Pam talked with Joe Murray, a former columnist from the American Family Association (AFA). I wince a bit when I hear about the AFA, because I find much of their talk unfair. I occassionally listen to the AFA's daily half-hour round-table discussion about family issues and get so terribly frustrated. I sometimes have to force myself not to listen because I get condemned as a gay man during nearly every episode.

Anyway....Joe Murray has left the AFA and wrote an editoral about General Peter Pace's recent comments on homosexuality. Among other things, Mr. Murray strongly questioned the AFA's intense focus on homosexuality. That's quite amazing, given that he once worked for the AFA. So Pam interviewed Joe Murray to more fully understand his views and understandings on many issues, among them homosexuality.

It's a long read, but a truly intriguing one as well. Take a look when you get the chance. My appreciation goes to Joe Murray for explaining himself quite thoughtfully and to Pam for providing the forum for this thoughts.

Take care, my friends.

Dialog

2007-03-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

Or it is dialogue? I'm never quite sure.

I simply want to say thanks to those of you who read and include such insightful comments. There is incredible wisdom out there in the blogosphere. I'm simply glad to be learning from it.

Typically, I've shied away from responding to comments. But today there was just some neat stuff in the comments section from my last post (which was more an spiritual tantrum complete with emotional vomitting) that I wanted to write about.

Pomoprophet starts by writing about honesty and asking what our church might be like if we were all this honest. I agree that we would all be disgusted. Imagine how many churches could even endure such honesty without ripping apart. Perhaps a different definition of "church" helps here. My best friends, the ones I let on the inside of this ridiculous struggle, are the ones who had ugly problems themselves. There is the married couple who was once headed straight to divorce court, but almost no one knew. There was my friend who told me about his own porn battle. Not that he has licked the problem, but I've looked up to him ever since. There's the girl who was shunned from church because she wasn't a virgin, but really is now living her life as one. We're the outcasts, the collection of people Eric blogs about, the real ones, perhaps even the survivors. I'll march with you anytime; I have to believe Jesus would have too.

eXnihilo encourages me by saying, "Keep your chin up, you're doing fine." To which I say, "right back at all of you, dear readers." I so often fail to see the progress I make, but I would cause you deafness in one ear reminding you that you are OK, that you will make it. What a mess I have so often, but I'm so appreciative that you'll not ignore the disaster but love me in the midst of it. I find God in that kind of love.

And KJ. Dear KJ. How many times have you extended a virtual hug to me? All of you readers--go back and read his comments. Right now. Stop and read them. I'm so glad being gay is more than an erection when provided a certain stimulus. (That's the message I get from the world. And possibly from the traditional church.) It is the ability to fall in love with the someone of the same gender, and I know that has happened to me. It's not something I've discussed much here, and most times those love relationships have ended in excruciating pain. The reasons they ended had little to do with being gay, and more to do with misplaced priorities. I blamed my pain on being gay; perhaps it was just that I was human.

Contining...you are but one evangelical gay boy who finds himself on the cusp of a new thing that the Spirit is breathing. That's an astounding reality. Thank you for a word picture that illustrates it for me, KJ.

Have a happy weekend. I hope to.

Ugh!

2007-03-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

I'm summoning my "title" Blogger picture for my post today, because it is exactly how I feel. The past 2 hours of my life, the past couple months, maybe even the last several years, I just want to hang my head. And be warned...this post is probably going to head a lot of directions at the very same time. (How appropriate...it's just like my mind.)

I've got a porn issue.

I want it to go away.

But it doesn't.

There. I said it. Or at least I wrote it down.

I just spent a while looking at gay pornography, and I'd like to gouge out my eyes to match that empty feeling I have in my heart. In fact, I honestly feel sick right now. Falling into temptation once again, without the discipline to stop it.

Reality is that I enjoy the male body. I always have. I find the female form much less attractive. There have been times I see a nude woman and I actually involuntarily scrunch up my face. Many years ago, I remember rushing into the 'backroom' at the local video store. I watched straight porn...always checking out the guys. I stood in the room; I saw all the box covers, 98% of which were women, and wondered where all the covers of guys were. And on the few occassions when I did rent straight porn, I would make my decision by attempting to figure out which videos would have the most guy screentime. And yet EVEN THEN it didn't occur to me that I was gay. That is SOOOO aggrevating!!!

What is it with me and not clueing into being gay for such a long time??!!?! Maybe for a long time I'd rather be clueless than gay.

My freshman year of college, I was hanging out in a common area of a girls' dorm. Someone was passing around a magazine. The exact title escapes me, but it was something like a Seventeen. The girls were looking at a full-page ad featuring this muscled sweaty guy with black curly hair wearing a smile and a speedo. The girls laughed at how gross it was. I laughed along, and the magazine made its way around the room, its last stop at my lap. I said, "Ewww" as well. Then put my finger at the page and sublty laid it in my lap. When no one was looking, I re-opened the magazine and took a look. Beauty! I looked a second and a third time, but obviously was not careful enough. Jenn, the tall girl with the blonde hair, said to me but for the whole room to hear, "You've looked at that guy three times now." I was mortified, but I didn't even consider that I was gay. Maybe at the time I would rather have been mortified than gay.

Even before that, I remember the summer day after 8th grade that I visited my out-of-state cousin. She had posters in her room, something I never had. And above her bed was an another sweat-soaked adonis on a black-and-white poster. It was a PG-rated poster, but the guy was taking off his jeans, obviously not wearing underwear. The caption read, "Not all men are created equal." I could not stop looking at it. I wanted a poster like that, but I didn't know I was gay. Maybe at the time I would rather have been obvilivious than gay.

I like looking at guys. I don't like looking at girls. Period. Does that make me gay? Does my interest in gay porn over straight porn make me gay? Does my desire to hold and be held by a man make me gay?

Lots more to follow folks. Be prepared. I don't even know if this made sense. And I cannot believe I'm writing this, even anonymously.

Letting Go

2007-03-12T13:11:00.000-07:00

Boy, I've really been letting the blog go lately. Go nowhere. If anyone is left reading, my apologies. It's been a busy time lately, with lots to think about.

I'm hoping to be back soon. In the meantime, be good to yourselves.

Progress

2007-02-26T07:32:00.000-08:00

Good news! I've been making some progress lately with my life.

Bad news! I've had so much to think about lately that it all gets jumbled up sometimes.

Nevertheless, I took great joy in my own laughter last night. I was watching The Family Guy on TV because I do not always care pomp that is the Oscars. And while I cannot actually remember any punchlines, I did laugh out loud several times. And that's something I haven't done in a long long time. It's as if my spirit is just a bit lighter and that God has lifted some of the burdens off my life of late.

For that I am very thankful. Now I just wish I could be a little more disciplined about stopping by here to process and work out my 'stuff.'

Love, Springer Style

2007-02-15T08:25:00.000-08:00

What a train wreck. I actually watched a bit of a Jerry Springer rerun the other day. Wow...that's quite a show. Unfortunately, turning it off proved harder than expected. At first, thoughts of "What foolish people" and "Give me a break" ran rampant through my mind. I kept considering how I would *never* end up on the Springer show and that anyone who did should just keep quiet about it.

Then I thought a bit more. I still think the Springer show is a bit of a circus. But those people are someone's kids, someone's neighbor, someone's co-worker. I doubt anyone ever planned out their life thinking, "You know, I hope my life is such that I get on the Springer show. That's my new goal." It just happened, first with a small bad decision, compounded by another and another and suddenly that very regular person is now qualified to be a guest on Springer.

Springer guests are Someone's Loved Ones too. God loves them. God sees the mess, the hurt, the fighting, the drama, the stripping, the shouting, the train wreck that is Springer. And he looks through it all to find those kids of His that He loves.

Imagine how much love God has for someone on Springer.

Just as much love as He has for the neat and tidy family down the street.

Just as much love as He has for the regular factory worker.

Just as much love as He has for the pastor of a thriving church.

Just as much love as He has for the struggling Christian trying to make sense of His life.

Just as much love as He has for me.

Collide

2007-02-09T13:03:00.000-08:00

There's just some neat stuff on YouTube. Where do people learn how to make these compilations?

I've always liked this song, Collide. So mellow, so relaxed, so easy to gently nod your head to the beat.

And then there's Brokeback Mountain...I remember going last winter. I remember how even buying a ticket at the movie theater was a challenge. Being alone, walking up to the mall box office and quietly asking for a ticket. I walked in the theater and the place was packed...with straight couples.

Once the film was over, I walked to my car and started the 15 minute drive home...in complete silence. No radio, no CDs, and hardly any traffic. Just me and my tears. It moved me so much. I wandered into my home and just sat, saying and doing nothing, but still crying.

I wondered if the tears would ever stop. Watching this clip made me cry again. The good kind of tears, I think, because I know I'm making progress. Slow and steady progress, with the hope that one day my life might collide with someone else's.

Updates

2007-02-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

Well, I haven't been blogging here all that much. But, I'm still around. I've been doing a tremendous amount of thinking...

...about how far I've actually come in the last few years, but how far I have yet to travel.

...about the warmth of being close to another man, of having such peace that I could fall asleep next to him.

...about how to work on my extremely introverted ways of interacting with other people.

...about how to be more authentic.

...about why I pull back so severly at times.

...about porn and why I view it.

...about who to come out to next, if anyone. On one hand, I'm worn out from some people knowing and others not and keeping track of who is who. On the other, how do I bring this up with some people?

...about what those same people will think of me if they know I am attracted to men.

...about finding a new template for this blog. (I'm open for suggestions.)

...about my readiness for a relationship, and my hopes that I could really serve other man unselfishly, making him the best he could possibly be.

...about how my Bible goes unread for long periods of time.

...about how I never give a second-glance to a beautiful woman. I know when women are beautiful, I just have very little physical attraction. (Could they please just leave their clothes on?)

...about how I wish I could lose some weight.

...about the discipline in my life, or lack thereof.

...about if my sexuality is one big unachievable fantasy that I made up.

...about what God thinks about when he sees how I conduct my life.

...and lastly, about how to continue moving westward, toward peace and comfort and resolution.

Proud

2007-01-30T22:31:00.000-08:00

Being a sucker for ballads, I really like this song. I always have; it really speaks to me. It's a question I find myself subtly asking people in my life. Sometimes I imagine asking God the same thing.

Compared to....

2007-01-23T08:30:00.000-08:00

Good news: My weekend ended up being pretty darn good.

Really, it was quite un-extraordinary. I woke up; I joined a few friends for breakfast; I tended to some cleaning; I walked around a shopping mall; I went to church; I met someone for coffee. Boring stuff, compared to what the gay male life is supposed to look like, or so I'm told.

And right there, in that very last sentence, is a tricky phrase.

Compared to.

I'm beginning to understand the kind of trouble I get into when I start using the words Compared to. Compared to my high school friends, my life does not exactly look like their lives, which are full of diapers and baby bottles and school assemblies. Compared to other gay men, I'm not quite as comfortable with myself. Compared to other Bloggers, I don't post as much. Compared to some guys at the gym, I am a weakling. Compared to my classmates, I'm a little slower to learn than they are.

So what?

Why must I always compare myself to someone or something else to understand myself? (Beware, I'm in a moment of clear thinking. There undoubtedly will be future posts detailing how I am comparing myself to someone else.) Could I say instead that I'm working toward a level of comfort with myself and call it good? And maybe even call it getting better?

Comparisons are a killer, especially because I nearly always use a comparison when I'm comparing myself negatively against someone or something else. Like, my clothes are not as nice as their clothes. I rarely compare myself positively. Like, I really listen to people at work more closely than other people. I suppose I am learning that this comparison thing is another of those instruments I use to beat on myself. When I compare, I usually come out on the bottom, and I cognitively do not see large benefits from continuing to do that. I'm not sure I can turn off this behavior right away, but perhaps at least recognizing this is a start.

My therapist would be so proud of me.

The Weekend

2007-01-19T11:15:00.000-08:00

For years, I have found the weekend to be a difficult time for me. There was a time when I actually hated Fridays, because I knew the weekend was arriving. Often, that meant going home Friday night and being by myself, followed by a Saturday of being by myself and a Sunday of the same. What made Sunday all the stranger--or more cruel--was the trip to church when people would ask me how I was. I would lie, like most people do, and say how great my mood was or how busy I was all weekend long. When I crawled into bed Sunday night, I knew I was going back to work on Monday. And even if I was at work, I would not be by myself.

I almost never call anyone to make plans. I'm just not that type of person. Not having a lot of great ideas hampers me. And those times when I did have the balls to call someone, I got turned down anyway, which made me realize two more things: (1) That other person obviously ALREADY had something to do with themselves, which put them ahead of me already; and (2) maybe I'm not all that enjoyable as company anyway. It's sad that I would rather not ask than ask and get turned down.

So as another weekend looms, I am a bit sad. I'm by myself, which honestly leads to all sorts of temptations. That's when I have trouble with porn. That's when I start to chat inappropriately. That's when I pull the blanket over my head and will the time away, hoping to get back to Monday. I think of people making plans to go clubbing, and I realize that I'm not going with them and I really wouldn't want to anyway.

Some people suggest doing something--anything--to get over this. I'll try to at least buy groceries or get a library book or something to force me to be around people. I guess I just wish I could have a good weekend, or at least not a bad weekend. I know I should meet people or join a club or something. I know! It's just that when mild depression visits, those things that I know don't even make sense.

And I wish I could have more courage to enjoy friends and life. It's getting a bit lonely here.

Reward?

2007-01-18T12:45:00.000-08:00

I'm guilty; I've been watching The Apprentice. For me, it's like a train wreck: I don't really want to watch, but when it happens I can't help but observe.

For those who have not partaken of The Apprentice, the reality contestants on the show form teams and compete in tasks to win the approval of Donald Trump. He generally kicks one person from the losing team out of the contest. The winning team players are safe from elimination and typically get some sort reward.

The funniest part of the most recent episode was the reward, a trip to the Playboy mansion. I suppose there is a legitimate reason to the contestants there, as Hugh Hefner is an incredibly successful businessman. But then Hugh throws a huge party complete with busty woman batting around a beach ball in the pool. Even NBC's website says: "For their reward, Kinetic goes to the Playboy Mansion to meet Hugh Hefner and hang out at the swimming pool with some of Playboy's special... assets"

The problem: Of the nine winners, there was only one straight male. Maybe he had a good time, but the other eight (7 women and 1 gay man) must have been thinking, "I cannot believe I'm here pretending to enjoy this party on national TV."

This sounds like something that would totally happen to me, and I would be seen on TV wondering, "Do you have anything in a male model?"

Laying Here

2007-01-16T11:18:00.000-08:00

I seem to have little to say lately, as I continue to sort and sift through my thoughts. So I'm borrowing a bit, as I've seen other bloggers do, to express myself when I can't do it so well myself.

Several months ago I stood outside on a beautiful day helping a friend set up a sound system. This Chasing Cars song was the first he used to test his sytem, and it moved me so much that I had to walk away and mask that choked up feeling which came. I love laying around. I love quiet. I would love to do so with someone special, and find that within the quiet I'm having the greatest of conversations.

The S Word

2007-01-08T06:06:00.001-08:00

I feel so Stupid. I mean, I feel first-class dumb.

I'm simply tired of the war that wages in my mind about my sexuality. I read a lot, and I sometimes cringe when I read stories of people who knew since they were 5 years old that they were gay. That is not my story. I didn't know. Or maybe I denied it for most of my life? Or maybe I'm just totally confused? Or maybe I'm bisexual? Or maybe I'm asexual? What the hell?

How can I be so confused? How can my mind be so tied in knots? All I can think about is how Stupid I am. I just keep thinking and thinking and thinking. People tell me it will get better. People tell me I will just know. I say I'm too dumb to know. I don't trust myself.

And so I pull back from everyone and everything. I don't even talk any more with a few guys that I once actually had interest in. Each time I've had some interest in a guy, I've had my heart handed back to me in pieces. I've begun wondering if it's just punishment from God.

But then who could blame those guys? I know what I bring to the table, and it is nothing. I would actually pity the person who ended up with me, because I know that I could never adequately love them the way they deserve to be loved. I want to be loved, I want to love someone else. But I would question the good sense of anyone who loved me. It's a Catch-22.

I walked through the store yesterday, watching hundreds of people know who they are and what they are about. My friends seem to know. They smile and laugh and date and stuff. And then there's me; I'm just trying to get by. I'm trying to buy groceries and cook for myself and show up for school and work without totally breaking down.

I wish I could understand my feelings. Some days, I wish I had feelings. I wish I wasn't so Stupid.

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

2006-12-29T11:32:00.001-08:00

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

2006-12-27T19:54:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-22T08:36:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-11T13:07:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-06T14:03:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-03T12:00:00.000-08:00

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?

Excess

2006-11-29T10:34:00.000-08:00

Here's something off-topic, but it struck me anyway.

Last week during the lead-up to Thanksgiving, I could not watch a news show or listen to the radio without hearing talk of the big Thanksgiving feast, or someone's plans to "wear the stretchy pants" to allow for more food, or how long it would take to clean all those dirty dishes after dinner. Now this week, I heard a religious broadcaster talk about how she had to recover all weekend and Monday too from Thanksgiving and her wonderful meal made by her daughter.

So I thought...what about my fellow journeyers who have no money to buy groceries for a feast? What about those people who had nowhere to go or no one to spend the day with? What about the family that hopes against all hope that their lights won't be shutoff this winter?

On Thanksgiving Day, I heard of a man who went to work the day before and was killed on his way home, leaving a wife and two daughters. That family's biggest concerns are no longer how many scoops of potatoes they can scarf down, but how to even face the day without completely losing it. My heart broke.

I enjoyed a quiet Thanksgiving; but I could not shake the gloom that I know other people in my life face on holidays, or on any day, for that matter. And I could not help but be sad that one face of Thanksgiving is about food and prosperity and football and--well--excess. I'm no innocent by-stander here; I participate in my own forms of excess too. I simply am thankful for a new perspective this holiday season.

Thanksgiving

2006-11-22T13:38:00.000-08:00

Wow...I've really let my blog-updating go be the wayside lately. I guess my last few posts were pretty gloomy, so I just distracted myself with other stuff. Unfortunately, that other stuff wasn't so good for me either.

In any case, I'm faring a bit better, and am gearing up for Thanksgiving with the family. It can sometimes be a lot of effort to be around them, but then I stop and consider that I have them around at all. Though they have plenty of reservations about me being gay, they do love me. I am thankful.

Fitting In

2006-11-16T08:11:00.000-08:00

I wrestle mightily with the concept of fitting in. My life already seems enough like a puzzle, a great mystery about why this piece is so oddly-shaped or how I will ever make a unified picture out of the pieces I have to work with.

Even so, I isolate terribly on the perceived basis that I am not like anyone else. I have been to church only once in the past month, because I do not feel like they would want me there if they all knew the true Journeyman. I am not like them. Friends from the past have faded away, their lives now full of carseats and family vacations to kid-friendly places and needs to 'check with the spouse' before making plans. I am not like them. My dad lives 8 miles from me, but I have not seen him in over six months. I am not like him. I struggle with the gay community too. I think there are several gay bars nearby, but I have never been to one here. There I will find people comfortable with themselves. I am not like them.

So where do I fit in? I just don't see a simple happy answer here. Some might say, "Just be yourself." But I don't like myself, so why would I want to be myself? For now, I'm just the guy who gets up and goes to work, then comes home at night to watch TV, because I often feel like that is the only place I fit in...by myself, where I won't hurt someone else or let them hurt me. Even that is getting old.

[Sigh]

Bad Day

2006-11-14T12:38:00.000-08:00

A had a pretty awful weekend. Depression reached up unexpectedly and just pummelled me all weekend long. This video pretty much captures how I felt, especially the hamster at around 2:00.

Not that I wish anyone in this video any ill will, but I do find some comfort in being able to laugh at this video. That poor hamster!

Confidence

2006-11-07T12:34:00.000-08:00

I've heard so many people say something like this after coming out: "I just had to quit caring what everyone else thought of me and be myself."

Great! So what happens when you don't believe in yourself? And you never have? What happens when you honestly cannot remember even one day when you thought, "I'm a damn good guy!" What happens when you do not have any confidence in yourself, yet you are wrestling by the one comtemporary issue which makes people go ballistic? Reality is that I do care what everyone else thinks. And the reason that I care is that if I honestly confront what I think of myself, it's ugly.

So where does self-confidence come from? Is there a tree I can pick it from? Do I buy it in a can at Home Depot? Some might say self-confidence comes from Jesus. And while I do believe that to be true, I also find such a response to be a bit too simplistic. I know Jesus; He knows me. He probably even likes me, but He is not here in a physical way to tell me that. He does not wipe away my quiet tears at night. And there are plenty of people claiming to be his representative who come into my life only to harp about how upside-down I must be for prefering men over women. Or for attending the 'wrong' church. Or for not praying enough. Or, my personal favorite, for not sowing enough seed into their ministry.

This is not a ploy to solicit comments about what a nice person I probably am. I'm tempted to not even allow comments on this post specifically to prevent that. I guess I'm just wondering today how I'm supposed to get that confidence and personal belief in myself. Just about everyone who has met me picks up very quickly that I am very hard on myself and that I put myself down frequently. So much so that sometimes I wonder if that is just a part of who I am, a guy with no self-confidence. And yet, I can find hope and excitement and worth in anyone else's journey.

I believed in other people when no one else would. Now if I could just learn how to believe in myself. That task could be far harder than anything else I've faced on my journey.

An Unlikely Philosopher

2006-11-06T13:56:00.000-08:00

I watched this and I proceeded to cry. To me, Kermit the Frog has always been a wise philosopher.

Someday I'll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The Lovers, the Dreamers, and me.

Rest

2006-11-02T13:34:00.000-08:00

I've been off the blog for a while. I have been tired. I sure seem to be sleeping a lot lately. These shorter days, now bringing darkness an hour earlier, just do not sit well with me.

However, the great news is that my sleep has been much more peaceful lately than it has been for a long time. I tend to climb into bed around the same time each night--far earlier than my friends think I should for a guy my age--and then sleep soundly for a good long while. Fewer panicky middle-of-the-night awakenings. Fewer restless nights laying in bed wondering if I will ever fall asleep. Fewer thoughts scrambling around the blender.

Quite some time ago I told a trusted companion that I could manage to get sleep, but that I really longed for rest. For the first time since I seriously engaged this journey of mine, I am beginning to experience rest. I have unpacked an incredible amount of my story over the past several months. A couple friends told me this week that they now sensed hope in me, and that even 12 months ago they were very very worried about my attitude and demeanor. They like seeing my smile, and I like seeing it too.

Now if I could just see this guy when I wake up in the morning. =) For now, that isn't happening. But it is fun to dream, especially while I rest.

16E

2006-10-24T13:55:00.000-07:00

He was seated. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, he slid a blue backpack onto the floor and sat still, careful not to disturb his neighbors to the right or to the left. The lights dimmed, the noise in the crowded room increased, and having taken his place in 16E, he tried to drown a weeks' worth of anxiousness in a can of Cranberry-Apple juice. (Once again, he wondered just how did they always shape the ice in that little tube shape?)

He was wearing a plain gray hooded sweatshirt, ironically described as the closest thing he had to a dog. That sweatshirt from the sale rack at a grocery store went everywhere he travelled, was always comforting, never passed judgment, and had been present for most of the significant events of his life. He pulled the hood from his back so that the gray fabric almost covered his head, like a collegiate monk. All the emotion he had tried so hard to squelch or deny expressed itself in silent tears. No sobbing, no noise, just tears. And then more tears. And then yet more tears. Perhaps this time, they wouldn't stop. Being faithful once again, his gray hoodie sopped up the salty tears. In 16E, there was no one else to notice, or to wipe them away.

He thought back on the week, brimming with memories of birthdays and dancing and hockey and the ocean and ice cream and harbor seals and pizza and burritos and fireworks. He thought of friendships, and more importantly of friends. He remembered how they had become acquaintances, then friends, and now they were brothers. Brothers banded together by a struggle none of them had sought and few others understood, but yet one in which they continued to journey each day. In 16E, he was by himself, but he was not alone.

He considered himself wildly blessed for knowing those brothers. That idea naturally led him to ponder how much those brothers loved and believed in him, which made him cry all the more. He envisioned them standing behind him, cheering him on into the scary darkness. The tears returned, staining his face all over again. In 16E, in the dark of night somewhere in the vast sky, he loved them back.

He had finally gone west.

Escaping Shadows

2006-10-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

I took some time off recently. Some time off from my normal life which includes long hours and commuting and blogging and paperwork and the like, all those ordinary things which take time and get in the way of my own personal growth and journey.

It was a peaceful, refreshing time. Time to wander and to wonder. I looked at myself in new ways. I took risks. I challenged myself, even in small ways that would make an ordinary person laugh.

I want to write about it, and I will. But to continue writing about my journey, I will almost certainly have to remove at least one layer of the anonymity I've maintained here. Not that I will completely out myself to the world, but at least a couple potential readers will be able to put this idea with that fact and have an idea just who the Journeyman is. My gut tells me they know by now anyway. And so today I post my own photo. Granted, it's an extremely safe start, but it is me, and any reader now knows without a shadow of a doubt that I do indeed have two ears. It is a small step, maybe even silly. But that is my journey, a series of small steps.

I'm OK with this idea. Yes, it scares me. Yes, it could be embarrassing. But yes, it's worth the risk. I place my trust in the hands of these fellow journeyers, asking only that they respect my space and my journey as I have retold it here, anonymously. I have spent much of my life living in shadows, head down, nose to the grindstone, not mapping out a journey so much as stamping out a dull daily existence. Hopefully, as a friend unexpectedly told me recently, this is the start of me not just living life but experiencing and embracing it.

Things to Ponder

2006-10-13T18:46:00.001-07:00

There are a couple thoughts I want to visit in the near future...I guess I'm placing them here as a reminder to myself that they are worth exploring.

The first is a profound post by a Blogger named Eric at Two World Collision. He writes about himself in a beautifully honest way, struggles included. So many pieces of his story ring true for me. (I'd link it here, but I'm still learning how to do that. For now, just find his link over on the left and start reading.)

The second is about fitting in. For most of my life, I have felt like I do not fit in. I didn't fit in at my Christian grade school, where I was the only kid in my class with divorced parents. I didn't fit in at church, where most other kids were from a wealthier family. Now I feel trapped between the church and my sexuality. Neither one seems to want me if I embrace the other. Where can I fit in?

Things to ponder soon...

Coming Out Day

2006-10-11T18:01:00.000-07:00

So today is National Coming Out Day. I came out to absolutely no one. I feel like I should have. Perhaps the secretary who always has a smile, or maybe the woman who always has candy at her desk or the guy at the next table at the library who I've never met and and who could probably care less.

Last year's Coming Out Day did something in me. I opened my local newspaper to find picture of a tired man, his back up against a wall, his knees pulled up, his hands supporting his head. It's the image that inspired my own blog photo. I was that guy. Tired. Worn out. Sick of crying. Emotionless. Completely lost as to what to do next. My hands holding up my head in a vein effort to keep me from sinking lower. I didn't feel alone anymore. If that ficticious guy could feel that low, then I wasn't so hopeless.

But today, when I guess I was supposed to come out to somebody, I was left wondering why I have to come out. Why does any gay man have to come out? I'm not advocating staying in the closet, and I'm not saying I will always be in the closet either. Thankfully, there are some trusted friends and family that already know.

I'm asking why society demands that I announce "I like men" and yet does not require a corresponding "Girls are hot" proclamation from my straight counterparts. Am I supposed to tell everyone like it's some tag around my neck? Is it like applying a bright pink label to me? It's almost like posting a "Beware of Dog" sign in my yard, except mine says "Beware of Gay." Must I declare, "Oh, I'm gay" when I don't hear an extraordinary number of straight people Coming Out about their sexuality? Why must gays endure this gauntlet called "Coming Out" where I could lose family or friends or even the respect of someone who hardly knows me but feels anointed by a religious broadcaster to proclaim the "Truth in Love" to me?

Or maybe I just want someone to "Ask Me" instead of me having to "Tell Them". Or do I have this all wrong? I'm realizing I'm pretty negative about the Coming Out experience. Is there a positive side I'm completely missing here?

Grandpa

2006-10-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

Today I thought about my Grandpa. I saw my Grandpa at least once a year. Even as a small boy, I would travel on the airlines, decorated with a huge red button that designated me as an Unaccompanied Minor. Each trip, a flight attendant would give me a set of wings; over the years I had a collection of identical wings pins from the airline I always flew. I kept them, small symbols of my annual trip across the Midwest.

Sometimes my Grandpa--he was always more a grandpa to me than a grandfather, and I cannot quite explain that except that it makes sense to me--could meet me at the airport, but not usually. More often my Grandma would pick me up and we would drive to my Grandpa's work, because he could not get away. He wanted too, of course, but he could not because of his work ethic. I would find a spot to sit and I would watch my Grandpa work in the hardware store he owned on Main Street. I watched people come in and ask questions about hoses and bolts and windows and paint. He was the wisest man ever, and I was his grandson.

My Grandpa's first name is my middle name. And so when I write out my name fully--first middle and last names all together--I see his name. I have my Grandpa's name. But I no longer have him. He died many years ago. I cried as a pallbearer when I carried his casket, yet I was the proudest man in town. I still remember standing at the cemetery on the most glorious of fall days, the wind blowing gently but firmly as if his very spirit was still mussing with my hair and loving me at the same time. It was in that church cemetery that I realized I have my Grandpa's name.

Grandpa never knew that I am gay. I don't know that he even considered the idea, or would have found it acceptable that his oldest grandson liked men. But he would have kept on loving me. My cousins and I, we were a troubled bunch. We dragged more problems through our grandparent's house than we would care to remember. We always found refuge with Grandpa. He would sit and talk with us, or extend his hand in a friendly wave, or raise his voice into something of a cheer, like a man would when toasting his friends over a friendly beer, though I do not think he drank. He loved me.

I miss you, Grandpa. I wish I could talk with you about my life now. I would cry if I could talk with you, just like I am crying right now. We would probably sit at your old kitchen table and drink small glasses of orange juice. You would tell me you love me, no matter what. Even if it cost you your reputation, you would remind me that I am your grandson, and nothing could change that. You would convince me to keep journeying.

I want to make you proud, Grandpa. After all, I have your name.

Derailed

2006-10-03T10:58:00.000-07:00

I simply need to acknowledge all of you leaving comments. I appreciate you.

Lately, I have not had as much to say. That will no doubt change, but for the time being my train of thought seems to be derailed. I am hanging in there; I hope to be back soon.

Away

2006-10-01T17:13:00.000-07:00

I managed to get away for many days, to physically get away. I enjoyed it tremendously. It is so refreshing to be away. I'm not as ready to give up any more.

Being Safe

2006-09-27T12:16:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at my desk, my head in my hands, just like my profile picture. I just want a safe space to process. I have cried more over this than I care to talk about. I simply want to cry and have someone care, to cry and not have to be alone. To say something and not be preached at. I'm ready to give up.

Holding

2006-09-26T10:18:00.000-07:00

I've only been in a few gay relationships, and they all went horribly wrong. As for being with a girl, I've could count the number of dates I've had with woman and have fingers left over. What I do recall about one gay relationship I was in was being held. For all the doubt I have about my own sexuality, I know without a doubt that I loved being held by a man, and likewise holding another man.

Mitchell held me. He would stop in my apartment, sit on my old brown couch, and hold me. And if the mood struck us both, I would hold him. It didn't really matter; we just enjoyed being close. There might be talking, there might not. Usually we just sat. It wasn't even all that sexual, but I would invariably get hard, simply because I was comfortable. Oh, how I loved it. I haven't seen or heard from Mitchell in 2 years. The failure of that relationship still serves as a reminder of how broken I am inside. I'm not so much broken over Mitchell; instead I hurt because I don't believe I will ever be whole enough to adequately love someone the way he deserves to be loved.

Holding is such an intensely intimate experience for me. I well up inside and catch my breath when I see portrayals of gay men holding each other. I wept watching Brokeback Mountain, watching Jack and Ennis cuddle in their tent, and later during their all-too-infrequent visits after they were married. Does that make me gay? I fall asleep at night holding a blue pillow to my chest, imagining the beauty of my warm breath falling onto the back of the neck of the imaginary man I love. Of whispering 'I love you' into his ears. Of wrapping my arm around his chest and pulling him close to me. I am a hopeless romantic, probably more hopeless than romantic.

I want that: to be held and to hold. Yet someone with a conservative religious background told me that wanting to be close to a man is simply a sign of my underdevelopment as a masculine man and is all the more evidence that I should 'pursue healing' through an ex-gay group. I cannot imagine why wanting to love someone else--as impossible as that now seems--requires me to pursue healing. I almost got the impression that this person would be happier if I would drive downtown, find a prostitute and sex her right up. Grunt and moan and pretend her boobs turn me on. Somehow that would be better than wanting to lovingly hold a man?!?!

I guess I just don't get it. I don't even get me. I met a guy the other night; he seemed very nice. We exchanged numbers. Now I'm scared stiff to meet him again. I feel that broken and confused inside. So hopeless that I'd rather just be by myself. Why can't I have more comfort meeting guys? Isn't that what being gay is all about? Feeling comfortable to meet a man? Being excited to go out and form new friendships? Instead, it just scares me.

I may have found God the other day; I just wish I could find me.

Peeking out

2006-09-25T06:57:00.000-07:00

What an unexpected moment over the weekend. I cracked the closet door open just a bit more. While attending a lecture related to Christians who also are gay by two affirming straight people, I glanced around the room. My eyes just about popped out of my head to see someone I knew, someone from the last church I attended, a church I left when all my homosexual feelings came bubbling to the surface, a church at which I no longer felt welcome.

I figured I could dodge Mary, pretend like I never saw her in the crowd and hide in the restroom for a while until she left. But I reconsidered. Mary was always very kind to me, but hardly someone I would have pegged as gay-friendly. And just to complicate matters a bit, I was her son's youth group leader for his entire high school career. I've always feared the day when news started to spread my old youth group students and parents that I am gay. I assumed most either wouldn't believe me or would regret ever letting their kids near me.

As the event wrapped up, I made a bold decision, to go talk with Mary. I truly did want to greet her. What I was less interested in was the inevitable "Why are you here?" comment. For my entire life, I've let my life happen to me. This night, I planned to take one small bit of control. I would talk to Mary, and very factually explain that I was there for myself. It wasn't my brother I wanted to relate with better. It wasn't a youth group student I needed to understand more fully. It wasn't my 'friend' who came out to me. I was there for myself. And come hell or high water, Mary was about to find out I was gay.

We chit-chatted for a while, and I found out Mary was there with her mother because Mary's brother had come out to them as a gay man a few years ago. They simply sought to understand, to love their brother and son. I then told Mary that I dealt with all this as well. I was in my own process of coming out. Mary was understanding, and for the next 30 minutes was on the verge of tears. I don't know why, but perhaps it was the idea that this issue called homosexuality had come to her family and now to her church. She said, "Journeyman, you are such a man of God. To think you dealt with this alone, while you poured yourself into my kids and set such an example for them...that's incredible, even tremendous."

I wanted to interject what a horrible sinner I was. I wanted to say, "Yeah, Mary, but I look at gay porn. And I don't have much self-control. And I feel like a fraud." But instead I just said, "Thanks, Mary." I just took the compliment as a small blessing from God and quit trying to fight it so badly.

I told Mary that I had left the youth group and her church because I was dealing with my homosexuality. I didn't get pushed out; I left voluntarily. I actually didn't tell anyone why I left until months after I disappeared. She said, "Journeyman, I know you left because you were gay. I don't blame you, given the prevailing attitudes at my church. But someday I pray you are welcomed back, precisely because you are gay. Those students need you; they need to know that whatever they feel inside or who they are attracted to, that God loves them."

I had unexpectedly faced a challenge, and I had taken control and dealt with it honestly and openly. I had found love. I had found God.

Daily Show

2006-09-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

I laughed out loud watching this. Incredible! Then I shed one tear on the inside, knowing just how serious the implications of this type of attitude are.

Garlic Bread

2006-09-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

I know I'm down again, because I'm eating terribly. Last night I ate a third of a loaf of garlic bread. That's it. Skipped breakfast; Skipped lunch; ate a hunk of garlic bread for dinner.

Now I am still celebrating my small victory involving coming out to my friend, and I still delight in knowing I'm just one more tiny step out of the closet. Even so, I sometimes get so down on myself. And one of my sure signs of being down on myself is not feeding myself well. Perhaps it's like a punishment I dish out to myself. Today, I haven't eaten breakfast or lunch.

Yesterday a friend sent me a lengthy text message. It actually arrived in 4 separate texts because it was so long. And in that text message, he explained how I wasn't a good friend and that I had ripped on him recently and he was going a different direction and that I could talk to him in the future if I ever felt like it. My reaction: Grow some balls and give me a damn phone call if you want to say something like that. I don't deserve to read that in a text message at midnight when I'm sleeping.

So here I am...hungry but really not feeling like eating. Disappointed in myself, because I obviously disappointed someone else. And wondering if it's all because I am a fag.

More Out

2006-09-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

Whew! Somewhat unexpectedly, I told yet another friend I am gay. I didn't plan it all out or make a big to-do of it. I simply decided it was time to send a quick simple e-mail, and not to spend days and days pondering how it should be worded or what approach to take or whatever. My close friends tell me I think too much. This time, I didn't fall into that trap.

The details of this friend and why him now and all aren't all that critical to me. I simply know I had peace when I sent off the e-mail last night. Then the reply came back this morning. I wasn't all that sure I wanted to open that reply, wondering if there would be support or fire-and-brimstone. So I stopped, took a deep breath, and muttered some unintelligible prayer asking for peace of mind before double-clicking his message to me.

And that peace continued. There was understanding, love and acknowledgement of me and of my journey. I feel like someone stands by me, that someone I thought might hate me actually does indeed love me. Thanks for an understanding friend. I needed that today.