Reflections

After weeks of anticipation, on January 5th my one year blog anniversary arrived. Strangely enough it was the day I reached 15,000 hits and the same day I left for my much anticipated, and debated, weekend in Chicago. And after weeks of waiting, I let the occasion pass unsaid. Somehow celebrating did not seem in order: my heart was just not in it.

And now another milestone: my 200th post. The other night I told Carrie of running out of things to say, but she laughed, scoffed, she knows me too well. And she is right, there is much more to say – and do, and feel. Some is written in my head already and much is yet to be thought, yet to be imagined.

It is hard to imagine how much has changed since a moment never noted on any calendar, a moment circa September 2005, a moment late at night in a darkened bedroom. A moment of basking in the sexual pleasure, a homo-erotic real life dream and then a moment of being told to “do what I have to do”. Carrie imagined it would be a moment, a quick hook-up, an anonymous encounter, and recharged like the ever-ready bunny, back to the marital bed. Who imagined the bunny would someday morph into a rabbit (which by the way just eats those ever-ready bunnies – the price for real fire power).

For those who have joined this journey midstream, a brief moment of history. Going on Craig’s List, getting up the nerve and sending an e-mail. A motel rendezvous, and then the problem: I liked it; I wanted to try it again. And again I liked it. So a pattern began and true to the don’t ask, don’t tell of her request, Carrie never knew. I went to work, I came home. I used to know discretion.

Then this blog, a new world, a few false starts and then eureka: discovery of a whole world of bi/gay men, many married, a mirror but with depth. Once again a little more time on the computer, but Carrie was not watching, she had a life to lead, a house to run and kids to raise.

And then a Saturday night, late January 2006, a year ago give or take a few days, dinner out. Funny, this is the true anniversary and it has taken me six paragraphs to even realize it: lord, I am dense at times. Anyway, this dinner was going to be with another couple, but a babysitter crisis, last minute cancellation and there - Carrie and I, glasses of wine in hand, an old fashioned date.

Now I had nothing planned, no secret agenda: we were supposed to be with another couple. But sitting there sipping red wine, looking at the love of my life, comfortably chatting, I said something. Words I do not exactly remember, but Carrie remembers them for me: “I am bi-sexual.” We talked, ate, we paid the bill and drove. We parked in a lover’s lane setting and talked some more, car running, heat blowing, but still a chill if not in the car, in our hearts.

I did not that night know one of my current mantras: what has been said can never be unsaid. I would like to tell you of the rainbow that appeared on the horizon, the honesty dissolving into a tearful embrace, sex with fireworks. In the year that has elapsed we have had those moments, but to tout those moments as if a Ron Howard movie would be wrong. Yes those moments, but many other darker moments. It has been a year of Dickens, a year of wanting to oft times quote the best of times and the worst of times.

What happiness is there in looking back at the pain I have caused, in going down to my basement room at night, in missing being in Carrie’s arms? Yet there is the other side, learning acceptance of who I am, making new friends albeit mostly on line, coming out to those close with me and feeling honesty. The thing is that honesty while ultimately the only way to live a life, can bring pain – both to those we love and to ourselves.


Last Saturday night Carrie went out, dinner with a friend, and I had a wonderful “Daddy” evening. This Saturday night Carrie will stay home, a “Mommy” evening and I will get on a train. I will meet a man for dinner. We are not lovers, are not looking to be. His wife has asked for a divorce and he has found a sublet, a place to hang his hat, a diving board for a new life. We will eat, share our tales, the similarities, the differences, and then drinks at a bar, drinking from glasses and drinking with our eyes, drinking in this new world. Eventually a train, home to my basement, wake up with my family.


So a year later I straddle two worlds. And I wonder going forward, where the intersection lies, where the comfort level will be. Carrie and I hope to share a home in our separated state, raise our children and avoid any more financial pain. But as I get ready for my Saturday night out, as we discuss whether I will wake up with my family or if it will be a train ride home lit with the sun of another day, we realize the trickiness of this path. One friend tells me of seven months in the other bedroom and then an apartment. As I sit here on my computer, as I sometimes log onto cruising sites, pure sex sites, as I plan my Saturday night out, I wonder if that apartment is not in my future also.

As with much of life, an answer will become apparent, an answer I do not know: Water finding its own level. There is only one rule for finding that answer and that is to start to live, live my life, my new life and my old. Continue to respect those around me, continue the therapy and introspection, but also continue the journey.