I saw this Meme on Raven's site and thought it a bit silly, but while looking at something else on my blog, I did it for the hell of it.
Here are the instructions:
1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My 23rd Post: “A Thing So Simple and So Huge”
The 5th sentence: “It is now clear that there are two issues in all of this – my sexual desires and my fidelity in a marriage.”
My comment: I swear – I am not making this one up. Plus ca meme, Plus ca change.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Quiet
Music has been much a part of the journey and one line of late (from an old Dar William’s song) has just continued to resonate.
And as long as she's got noise, she's fine.
But I could teach her how I learned to dance when the music's ended
I feel that of late I am fine with the noise – the noise of blogging, the noise of my married bi/gay on-line group. I am fine with the noise of checking out CL or looking for the next e-mail. I am fine with the noise of arranging my next hookup or learning how gay.com works.
I do not seem to be fine with the quiet. I need to learn to dance when the music’s ended and do not know where to start.
And as long as she's got noise, she's fine.
But I could teach her how I learned to dance when the music's ended
I feel that of late I am fine with the noise – the noise of blogging, the noise of my married bi/gay on-line group. I am fine with the noise of checking out CL or looking for the next e-mail. I am fine with the noise of arranging my next hookup or learning how gay.com works.
I do not seem to be fine with the quiet. I need to learn to dance when the music’s ended and do not know where to start.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
THE TALK
There have been many late night talks over the last seven months, much ground covered, painful topics exposed. So last night should have just been one more in this ongoing series, but it was not. It rates capitals I fear.
On Friday I was feeling the pull – it has been a month since I have been with a man and I found myself cruising CL, creating a login for Match.com: not acting per se, but looking half-heartedly. My new FWB (friend with benefits) will be back from vacation next week, so need to do anything rash. Still, busy as hell, there I am taking a few minutes to “cruise”.
Last night we lay there and Carrie says you were really thinking about being with a man Friday at work: you really wanted it. I am stunned, I am quiet, I admit. I ask, what makes you say it and she explains - little things which do not seem to be so telling. But ultimately she saw right through me, right through the telephone wires and she was right.
A few posts ago I alluded to when Carrie and I first came together. The freedom of our love, which allowed her to start to see her past, also affected me. You must understand that Carrie came to our relationship as close to virginal as any married woman with two kids could be. She and her first husband procreated but never recreated. So all I wanted seemed normal to her. Doesn’t every man want dildos in his ass, to be taken by his wife? Doesn’t every man want to kiss after being blown so he can share the cum? Enough said. The point is clear: I had found a woman where I could, without ever admitting it to myself or to her, be Gay. And it worked for both of us for a long time.
It stopped working on two counts. My needs increased – the fantasy that puts you over the top once, twice, a hundred times, eventually is not enough. And Carrie grew in so many ways in our time together. She did not want to continue as a stand-in for a man. What worked for an insecure girl is way too much to ask of a real woman with a real ego.
So we lay in bed and she points out that I would like to be with a man – hugging and spooning, my tongue feeling his. I am quiet. I am hard. The quiet speaks volumes; Carrie knows I could never lie.
We lay in bed and she tells me I will not find faith - that would require letting go. I consider my recent post – she sees through me. She tells me of my lack of connections with her, with the children, with my world. She tells me things I know. I am quiet. I am saddened.
Lying there, wanting her still, I wish to be simply gay or simply straight, so much simpler than being bi. The pull of the gay is so powerful as Friday proved. It just refuses to go back in its box – closets are lonely places. So bi as I am, the journey must continue as gay.
Recently I have felt like I was being shoved – by Carrie and my sister (a biological one) – out the door. Last night it was different, like a young chick being nudged from the nest. Neither of us knows what I will find and both realize I may be sadly disappointed. We both know that this path may lead me back home. We also both know that it may lead me away.
But a life of Fridays – cruising CL – that is not healthy. No lifetime of lunchtime hookups – I have already admitted to needing a friendship, a relationship of sorts. Carrie tells me any answer is alright. If I do not require acting on my gayness, she could go on forever. If not, we will need to make decisions. But the decision for a life of “lunches” may be different than my finding a boyfriend. Sooner or later, there will have to be decisions.
One thing is clear: I cannot have my cake and eat it anymore. Carrie will share a home with me, she will share a life with me, and she will even share a bed with me. But she is no longer willing to share her body with me, not as long as I am sharing my body with another.
We have devoted the weekend to preparing the basement for the return of our daughter and fiancé while they save for a house of their own. It will be a three room suite; we are creating a mini-kitchen for their morning toast and coffee. It is coming out quite well. And all the while I keep thinking, will this be my home in another year? If they were not moving in, would this be my home even sooner.
Carrie tells me all I need is to say one thing from my heart – that I accept being gay and accept not acting on it. Such a simple thing: but I lay there as a mute, unable to utter either phrase. There is an excitement I suppose, but I am having trouble finding it at this moment.
On Friday I was feeling the pull – it has been a month since I have been with a man and I found myself cruising CL, creating a login for Match.com: not acting per se, but looking half-heartedly. My new FWB (friend with benefits) will be back from vacation next week, so need to do anything rash. Still, busy as hell, there I am taking a few minutes to “cruise”.
Last night we lay there and Carrie says you were really thinking about being with a man Friday at work: you really wanted it. I am stunned, I am quiet, I admit. I ask, what makes you say it and she explains - little things which do not seem to be so telling. But ultimately she saw right through me, right through the telephone wires and she was right.
A few posts ago I alluded to when Carrie and I first came together. The freedom of our love, which allowed her to start to see her past, also affected me. You must understand that Carrie came to our relationship as close to virginal as any married woman with two kids could be. She and her first husband procreated but never recreated. So all I wanted seemed normal to her. Doesn’t every man want dildos in his ass, to be taken by his wife? Doesn’t every man want to kiss after being blown so he can share the cum? Enough said. The point is clear: I had found a woman where I could, without ever admitting it to myself or to her, be Gay. And it worked for both of us for a long time.
It stopped working on two counts. My needs increased – the fantasy that puts you over the top once, twice, a hundred times, eventually is not enough. And Carrie grew in so many ways in our time together. She did not want to continue as a stand-in for a man. What worked for an insecure girl is way too much to ask of a real woman with a real ego.
So we lay in bed and she points out that I would like to be with a man – hugging and spooning, my tongue feeling his. I am quiet. I am hard. The quiet speaks volumes; Carrie knows I could never lie.
We lay in bed and she tells me I will not find faith - that would require letting go. I consider my recent post – she sees through me. She tells me of my lack of connections with her, with the children, with my world. She tells me things I know. I am quiet. I am saddened.
Lying there, wanting her still, I wish to be simply gay or simply straight, so much simpler than being bi. The pull of the gay is so powerful as Friday proved. It just refuses to go back in its box – closets are lonely places. So bi as I am, the journey must continue as gay.
Recently I have felt like I was being shoved – by Carrie and my sister (a biological one) – out the door. Last night it was different, like a young chick being nudged from the nest. Neither of us knows what I will find and both realize I may be sadly disappointed. We both know that this path may lead me back home. We also both know that it may lead me away.
But a life of Fridays – cruising CL – that is not healthy. No lifetime of lunchtime hookups – I have already admitted to needing a friendship, a relationship of sorts. Carrie tells me any answer is alright. If I do not require acting on my gayness, she could go on forever. If not, we will need to make decisions. But the decision for a life of “lunches” may be different than my finding a boyfriend. Sooner or later, there will have to be decisions.
One thing is clear: I cannot have my cake and eat it anymore. Carrie will share a home with me, she will share a life with me, and she will even share a bed with me. But she is no longer willing to share her body with me, not as long as I am sharing my body with another.
We have devoted the weekend to preparing the basement for the return of our daughter and fiancé while they save for a house of their own. It will be a three room suite; we are creating a mini-kitchen for their morning toast and coffee. It is coming out quite well. And all the while I keep thinking, will this be my home in another year? If they were not moving in, would this be my home even sooner.
Carrie tells me all I need is to say one thing from my heart – that I accept being gay and accept not acting on it. Such a simple thing: but I lay there as a mute, unable to utter either phrase. There is an excitement I suppose, but I am having trouble finding it at this moment.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Whose Country Is This?
Country Music that is. I have been catching up on my blog reading and today could be thought of a letter to Raven, a New Yorker who well defends his liking of country music, particularly last week the Dixie Chicks. It got me too thinking about the types of music I like.
Just a little background: I blog about my life in terms of my sexuality but the other river running deep – and strangely connected to the sexuality – is my love of music. I have succumbed to iTunes and let’s just say the collection is measured in five digits now. Thirty-eight years of collecting adds up.
Music has become a very real part of my journey this past year. Carrie points out that since my Father’s Day present of an iPod fourteen months ago, things have not been the same. She believes that the music freed my soul and in a very real way liberated my gay side. She is right as usual, but I digress.
One of the songs that sent me reeling this winter was a Mary Chapin Carpenter song: Jubilee.
And I can tell by the way you're searching
For something you can't even name
That you haven't been able to come to the table
Simply glad that you came
Ian turned me onto this song. The thing is that iTunes (yes, I bought the song) assigns songs a genre and this one is Country. If they had called this folk-rock, it would have been just as accurate to me.
Another song on the journey was I Will Always Love You. Now Whitney Houston did not become rich recording country music – middle of the road pop all the way for her. The thing is that it was a good song that Whitney did, but when I discovered the Dolly original version, I was floored, I was moved, I cried – often.
If I should stay
Well, I would only be in your way
And so I'll go, and yet I know
That I'll think of you each step of my way
The song a wife might sing to a gay husband on her way out the door. Countless listenings later, I have been a bit desensitized though this weekend when a disappointing cover came on (Melissa Etheridge) the person I was with did sense there was more to this for me. A country song yes – but known to most of the universe for the pop version.
Then I think back to my Grateful Dead days – not exactly a country band. But they did a wonderful version of Marty Robbin’s – a country/ cowboy icon – El Paso. Hell, they did a whole album an eon ago – Workingman’s Dead with a whole country feel.
Marty Robbin’s takes me to his song Big Iron done by Steve Goodman – the late folk singer who gave us City of New Orleans. I own the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band doing Will The Circle Be Unbroken with a who’s who of country artists and also doing Mr. Bojangles with David Bromberg – as true a folk artist as you can find.
iTunes thinks that Iris Dement is a Folk artist and while possibly true for Wasteland of The Free – a prophetic protest song, there remains When My Morning Comes Around, country as can be.
And getting back to the Dixie Chicks, Not Ready To Make Nice may be favorite folk-rock protest song since Iris Dement a decade ago.
My most recent favorite artist is a Texas folk singer named Slaid Cleave. The thing is that Lydia – a song about a coal mining family – and Breakfast In Hell – logging in Ontario –are real close to country from my perspective.
I could go on but the point is simple. Mark –do not apologize for being a New Yorker listening to country. We have spent as a group way too much time realizing the difficulties of pigeon holing our sexual orientations with “proper” labeling. Let’s not drag the music down to the same level. Country, folk, folk-rock, traditional – the tent is mighty big and confusing. And that is the joy.
Next post, back to the usual whining, but it does feel good to talk about something else so dear to my heart for a change.
Just a little background: I blog about my life in terms of my sexuality but the other river running deep – and strangely connected to the sexuality – is my love of music. I have succumbed to iTunes and let’s just say the collection is measured in five digits now. Thirty-eight years of collecting adds up.
Music has become a very real part of my journey this past year. Carrie points out that since my Father’s Day present of an iPod fourteen months ago, things have not been the same. She believes that the music freed my soul and in a very real way liberated my gay side. She is right as usual, but I digress.
One of the songs that sent me reeling this winter was a Mary Chapin Carpenter song: Jubilee.
And I can tell by the way you're searching
For something you can't even name
That you haven't been able to come to the table
Simply glad that you came
Ian turned me onto this song. The thing is that iTunes (yes, I bought the song) assigns songs a genre and this one is Country. If they had called this folk-rock, it would have been just as accurate to me.
Another song on the journey was I Will Always Love You. Now Whitney Houston did not become rich recording country music – middle of the road pop all the way for her. The thing is that it was a good song that Whitney did, but when I discovered the Dolly original version, I was floored, I was moved, I cried – often.
If I should stay
Well, I would only be in your way
And so I'll go, and yet I know
That I'll think of you each step of my way
The song a wife might sing to a gay husband on her way out the door. Countless listenings later, I have been a bit desensitized though this weekend when a disappointing cover came on (Melissa Etheridge) the person I was with did sense there was more to this for me. A country song yes – but known to most of the universe for the pop version.
Then I think back to my Grateful Dead days – not exactly a country band. But they did a wonderful version of Marty Robbin’s – a country/ cowboy icon – El Paso. Hell, they did a whole album an eon ago – Workingman’s Dead with a whole country feel.
Marty Robbin’s takes me to his song Big Iron done by Steve Goodman – the late folk singer who gave us City of New Orleans. I own the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band doing Will The Circle Be Unbroken with a who’s who of country artists and also doing Mr. Bojangles with David Bromberg – as true a folk artist as you can find.
iTunes thinks that Iris Dement is a Folk artist and while possibly true for Wasteland of The Free – a prophetic protest song, there remains When My Morning Comes Around, country as can be.
And getting back to the Dixie Chicks, Not Ready To Make Nice may be favorite folk-rock protest song since Iris Dement a decade ago.
My most recent favorite artist is a Texas folk singer named Slaid Cleave. The thing is that Lydia – a song about a coal mining family – and Breakfast In Hell – logging in Ontario –are real close to country from my perspective.
I could go on but the point is simple. Mark –do not apologize for being a New Yorker listening to country. We have spent as a group way too much time realizing the difficulties of pigeon holing our sexual orientations with “proper” labeling. Let’s not drag the music down to the same level. Country, folk, folk-rock, traditional – the tent is mighty big and confusing. And that is the joy.
Next post, back to the usual whining, but it does feel good to talk about something else so dear to my heart for a change.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Was It Philippians or Just Flippians
Dear Flip
I have had many things rolling though my mind of late but your posts – taken as a whole – have caught my attention. Now understand, I am a Jew who has never been to an AA meeting, but the issues are universal.
This summer we were on vacation talking to a friend – a once a year see on vacation friend – who happens to be a Rabbi and he made reference to my religious period. It was to my mind a bit mean-spirited, but had an element of truth. A decade ago I had a religious period – we would attend services regularly and that has clearly waned.
There is much back story I could write – a protestant wife, various churches and synagogues, even scandals, but they take me to far from where I need to go.
That evening Carrie pointed out that our Rabbi friend had unwittingly hit on something. I have had periods of religion, but never faith. I have sat in Temples and Churches and have given great thought to many things – a meditation of sorts. Frequently they are serious things but often the mind wanders back to the mundane, the surroundings a mere back drop.
I have written of my difficulty in letting go – a control thing. Faith requires letting go –trusting with one’s soul what a head cannot grasp. I see some around me who are there. I see so many more like me, mind fidgeting, eyes darting: the eyes – always a good window when the soul is involved.
So Flip, please do not apologize for your tales of AA, for your beliefs and faith. These are good things, lessons for us, goals to aim for. I am grateful – jealous, but grateful.
Nate
I have had many things rolling though my mind of late but your posts – taken as a whole – have caught my attention. Now understand, I am a Jew who has never been to an AA meeting, but the issues are universal.
This summer we were on vacation talking to a friend – a once a year see on vacation friend – who happens to be a Rabbi and he made reference to my religious period. It was to my mind a bit mean-spirited, but had an element of truth. A decade ago I had a religious period – we would attend services regularly and that has clearly waned.
There is much back story I could write – a protestant wife, various churches and synagogues, even scandals, but they take me to far from where I need to go.
That evening Carrie pointed out that our Rabbi friend had unwittingly hit on something. I have had periods of religion, but never faith. I have sat in Temples and Churches and have given great thought to many things – a meditation of sorts. Frequently they are serious things but often the mind wanders back to the mundane, the surroundings a mere back drop.
I have written of my difficulty in letting go – a control thing. Faith requires letting go –trusting with one’s soul what a head cannot grasp. I see some around me who are there. I see so many more like me, mind fidgeting, eyes darting: the eyes – always a good window when the soul is involved.
So Flip, please do not apologize for your tales of AA, for your beliefs and faith. These are good things, lessons for us, goals to aim for. I am grateful – jealous, but grateful.
Nate
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Tightropes
During the last few weeks I have struggled with balancing the honesty that has become the trademark of this blog with issues of family privacy. Ultimately I need to give the greater weight to honesty: without context the nuances of my life are lost. In the past I have posted on my wife’s bouts with depression. I married her knowing of this and have not wavered in my decision.
Depression is of course borne of reality in many cases – as the old expression goes you’re not paranoid if someone is out to get you. My wife’s depression may have a chemical component but its true roots are much easier to define. When we first met the comfort we found in each other allowed secret parts of us to emerge. Mine – that is a post in itself and will be written before too long. Her’s: a childhood, if one could use that term, from Hell.
With the benefit of hindsight it is clear that we both have had issues racing just under the surface for the last number of years. My coming out with all it has entailed has caused my wife to look inward and to see more of her past. And the things that are emerging are unspeakable. It has caused a downward spiral that is sobering. This has created a strangely uneven playing field. I have no desire to leave but it is also true that at this point my presence is a requirement for the health of my wife and family. That is no problem: we are both where we want to be.
But there is also no denying that as I continue to be with other men (or more accurately, an other man) she feels no choice but to accept it. The thing is it should be a cause of guilt, of taking undue advantage, but it is not. I justify it to myself – and to her – that if I see my friend it is easy – a stolen hour from my work day; if I do not see him, the fixation returns, cruising CL, the constant thoughts.
We continue to evolve. The wild sex of vacation– borne of fear and desperation – is gone: we are home now. She can conceive of us living as friends – together for the comfort and the children. Friends: but other than the occasional romp (when she desires), no longer lovers. We talk of my personal journey – retreats or the like. That is shelved until the spring as she has a chance to heal and various events of our lives pass.
Last night in passing I mentioned that a good friend at work was celebrating his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Carrie looked up and quietly asked if we would make it there. No answer was required: a year ago not even a question. Now as much as we both have our hopes, we are both too scarred and scared to even attempt an answer.
Depression is of course borne of reality in many cases – as the old expression goes you’re not paranoid if someone is out to get you. My wife’s depression may have a chemical component but its true roots are much easier to define. When we first met the comfort we found in each other allowed secret parts of us to emerge. Mine – that is a post in itself and will be written before too long. Her’s: a childhood, if one could use that term, from Hell.
With the benefit of hindsight it is clear that we both have had issues racing just under the surface for the last number of years. My coming out with all it has entailed has caused my wife to look inward and to see more of her past. And the things that are emerging are unspeakable. It has caused a downward spiral that is sobering. This has created a strangely uneven playing field. I have no desire to leave but it is also true that at this point my presence is a requirement for the health of my wife and family. That is no problem: we are both where we want to be.
But there is also no denying that as I continue to be with other men (or more accurately, an other man) she feels no choice but to accept it. The thing is it should be a cause of guilt, of taking undue advantage, but it is not. I justify it to myself – and to her – that if I see my friend it is easy – a stolen hour from my work day; if I do not see him, the fixation returns, cruising CL, the constant thoughts.
We continue to evolve. The wild sex of vacation– borne of fear and desperation – is gone: we are home now. She can conceive of us living as friends – together for the comfort and the children. Friends: but other than the occasional romp (when she desires), no longer lovers. We talk of my personal journey – retreats or the like. That is shelved until the spring as she has a chance to heal and various events of our lives pass.
Last night in passing I mentioned that a good friend at work was celebrating his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Carrie looked up and quietly asked if we would make it there. No answer was required: a year ago not even a question. Now as much as we both have our hopes, we are both too scarred and scared to even attempt an answer.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Retreat?
While things have continued to evolve as will become clear in my next post, the only way I can track my own evolution is to remember all of my steps, even ones that have already modified. So here is the other post I wrote last week on vacation:
Our vacation continues. Things continue to become clear. Carrie and I talk, we think of our situation and the possibilities, and we make love – passionate love borne of desire and surely a dose of terror. I realize that this talk of a marriage of convenience – share a bed but not our bodies – can never be. Our relationship while built on friendship was forged with passion. That “ring” cannot be changed – thrown into the fires of Mount Doom and destroyed, but not bent into an unnatural configuration.
So we lay there discussing where next. CL, looking to “force” a relationship: the madness of that became clear in the last post. Carrie suggests finding a retreat. Last month in my other online world, that was mentioned. A man – Richard – went on one, a country setting under three hours from where I live: a controlled environment for emotional exploration, not an orgy.
At the time it caught my eye, but there were two problems: how to broach the subject with Carrie and my fear of retreats. The first problem: solved when she broached it with me. The second is much more problematic. The thing with retreats is they require an element of letting go. As you may have discerned from my writings I have some issues regarding control. There is no solution to this problem – no solution other than take a risk and leave the comfort zone.
As I have thought of this, it feels right as a next step. And if not this, a bi/gay husbands group – not online but in the flesh. The issue is simply that I need to better understand myself. I do not believe I can save my marriage – at least not in a healthy fashion - through repression or avoidance. Trying to answer “Who Am I” by looking for a “boyfriend” may lead to some pleasurable times – innocent and carnally – but ultimately I am not sure it gets me closer to that answer.
And if the answer is simply I am a gay married man, then I can make decisions. A reasonable decision may very well be to table the gay for many reasons – you know them all. It also may not be. But after close to a year, TGT is apparently not going quietly into the night.
Prior to posting this, I went back to my other vacation posts - get a sense of continuity which I lost while away and I was struck by one thing I had written: (How can I) ignore that mere mention of gay sex in our bedroom puts me over the top. I have thought of that line and have a confession - a confession to myself. The fact that sexual images excite me and that images with men excite me unduly comes as no surprise. The thing is that when Carrie and I discuss my gayness in the most general terms, I find myself aroused. And that is just tough to explain away.
Our vacation continues. Things continue to become clear. Carrie and I talk, we think of our situation and the possibilities, and we make love – passionate love borne of desire and surely a dose of terror. I realize that this talk of a marriage of convenience – share a bed but not our bodies – can never be. Our relationship while built on friendship was forged with passion. That “ring” cannot be changed – thrown into the fires of Mount Doom and destroyed, but not bent into an unnatural configuration.
So we lay there discussing where next. CL, looking to “force” a relationship: the madness of that became clear in the last post. Carrie suggests finding a retreat. Last month in my other online world, that was mentioned. A man – Richard – went on one, a country setting under three hours from where I live: a controlled environment for emotional exploration, not an orgy.
At the time it caught my eye, but there were two problems: how to broach the subject with Carrie and my fear of retreats. The first problem: solved when she broached it with me. The second is much more problematic. The thing with retreats is they require an element of letting go. As you may have discerned from my writings I have some issues regarding control. There is no solution to this problem – no solution other than take a risk and leave the comfort zone.
As I have thought of this, it feels right as a next step. And if not this, a bi/gay husbands group – not online but in the flesh. The issue is simply that I need to better understand myself. I do not believe I can save my marriage – at least not in a healthy fashion - through repression or avoidance. Trying to answer “Who Am I” by looking for a “boyfriend” may lead to some pleasurable times – innocent and carnally – but ultimately I am not sure it gets me closer to that answer.
And if the answer is simply I am a gay married man, then I can make decisions. A reasonable decision may very well be to table the gay for many reasons – you know them all. It also may not be. But after close to a year, TGT is apparently not going quietly into the night.
Prior to posting this, I went back to my other vacation posts - get a sense of continuity which I lost while away and I was struck by one thing I had written: (How can I) ignore that mere mention of gay sex in our bedroom puts me over the top. I have thought of that line and have a confession - a confession to myself. The fact that sexual images excite me and that images with men excite me unduly comes as no surprise. The thing is that when Carrie and I discuss my gayness in the most general terms, I find myself aroused. And that is just tough to explain away.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
24601
It is not often that I invest my time in a post only to reject it, but that is the place I find myself at this moment. Below are pieces of what I originally wrote (in italics). Ultimately the post worked – it forced me to crystallize my thoughts, to give words to feelings. But unlike my typical post where I come to the end and lean back, exhausted yet exhilarated by having found my way, this time I came towards the conclusion and was horrified with where I landed.
The vacation continues – a schizophrenic sort of vacation where Carrie and I can have long discussions of our lives, my gay side, our troubles and also make love in the fullest sense. Maybe that is what happens when everything is on the table and there are no more lies.
The thing is that what keeps coming back is the depth of our love – in our conversations, in our silent moments, and in our passions. We were last in this cabin seventeen years ago and it seems to bring out the best in us.
It is clear to both of us – her all the time and me in my more honest moments – that my gay side is quite dominant in my thoughts. The question I have struggled with is whether I am like a pendulum – my gay side at an apex after a lifetime of repression which in time will find that comfortable bi I envision. Or is it that I am just gay – bi of course in that I am attracted to my wife.
As I consider this “gayness” Carrie talks of my finding someone to share my music, my other sides with. The thing is that I already have that. Carrie and I have allowed things to slip – why go see Dar Williams (she played a small venue a half hour drive away some months ago) when we can just stay home – maybe catch some re-runs. We are both guilty here – neither making that extra effort. And of course like all things in life, when things are not right, we both react poorly.
I have a wonderful wife but a relationship that was once a ten is only a seven; while still way ahead of many we know, not what it was. If there was ever a question of our friendship, of the depth of our bond, this vacation has answered that: we remain the best of friends.
So we discuss how I continue this path of self discovery, this determination of the pendulum of my gayness. The current path is flawed. I like my new married friend with benefits. We talk and we have fun. We have our limited – very limited – time together and we go home to our families. While seemingly fine for me, is this not just a variation of the slow death for Carrie I wrote of in my last post. All is perfect and ignore what I may do at lunch today.
And does not the comfort and safety of that situation – a full cut above semi-anonymous sex, just enable me to avoid the bigger issues of learning who I am. Because that is the issue here: separating who I am from who I want to be. The latter is easy – I want to be a straight man continuing to live what is a very pleasurable existence. My inability to be sated with all I have is its own post and then some I suspect.
I conveniently wrote that last sentence – the heart of certain things – and tabled it for another day. It cannot be tabled because I fear certain very real pieces of my life have become hopelessly intertwined and need to be separated. How much of my “wanderlust” is repressed gayness, how much is too many years of raising children with a family ranging from twenty-six down to nine, and how much is Carrie and I having grown complacent in our day to day lives. Cymber has prescribed one night out every week for Carrie to do her thing, one night for Nate to do his and one night for a babysitter and a date. This may not work every week, but it is a good goal on our road to rebuilding.
One thing is clear – I have started down a path and the only way to end up home, home where I want to be, is to complete the path. There is no reverse on this train. So we discuss possibilities. Certain things are too silly to even consider: I am not going to cruise gay bars. Besides never having success in such situations, who am I going to meet – a one night stand. That is not my goal.
There is going on-line, a world where I have found some comfort. I can go on CL or gay or match.com. What will I write:
Married man – 52 yr old professional looking to explore gay side. Out to my wife bi, closeted to the rest of the world. Would like to meet, talk and more if it clicks. I like music. Can meet during week and maybe able to arrange occasional weekend.
I read the ad and have to wonder who would answer? Another man in my situation – seems like a small pool. Another married man not out to his wife? Do not really see the logistics working. Or of course the real target audience, a gay man. Wait – why is he waiting for me, where is his boyfriend, what the hell is wrong with him.
A Dylan lyric finally makes sense:
She knows there’s no success like failure, and failure’s no success at all.
There is more, but for another post, another day.
I considered leaving the title of the post unmentioned, but that seems a bit elitist. I have saved this title for a long time – a final jeopardy in Musicals. Alex –Who is Jean Valjean in Les Miz? “Who Am I” careens in my brain.
The vacation continues – a schizophrenic sort of vacation where Carrie and I can have long discussions of our lives, my gay side, our troubles and also make love in the fullest sense. Maybe that is what happens when everything is on the table and there are no more lies.
The thing is that what keeps coming back is the depth of our love – in our conversations, in our silent moments, and in our passions. We were last in this cabin seventeen years ago and it seems to bring out the best in us.
It is clear to both of us – her all the time and me in my more honest moments – that my gay side is quite dominant in my thoughts. The question I have struggled with is whether I am like a pendulum – my gay side at an apex after a lifetime of repression which in time will find that comfortable bi I envision. Or is it that I am just gay – bi of course in that I am attracted to my wife.
As I consider this “gayness” Carrie talks of my finding someone to share my music, my other sides with. The thing is that I already have that. Carrie and I have allowed things to slip – why go see Dar Williams (she played a small venue a half hour drive away some months ago) when we can just stay home – maybe catch some re-runs. We are both guilty here – neither making that extra effort. And of course like all things in life, when things are not right, we both react poorly.
I have a wonderful wife but a relationship that was once a ten is only a seven; while still way ahead of many we know, not what it was. If there was ever a question of our friendship, of the depth of our bond, this vacation has answered that: we remain the best of friends.
So we discuss how I continue this path of self discovery, this determination of the pendulum of my gayness. The current path is flawed. I like my new married friend with benefits. We talk and we have fun. We have our limited – very limited – time together and we go home to our families. While seemingly fine for me, is this not just a variation of the slow death for Carrie I wrote of in my last post. All is perfect and ignore what I may do at lunch today.
And does not the comfort and safety of that situation – a full cut above semi-anonymous sex, just enable me to avoid the bigger issues of learning who I am. Because that is the issue here: separating who I am from who I want to be. The latter is easy – I want to be a straight man continuing to live what is a very pleasurable existence. My inability to be sated with all I have is its own post and then some I suspect.
I conveniently wrote that last sentence – the heart of certain things – and tabled it for another day. It cannot be tabled because I fear certain very real pieces of my life have become hopelessly intertwined and need to be separated. How much of my “wanderlust” is repressed gayness, how much is too many years of raising children with a family ranging from twenty-six down to nine, and how much is Carrie and I having grown complacent in our day to day lives. Cymber has prescribed one night out every week for Carrie to do her thing, one night for Nate to do his and one night for a babysitter and a date. This may not work every week, but it is a good goal on our road to rebuilding.
One thing is clear – I have started down a path and the only way to end up home, home where I want to be, is to complete the path. There is no reverse on this train. So we discuss possibilities. Certain things are too silly to even consider: I am not going to cruise gay bars. Besides never having success in such situations, who am I going to meet – a one night stand. That is not my goal.
There is going on-line, a world where I have found some comfort. I can go on CL or gay or match.com. What will I write:
Married man – 52 yr old professional looking to explore gay side. Out to my wife bi, closeted to the rest of the world. Would like to meet, talk and more if it clicks. I like music. Can meet during week and maybe able to arrange occasional weekend.
I read the ad and have to wonder who would answer? Another man in my situation – seems like a small pool. Another married man not out to his wife? Do not really see the logistics working. Or of course the real target audience, a gay man. Wait – why is he waiting for me, where is his boyfriend, what the hell is wrong with him.
A Dylan lyric finally makes sense:
She knows there’s no success like failure, and failure’s no success at all.
There is more, but for another post, another day.
I considered leaving the title of the post unmentioned, but that seems a bit elitist. I have saved this title for a long time – a final jeopardy in Musicals. Alex –Who is Jean Valjean in Les Miz? “Who Am I” careens in my brain.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Getting It
I started writing yesterday- Cymber had tagged me – ten Q words of who I am. As I was typing – Queer, Quirky, Quip… I realized that as much fun as it was (and it was), it was a bit of avoidance: why deal with real life when games are to be played.
I am on vacation, typing on a laptop overlooking a pristine lake. I was in my kayak a few minutes ago and will be in the canoe with my wife a tad bit later. My wife – we have spent much time talking on this vacation. She has accepted the blog to the degree that she wants a real name even – no more KA for her. Heretofore she will be Carrie, her new alter-ego I suppose.
We talked much before this vacation acknowledging the difficulties of our life and the fact that the vacation would not be an escape. I never appreciated how true the latter statement would become. If there is a theme to the vacation – to my current life – it is that I have the most amazing wife one could ask for and as her reward I am killing her slowly. Not a dramatic death anymore – how does one top the initial statement over dinner “I am bi-sexual.” But now it is a slow death, a death of spirit, a death of depression. I do not mean to do this and she does not intend for this to happen. But we are both intelligent enough to understand that in many ways there are no choices.
This brings me to some members of our community – married gay men; out to their wives and who have either never had sex with a man or last did it decades ago. Why would a marriage end if one is not physically involved? The problem is that I am in the same room as them but having entered from a different door, I have fooled myself into seeing a different place.
The definitions I have built on have been the physical and if one accepts that, then the Kitty’s and Kinky’s are right: stop the physical and honor the marriage. The problem of course is that being gay is not just about bj’s and the like. My post Fifteen Hours got to the heart of it – the sex and the spooning. A few weeks ago I realized that I had stopped e-mailing Jerry (a man previously referred to as my gay lover in Chicago). Why: because to it was impossible to deal with Jerry while denying the current dominance of my gay side. It was impossible to want to visit him and claim there was no emotional connection. We have since e-mailed and acknowledged that while the stars may be aligned against us there was and are mutual feelings.
This of course (as most have figured out way ahead of moi) is why there are no choices. I could give up men – just suck it up, repress away, try to forget. Leaving out the question of whether I would be successful or end up either an angry repressed man or an out and out liar like Dr. Steven T of NY Times fame, it cannot work. I know, Carrie knows. Do we just make believe that my gay side is not currently on steroids? Ignore that mere mention of gay sex in our bedroom puts me over the top. The reality of who I am trumps the reality of what I do.
Carrie and I are struggling to create our new life. At this point it will be together. Weddings to make, young ones to raise, older ones in College: social and economic realities that neither of us can ignore. She has given me some time – a year or two to figure out who I am and what I want. But for the first time we are faced with just how little we know of the end of this story. Neither of us can imagine a life not together, but neither of us can ignore the reality of my gayness. These are not happy times.
I am on vacation, typing on a laptop overlooking a pristine lake. I was in my kayak a few minutes ago and will be in the canoe with my wife a tad bit later. My wife – we have spent much time talking on this vacation. She has accepted the blog to the degree that she wants a real name even – no more KA for her. Heretofore she will be Carrie, her new alter-ego I suppose.
We talked much before this vacation acknowledging the difficulties of our life and the fact that the vacation would not be an escape. I never appreciated how true the latter statement would become. If there is a theme to the vacation – to my current life – it is that I have the most amazing wife one could ask for and as her reward I am killing her slowly. Not a dramatic death anymore – how does one top the initial statement over dinner “I am bi-sexual.” But now it is a slow death, a death of spirit, a death of depression. I do not mean to do this and she does not intend for this to happen. But we are both intelligent enough to understand that in many ways there are no choices.
This brings me to some members of our community – married gay men; out to their wives and who have either never had sex with a man or last did it decades ago. Why would a marriage end if one is not physically involved? The problem is that I am in the same room as them but having entered from a different door, I have fooled myself into seeing a different place.
The definitions I have built on have been the physical and if one accepts that, then the Kitty’s and Kinky’s are right: stop the physical and honor the marriage. The problem of course is that being gay is not just about bj’s and the like. My post Fifteen Hours got to the heart of it – the sex and the spooning. A few weeks ago I realized that I had stopped e-mailing Jerry (a man previously referred to as my gay lover in Chicago). Why: because to it was impossible to deal with Jerry while denying the current dominance of my gay side. It was impossible to want to visit him and claim there was no emotional connection. We have since e-mailed and acknowledged that while the stars may be aligned against us there was and are mutual feelings.
This of course (as most have figured out way ahead of moi) is why there are no choices. I could give up men – just suck it up, repress away, try to forget. Leaving out the question of whether I would be successful or end up either an angry repressed man or an out and out liar like Dr. Steven T of NY Times fame, it cannot work. I know, Carrie knows. Do we just make believe that my gay side is not currently on steroids? Ignore that mere mention of gay sex in our bedroom puts me over the top. The reality of who I am trumps the reality of what I do.
Carrie and I are struggling to create our new life. At this point it will be together. Weddings to make, young ones to raise, older ones in College: social and economic realities that neither of us can ignore. She has given me some time – a year or two to figure out who I am and what I want. But for the first time we are faced with just how little we know of the end of this story. Neither of us can imagine a life not together, but neither of us can ignore the reality of my gayness. These are not happy times.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Respect
I have given much thought to the concept of respecting one’s spouse and what that really means. The conventional thinking, which I do agree with, is not engaging in sexual activities with others – men or women. This point of view has been well represented by Kitty and her “kid sister” Kinky – maybe it’s something about the “Ki’s”. (Kitty and Kinky – don’t take it wrong – I do value and appreciate your comments.)
In response to Kitty’s comments, SD wrote:
The utmost important thing, in my opinion, is that when a promise you've made is broken, you treat your partner with the love and respect that they deserve, as long as you're honest and open about what you've done and how you feel, you'll be able to start working together to get to a place that's comfortable for the both of you. And that place may not be "ideal", it may not be what you want, it may hurt like hell once you get there, but as long as you maintain love, respect and honesty, you will get there.
In my desire not to hurt KA further, to try to “save” my marriage, and in my desire to always write bi/gay – not gay/bi, not gay – I had lost sight of the fact that love is not enough. Honesty and respect are the bedrock on which love can then exist. The honesty – well, I have that down pat. I was not caught - no Nate sightings; just an old fashioned spilling of the guts. The Respect – that is where the problem has arisen.
As we prepare for vacation – two weeks in our favorite place (our ancestral home I tease) – I look forward to a repeat of years past: calm times, conjugal bliss, and an escape from the day-to-day troubles of life. KA tells me that I am living in Disneyland, we can have a nice vacation, but make no mistake, our lives have changed.
I consider what she says and realize that I have, in my desire to respect her, shown her the greatest disrespect. I have ignored reality, shortchanged her feelings, dismissed her emotions and denied myself for good measure. KA keeps trying to mourn what has been lost – our place. As SD writes we may find a new place, not necessarily ideal and with much hurt along the way, but it will be a new place.
Every time KA tries to mourn the old place I stop her: “I am really bi – ignore the gay” or “I will give up my blog, I will give up the bj’s.” You get the picture. And of course this is also indicative of my own inability to mourn. KA points out that Jews have mourning down – a week of shiva, support of all you know. But here she has been left to mourn in a closet with someone who is still afraid to admit to possibly being more gay than hetero at this moment in his bi existence.
So I am ready for a new phase: respect based on true honesty – intellectual honesty. Respect by accepting that having sex with men may limit her having sex with me. Respect of her feeling hurt, of her wanting to mourn. Respect by trying not to lie to both of us – particularly me. Respect by not continuing to use the term bi as a way of denying that at this point in time my gayness is in the driver’s seat. Respect for her willing to put her love of me, and more so her love of our children above all. To sum all of it together, respect by not insulting her intelligence and emotions.
A strange post – easy to write, easy to understand but in many ways, the hardest to live because it is based on a level of self acceptance that I have yet to master.
In response to Kitty’s comments, SD wrote:
The utmost important thing, in my opinion, is that when a promise you've made is broken, you treat your partner with the love and respect that they deserve, as long as you're honest and open about what you've done and how you feel, you'll be able to start working together to get to a place that's comfortable for the both of you. And that place may not be "ideal", it may not be what you want, it may hurt like hell once you get there, but as long as you maintain love, respect and honesty, you will get there.
In my desire not to hurt KA further, to try to “save” my marriage, and in my desire to always write bi/gay – not gay/bi, not gay – I had lost sight of the fact that love is not enough. Honesty and respect are the bedrock on which love can then exist. The honesty – well, I have that down pat. I was not caught - no Nate sightings; just an old fashioned spilling of the guts. The Respect – that is where the problem has arisen.
As we prepare for vacation – two weeks in our favorite place (our ancestral home I tease) – I look forward to a repeat of years past: calm times, conjugal bliss, and an escape from the day-to-day troubles of life. KA tells me that I am living in Disneyland, we can have a nice vacation, but make no mistake, our lives have changed.
I consider what she says and realize that I have, in my desire to respect her, shown her the greatest disrespect. I have ignored reality, shortchanged her feelings, dismissed her emotions and denied myself for good measure. KA keeps trying to mourn what has been lost – our place. As SD writes we may find a new place, not necessarily ideal and with much hurt along the way, but it will be a new place.
Every time KA tries to mourn the old place I stop her: “I am really bi – ignore the gay” or “I will give up my blog, I will give up the bj’s.” You get the picture. And of course this is also indicative of my own inability to mourn. KA points out that Jews have mourning down – a week of shiva, support of all you know. But here she has been left to mourn in a closet with someone who is still afraid to admit to possibly being more gay than hetero at this moment in his bi existence.
So I am ready for a new phase: respect based on true honesty – intellectual honesty. Respect by accepting that having sex with men may limit her having sex with me. Respect of her feeling hurt, of her wanting to mourn. Respect by trying not to lie to both of us – particularly me. Respect by not continuing to use the term bi as a way of denying that at this point in time my gayness is in the driver’s seat. Respect for her willing to put her love of me, and more so her love of our children above all. To sum all of it together, respect by not insulting her intelligence and emotions.
A strange post – easy to write, easy to understand but in many ways, the hardest to live because it is based on a level of self acceptance that I have yet to master.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
He's Back
A few weeks ago I decided to take a blog break. My decision was based on trying to turn the volume down, step back from precipices and not be overly defined by a culture. The post was titled Can I Go Home Now. Over the ensuing weeks it has become clear that I was yet again wrong. That is not to say that there is no value in treating a symptom – if one has a cough, a throat lozenge may be a good idea. But if your cough is due to strep, the lozenge is pretty limited.
Well, I am not sick, but I do have a condition – this little thing called my gay side. And the blogging is more than just a throat lozenge. But the expectation that I will stop blogging and things will be different – well, another case of how can a smart person be so stupid. The simple fact is that my life – my gay side, my marriage, my friends in this world, continue to dominate my thoughts. The blogging was the one place where I was forced to organize these thoughts. So what I have done is allowed my brain to be addled by random, still overwhelming, unformed thoughts instead of being forced, by the writing, to define my thoughts and therefore my self.
So bear with me, it has been two weeks – in Nate land, a lifetime – and things continue to evolve. Unfortunately the backdrop to this is KA’s depression, a problem I have compounded though not created. Over the last few weeks I have carefully read comments to the last post, particularly Kitty and SD, I have been blessed with a friend who has spent hours upon hours counseling me in an extensive e-mail exchange. And of course I have self examined.
It is tempting to try to cram two weeks of thoughts into this post, but that is not fair. I take too much pride to “slap it together” like that. So suffice to say I am back – I will still be disappearing shortly for a much desired vacation – and I look forward to writing about the real issues.
Hopefully I will not become like the aging rocker always with one last farewell tour and hopefully when I do, you will all let me know.
Well, I am not sick, but I do have a condition – this little thing called my gay side. And the blogging is more than just a throat lozenge. But the expectation that I will stop blogging and things will be different – well, another case of how can a smart person be so stupid. The simple fact is that my life – my gay side, my marriage, my friends in this world, continue to dominate my thoughts. The blogging was the one place where I was forced to organize these thoughts. So what I have done is allowed my brain to be addled by random, still overwhelming, unformed thoughts instead of being forced, by the writing, to define my thoughts and therefore my self.
So bear with me, it has been two weeks – in Nate land, a lifetime – and things continue to evolve. Unfortunately the backdrop to this is KA’s depression, a problem I have compounded though not created. Over the last few weeks I have carefully read comments to the last post, particularly Kitty and SD, I have been blessed with a friend who has spent hours upon hours counseling me in an extensive e-mail exchange. And of course I have self examined.
It is tempting to try to cram two weeks of thoughts into this post, but that is not fair. I take too much pride to “slap it together” like that. So suffice to say I am back – I will still be disappearing shortly for a much desired vacation – and I look forward to writing about the real issues.
Hopefully I will not become like the aging rocker always with one last farewell tour and hopefully when I do, you will all let me know.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Can I Go Home Now
Six months ago I started this Blog. In the relatively brief amount of time that has ensued I have bared my soul, learned much about who I am, and made new friends, both casual and much, much more. I have learned of and from a world that I am part of and no longer feel the need to deny to myself. I have gotten the courage to share who I am with some family and friends –even if they still do not understand my need to share, the value of validation.
I have frequently started with a title and then found the post. One title never was used – I wrote a note on my desk back in March or April – the post-it is still there under the other debris. I did not write the post because it felt silly – Why ask if one can go home when one feels that they cannot. Today I have considered this title. It fits in with a theme of this week – a theme with KA and with my (soon to be former) therapist: Foundations. KA has pointed out that we will live in a different home based on what has gone down, on who I am. It may be a home together; it may be as lovers or maybe as friends: it will be changed. My therapist and I debate this – he thinks of it as adding on a room; I see foundations starting to crumble.
In case anyone is wondering (I have vacillated enough) – I am bisexual; I am married. My relationships with men are sexually based. I appreciate that this is not the healthiest model, but I am not looking for a boyfriend –an emotional partner. Not now. I have a wife which is, or should be, enough for one man. I have no desire to build a new life but I am also no longer willing to deny my gay sexual desires.
I have spent much time feeling guilt of sorts over not wanting to find a male emotional partner – guilt over appearing so shallow. The thing is that I am not opposed to such a thing. If I found myself single tomorrow I would consider a relationship with a man. But I am not single and I am not so unhappy that I desire being single.
One thing has become clear to me. The continuation of this Blog is causing more damage to my marriage – to my life – then the occasional foray with a man ever did. Hooking up is easy – I do not have Cialis style sessions: give me a lunch hour and I am fine. The Blogging – well between thinking and writing and waiting for comments (yes, I am also a comment whore) that would be time consuming enough.
But there is another aspect. It is the submersion into a culture. I have no issues with the culture – I am bi/gay after all. But the undeniable fact is that everything becomes colored by it. I love the members of this club I have come to know via comments and e-mails. I do not mind the common bond: in fact I have come to crave it and look forward to continued communication with this - my - new world. It’s just that I have been unsuccessful in right sizing.
There is much work for me to do in my life – personal and work – and then a vacation coming up: a vacation for my family. Already KA and I are talking: Am I bringing a laptop, how will I do without my Blog, will I just write to post when I get home. The answer is I may bring the laptop and may try writing a journal. This started as a journal for me and while I still claim that, it is disingenuous at best.
Maybe I would feel differently if I wrote of politics and sunsets, of the little things that make each day special for me. Maybe I would feel differently if I was writing as me and not as my alter-ego Nate. Maybe.
But the joy of this Blog to me and to you is my willingness to lay it all out – the heights of my happiness and more often the depths of my soul. I come as close as one can to writing without a filter. It makes for great writing – good theatre if you would.
To put it into perspective, I looked at recent visitors on StatCounter today. There was a hit from a Google search – something about Buddy Booths. The location was Beirut – Fucking Beirut. There is a war going on, bombs dropping, people dying. There are people lining up to escape on “aging” cruise ships. And this person is sitting there Googling Buddy Booths. Maybe I should say how nice that life goes on. But all I can think is OMFG – there is a war – Helloooooo.
Maybe I am a victim of my own success – the Google searches that bring my Blog to the top of the list are appalling. I think my personal favorite was the search “sucking a dildo”: that’s one to share with the lunch crew. It makes me feel much more public than I ever intended.
The thing is that I need to go home now – to a changed home albeit – but home all the same. I cannot predict where my life will go. There has been damage done and I am not ready to wait another decade to be with a man again. Don’t ask, don’t tell: I do not know if it works or what other compromises we may need to forge. Given an ultimatum I know not what my answer would be.
I do know that it is no longer fair to KA and to our marriage to live on a stage.
The gratitude and emotions I feel to those who have shared this journey with me are overwhelming. When this is in final form and I hit the Post button, the tears will surely flow. I will not be deleting this blog – that would be to deny it, something I would never do. But it is time to move on, for now.
Don’t be surprised when my writing returns, expect to see a comment here or there, and (to borrow a phrase) keep me in your hearts.
Thanks to all of you, from my heart and my soul.
I have frequently started with a title and then found the post. One title never was used – I wrote a note on my desk back in March or April – the post-it is still there under the other debris. I did not write the post because it felt silly – Why ask if one can go home when one feels that they cannot. Today I have considered this title. It fits in with a theme of this week – a theme with KA and with my (soon to be former) therapist: Foundations. KA has pointed out that we will live in a different home based on what has gone down, on who I am. It may be a home together; it may be as lovers or maybe as friends: it will be changed. My therapist and I debate this – he thinks of it as adding on a room; I see foundations starting to crumble.
In case anyone is wondering (I have vacillated enough) – I am bisexual; I am married. My relationships with men are sexually based. I appreciate that this is not the healthiest model, but I am not looking for a boyfriend –an emotional partner. Not now. I have a wife which is, or should be, enough for one man. I have no desire to build a new life but I am also no longer willing to deny my gay sexual desires.
I have spent much time feeling guilt of sorts over not wanting to find a male emotional partner – guilt over appearing so shallow. The thing is that I am not opposed to such a thing. If I found myself single tomorrow I would consider a relationship with a man. But I am not single and I am not so unhappy that I desire being single.
One thing has become clear to me. The continuation of this Blog is causing more damage to my marriage – to my life – then the occasional foray with a man ever did. Hooking up is easy – I do not have Cialis style sessions: give me a lunch hour and I am fine. The Blogging – well between thinking and writing and waiting for comments (yes, I am also a comment whore) that would be time consuming enough.
But there is another aspect. It is the submersion into a culture. I have no issues with the culture – I am bi/gay after all. But the undeniable fact is that everything becomes colored by it. I love the members of this club I have come to know via comments and e-mails. I do not mind the common bond: in fact I have come to crave it and look forward to continued communication with this - my - new world. It’s just that I have been unsuccessful in right sizing.
There is much work for me to do in my life – personal and work – and then a vacation coming up: a vacation for my family. Already KA and I are talking: Am I bringing a laptop, how will I do without my Blog, will I just write to post when I get home. The answer is I may bring the laptop and may try writing a journal. This started as a journal for me and while I still claim that, it is disingenuous at best.
Maybe I would feel differently if I wrote of politics and sunsets, of the little things that make each day special for me. Maybe I would feel differently if I was writing as me and not as my alter-ego Nate. Maybe.
But the joy of this Blog to me and to you is my willingness to lay it all out – the heights of my happiness and more often the depths of my soul. I come as close as one can to writing without a filter. It makes for great writing – good theatre if you would.
To put it into perspective, I looked at recent visitors on StatCounter today. There was a hit from a Google search – something about Buddy Booths. The location was Beirut – Fucking Beirut. There is a war going on, bombs dropping, people dying. There are people lining up to escape on “aging” cruise ships. And this person is sitting there Googling Buddy Booths. Maybe I should say how nice that life goes on. But all I can think is OMFG – there is a war – Helloooooo.
Maybe I am a victim of my own success – the Google searches that bring my Blog to the top of the list are appalling. I think my personal favorite was the search “sucking a dildo”: that’s one to share with the lunch crew. It makes me feel much more public than I ever intended.
The thing is that I need to go home now – to a changed home albeit – but home all the same. I cannot predict where my life will go. There has been damage done and I am not ready to wait another decade to be with a man again. Don’t ask, don’t tell: I do not know if it works or what other compromises we may need to forge. Given an ultimatum I know not what my answer would be.
I do know that it is no longer fair to KA and to our marriage to live on a stage.
The gratitude and emotions I feel to those who have shared this journey with me are overwhelming. When this is in final form and I hit the Post button, the tears will surely flow. I will not be deleting this blog – that would be to deny it, something I would never do. But it is time to move on, for now.
Don’t be surprised when my writing returns, expect to see a comment here or there, and (to borrow a phrase) keep me in your hearts.
Thanks to all of you, from my heart and my soul.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Ode to The Troll
Troll put this little quiz up and clearly I have too much time (I wish) but figured if I am dumb enough to take it, I might as well post it.
The thing is that as Troll so correctly noted, if I did this quiz every day for a week, there would be seven different Nates. It was particularly distressing to answer so many questions and end up with requiring a tie breaker to see who I am.
I had to choose a preference:
1. Do girls get you turned on more than guys?
OR
2. Do you often smile sweetly?
Clearly the writer of the quiz has a thing for sweet smiles (it keeps popping up in many questions), so having no clue as to my smile, I decided if he wants sweet smiles that much, I should have one.
Of course the real issue is if the Nate's and Troll's of the world could figure out who we "are" maybe we could skip the quizzes.
All this and no place for bi...
The thing is that as Troll so correctly noted, if I did this quiz every day for a week, there would be seven different Nates. It was particularly distressing to answer so many questions and end up with requiring a tie breaker to see who I am.
I had to choose a preference:
1. Do girls get you turned on more than guys?
OR
2. Do you often smile sweetly?
Clearly the writer of the quiz has a thing for sweet smiles (it keeps popping up in many questions), so having no clue as to my smile, I decided if he wants sweet smiles that much, I should have one.
Of course the real issue is if the Nate's and Troll's of the world could figure out who we "are" maybe we could skip the quizzes.
You scored as The all-round cute gay guy. YOu are a cute guy who many would die to be with..........lucky!!
What type of Gay are YOU? created with QuizFarm.com |
All this and no place for bi...
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Most of the Time
Last night KA and I awoke and asked each other that timeless question – Why aren’t you sleeping? Her stomach is bothering her; my brain hurts. There is silence and I fill it: I am writing a post in my head, a post about the prior evening. I tell her the basics. Two hours later the post is different, but I realize that is not true. The post is there: I just have another to add. So here is the post I was writing.
If I speak I the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
Our daughter, my step-daughter of sixteen years, was married Friday. KA and I each brought children to our marriage and we each supplied one good kid and one challenging – okay more than challenging – children from hell. You have met mine already- twenty years old, out of detox and into AA.
If I give away all my possessions… but do not have love, I gain nothing.
So we sit in Church as Jane is married. The lead-up to the wedding has been difficult. The backdrop of my coming out and the foreground of bridezilla –a mantle she proudly wears.
Love is patient; love is kind.
There has been fighting this week – open warfare and stealth passive aggression: I have to my embarrassment engaged in both. I have not been alone. With Jane nothing goes easy. She is the center and she already knows all the answers.
Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.
Jane and I have made our own peace over the years. We are similar. We are headstrong. We have egos forged of steel. We can fight and we can move on. We leave much collateral damage in the person of her mother – my wife. KA watches as we suck the joy out and then move on as if that is normal.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
For a smart man, I have blind spots. I hold KA’s hand, listen to the obligatory reading. Well, maybe listen is too strong a word: if I had been listening, I would have realized the words, our life, the damage and the hurt of the last many months.
And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
Most men, men in our circumstances, would hear these words. They would have special, painful meaning.
Off to the party. And what a party it was. A grand success in the eyes of our families and friends. There were a special few there, a few who knew of our lives, our inner lives.
My gay nephew and his partner dance – wow, they can dance. Swing dancing, proper steps and twirls. Everyone notices. It is a good thing. This is a new world. It is a joy to behold.
KA is watching and I know what is in her mind. It is inescapable: she read my post Fifteen Hours; she remembers my talking of dancing in a gay bar in Chicago. The party is going fine.
I had met the DJ earlier in the week and we needed a song for KA and I – for the parents - our dance. The choice was easy.
I never made promises lightly.
As we dance she hears the words and stiffens slightly.
And there have been some that I have broken.
She hears the words; she pulls away; we will not dance again on this night. We will barely talk.
The wedding ends: a grand time had by all. We find ourselves in our bed – our marital bed if you would. It is late. KA has drunk a little too much, eaten way too little. She will not remember the details of this conversation in the morning – just the emotions. I considered hiding behind the excuse – it was the alcohol talking, but I knew what really happened. For a moment the defenses were down, the shell was removed, the truth was on the table. She ignored my first few entreaties – What’s wrong? Then she answered.
I remember it all – not in order, not in a fully coherent fashion, but I remember it all. She wanted to know what I expected. She has a husband who likes sex with men. She does not have a penis – she can never give me that. She believes me to be gay in denial. She does not really believe in being bi: she sees it as do many, including some who read and comment here, as a way station or a shield to hide the truth. She listened to the readings in the Church; they hurt. She watched my nephew and his lover dance – she points out they are the lucky ones: they have the whole package.
She tells me she will always love me. She is in no hurry; I should take six months or a year. But I should figure out who I am – who I really am and what I really want. I listen – what is there really left to say. Finally I mumble – me, so good with words – I mumble, I just don’t know. She thinks for a moment and says I have had fifteen years to decide. I will say no more that evening. Her words cut me to the bone. They cut not because of meanness on her part, not because of any ill will. They cut with the sharpness that can only come of truth. A dozen years after Washington, after spending my first night with a man and two and a half months after my fifteen hours with Jerry in Chicago, one would think that if I was ready to renounce my gay side, I would have figured that out. Fifteen years; it hurts.
Last night KA and I discussed it all. We are calm; we work on a plan for ourselves. It is another post for another day but I would be remiss in not adding just a little.
She talks of reading some blogs, e-mailing some spouses. I tell her she would get along with Ben’s wife. She says she knows: they both believed 1 Corinthians. And there in lies the problem. I suspect Ben and I believed it too. And it is so hard to reconcile what I do, who I am, with 1 Corinthians.
And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three, and the greatest of these is love.
If I speak I the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
Our daughter, my step-daughter of sixteen years, was married Friday. KA and I each brought children to our marriage and we each supplied one good kid and one challenging – okay more than challenging – children from hell. You have met mine already- twenty years old, out of detox and into AA.
If I give away all my possessions… but do not have love, I gain nothing.
So we sit in Church as Jane is married. The lead-up to the wedding has been difficult. The backdrop of my coming out and the foreground of bridezilla –a mantle she proudly wears.
Love is patient; love is kind.
There has been fighting this week – open warfare and stealth passive aggression: I have to my embarrassment engaged in both. I have not been alone. With Jane nothing goes easy. She is the center and she already knows all the answers.
Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.
Jane and I have made our own peace over the years. We are similar. We are headstrong. We have egos forged of steel. We can fight and we can move on. We leave much collateral damage in the person of her mother – my wife. KA watches as we suck the joy out and then move on as if that is normal.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
For a smart man, I have blind spots. I hold KA’s hand, listen to the obligatory reading. Well, maybe listen is too strong a word: if I had been listening, I would have realized the words, our life, the damage and the hurt of the last many months.
And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
Most men, men in our circumstances, would hear these words. They would have special, painful meaning.
Off to the party. And what a party it was. A grand success in the eyes of our families and friends. There were a special few there, a few who knew of our lives, our inner lives.
My gay nephew and his partner dance – wow, they can dance. Swing dancing, proper steps and twirls. Everyone notices. It is a good thing. This is a new world. It is a joy to behold.
KA is watching and I know what is in her mind. It is inescapable: she read my post Fifteen Hours; she remembers my talking of dancing in a gay bar in Chicago. The party is going fine.
I had met the DJ earlier in the week and we needed a song for KA and I – for the parents - our dance. The choice was easy.
I never made promises lightly.
As we dance she hears the words and stiffens slightly.
And there have been some that I have broken.
She hears the words; she pulls away; we will not dance again on this night. We will barely talk.
The wedding ends: a grand time had by all. We find ourselves in our bed – our marital bed if you would. It is late. KA has drunk a little too much, eaten way too little. She will not remember the details of this conversation in the morning – just the emotions. I considered hiding behind the excuse – it was the alcohol talking, but I knew what really happened. For a moment the defenses were down, the shell was removed, the truth was on the table. She ignored my first few entreaties – What’s wrong? Then she answered.
I remember it all – not in order, not in a fully coherent fashion, but I remember it all. She wanted to know what I expected. She has a husband who likes sex with men. She does not have a penis – she can never give me that. She believes me to be gay in denial. She does not really believe in being bi: she sees it as do many, including some who read and comment here, as a way station or a shield to hide the truth. She listened to the readings in the Church; they hurt. She watched my nephew and his lover dance – she points out they are the lucky ones: they have the whole package.
She tells me she will always love me. She is in no hurry; I should take six months or a year. But I should figure out who I am – who I really am and what I really want. I listen – what is there really left to say. Finally I mumble – me, so good with words – I mumble, I just don’t know. She thinks for a moment and says I have had fifteen years to decide. I will say no more that evening. Her words cut me to the bone. They cut not because of meanness on her part, not because of any ill will. They cut with the sharpness that can only come of truth. A dozen years after Washington, after spending my first night with a man and two and a half months after my fifteen hours with Jerry in Chicago, one would think that if I was ready to renounce my gay side, I would have figured that out. Fifteen years; it hurts.
Last night KA and I discussed it all. We are calm; we work on a plan for ourselves. It is another post for another day but I would be remiss in not adding just a little.
She talks of reading some blogs, e-mailing some spouses. I tell her she would get along with Ben’s wife. She says she knows: they both believed 1 Corinthians. And there in lies the problem. I suspect Ben and I believed it too. And it is so hard to reconcile what I do, who I am, with 1 Corinthians.
And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three, and the greatest of these is love.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Up and Over
This is a story out of sequence – before the gift, before the thoughtfulness. For the past two months I have – choose your phrase – behaved, not acted out, stayed at home: you get the gist. Since Chicago to be exact. In the interim clearly issues of bi-sexuality have been on my mind – I post about them every few days. Yet I have not strayed.
The thoughts and desires have not left, though sometimes I wonder if I abandoned the blog if I might again live the sweet delusion of denial. This week I found myself in the City – New York City as you already have guessed. This is not an uncommon occurrence but this time was different. I needed to pick up a large package in one part of town so I parked there and walked to my office – up and over. Now I could have walked over and up, but I did not. Why? Because up and over took me past the sex shops. What was fascinating was not the number – that is pretty constant – but the number which advertised Male sections – buddy booths if you would. Now at 8 AM there is not much activity and honestly not huge desire. But I noted them all the same.
Come lunch time I would have claimed to not be sure of the path I would take back to my car but getting those extra singles in my change tells a different story. Sort of like those Law & Order’s when they are going for the pre-meditation. So walk back I did – over and down, past the shops. Well, maybe not past: that would ignore the detours. I made stops but did not interact with anyone. A function I suppose of many things, not the least of which is I am a graying middle aged man – not exactly “fresh meat” as my shrink would say.
Afterwards I e-mailed a friend – told him of my experience – and the response told me what I already knew. If it feels dirty, it probably is. If I need sex with men (I initially typed “act out” but enough euphemisms for today), I should do it in a way that allowed me to feel comfortable in my own skin. The best advice – things we already know but seem to be ignoring.
The next day I was abandoned at lunch time – colleagues away or running errands – so lunched at my desk, at my computer. Read the paper, checked the e-mails, and then my fingers (well maybe my brain was involved) typed in Craig’s List. A posting – same age, married, professional, local, today; and if works more. Why it was my posting, but of course I had not posted since Chicago. I hesitate and then I type: a brief response, the basics. A few minutes later: I have mail. An brief exchange and a time is set – end the day, start the weekend.
It is a question which is greater – my nervousness or my excitement. No, not really: nervousness wins hands down. When we meet my nervousness is palpable, noticeable, discussed. It is who I am. We touch and the nervousness fades. I will leave the details to sex bloggers and one's imagination. Suffice to say, I did enjoy.
I write not to tell of failures and success: that would be too easy. I write of two things. The first is my willingness to go to a buddy booth – the bottom of the food chain – rather than admit to myself what I wanted. I had permission to discretely do what I must. Looking at a glass of Cabernet on a nice marble bar, I said no: I don’t drink. Then I went out back for some Thunderbird in a paper bag. The deeper implications of this will need to wait for my shrink; I would like company on that path.
The other thing that struck me was a matter of perspective. Upon meeting Sam I was nervous as all hell; Sam was calm as a cucumber, comfortable in his own skin. I am not sure if he self identifies as bi or is just another straight guy who likes occasional sex with men. Either way, in some strange sense he appears better adjusted than me. Me: a blogger, an emotional explorer. Me: who questions every day. He could be outed to his wife – potential disaster. What could happen to me – my wife find out. Is there really anything left that KA does not know?
I have another friend who I have hooked up with half a dozen times. He is also not out to his wife yet he is also comfortable, not wound like I am for that first meeting. He is like Sam and in some strange way I am jealous of their comfort. I could be pithy – an ignorance is bliss kind of barb, but that would be soooo unfair to them. They are not ignorant: they have chosen a different path, one that KA has suggested I should have taken.
The thoughts and desires have not left, though sometimes I wonder if I abandoned the blog if I might again live the sweet delusion of denial. This week I found myself in the City – New York City as you already have guessed. This is not an uncommon occurrence but this time was different. I needed to pick up a large package in one part of town so I parked there and walked to my office – up and over. Now I could have walked over and up, but I did not. Why? Because up and over took me past the sex shops. What was fascinating was not the number – that is pretty constant – but the number which advertised Male sections – buddy booths if you would. Now at 8 AM there is not much activity and honestly not huge desire. But I noted them all the same.
Come lunch time I would have claimed to not be sure of the path I would take back to my car but getting those extra singles in my change tells a different story. Sort of like those Law & Order’s when they are going for the pre-meditation. So walk back I did – over and down, past the shops. Well, maybe not past: that would ignore the detours. I made stops but did not interact with anyone. A function I suppose of many things, not the least of which is I am a graying middle aged man – not exactly “fresh meat” as my shrink would say.
Afterwards I e-mailed a friend – told him of my experience – and the response told me what I already knew. If it feels dirty, it probably is. If I need sex with men (I initially typed “act out” but enough euphemisms for today), I should do it in a way that allowed me to feel comfortable in my own skin. The best advice – things we already know but seem to be ignoring.
The next day I was abandoned at lunch time – colleagues away or running errands – so lunched at my desk, at my computer. Read the paper, checked the e-mails, and then my fingers (well maybe my brain was involved) typed in Craig’s List. A posting – same age, married, professional, local, today; and if works more. Why it was my posting, but of course I had not posted since Chicago. I hesitate and then I type: a brief response, the basics. A few minutes later: I have mail. An brief exchange and a time is set – end the day, start the weekend.
It is a question which is greater – my nervousness or my excitement. No, not really: nervousness wins hands down. When we meet my nervousness is palpable, noticeable, discussed. It is who I am. We touch and the nervousness fades. I will leave the details to sex bloggers and one's imagination. Suffice to say, I did enjoy.
I write not to tell of failures and success: that would be too easy. I write of two things. The first is my willingness to go to a buddy booth – the bottom of the food chain – rather than admit to myself what I wanted. I had permission to discretely do what I must. Looking at a glass of Cabernet on a nice marble bar, I said no: I don’t drink. Then I went out back for some Thunderbird in a paper bag. The deeper implications of this will need to wait for my shrink; I would like company on that path.
The other thing that struck me was a matter of perspective. Upon meeting Sam I was nervous as all hell; Sam was calm as a cucumber, comfortable in his own skin. I am not sure if he self identifies as bi or is just another straight guy who likes occasional sex with men. Either way, in some strange sense he appears better adjusted than me. Me: a blogger, an emotional explorer. Me: who questions every day. He could be outed to his wife – potential disaster. What could happen to me – my wife find out. Is there really anything left that KA does not know?
I have another friend who I have hooked up with half a dozen times. He is also not out to his wife yet he is also comfortable, not wound like I am for that first meeting. He is like Sam and in some strange way I am jealous of their comfort. I could be pithy – an ignorance is bliss kind of barb, but that would be soooo unfair to them. They are not ignorant: they have chosen a different path, one that KA has suggested I should have taken.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
...a girls best friend
A family weekend in different configurations (the fun of a large family), dinner out with a manageable crew and the culmination: a Saturday night visit to the mall’s anchor store. If someone who knows the non-cyber Nate is reading, my secrets are safe: I am not a Saturday night mall person.
But there I am: my wife and eldest and youngest daughters, a guaranteed five or ten minutes. They go to the jewelry section. We have some weddings bearing down on us and it seems my wife is not happy with any of her necklaces. This is news to me but I am impassive – it’s a nice evening, two draughts in my belly, no place else to be. She grazes finally coming to a rich patch and tries one on. A nice necklace: quite becoming. The saleswoman tells her the price. I am impassive – it’s a nice evening. My wife hands it back and points out it was more than she anticipated. I am relieved. Behind my calm façade I was beginning to quiver.
We walk around some more and I am thinking. I bought her a necklace once – eighteen years ago: a heart ringed with diamonds, if that is the term for stones that small. A gift from a boy to his new girlfriend. Over the years there has not been much jewelry: a consequence of divorce, child support, new children- in short a life. Clearly KA liked the piece – as did I: she has always had good, simple, classy tastes. I consider what joyous times are coming – marriages of her two eldest girls. I consider how much of her joy I have sucked out of these wedding preparations by my coming out. Most of all I consider how much I still love her.
I ask my daughter her opinion – of the necklace, not my life. She notes it is expensive but a fair value. I decide to get it. A diversion is arranged; I sidle back to the counter and make the arrangements. The little necklace is now in a big box. My daughter has a pocket book and is sent for the pick-up. We succeed in our conspiracy. The youngest tells the oldest this is her first big secret- they are excited. We continue to shop buying a $25 item. As we walk out of the store after an hour and half of shopping (a lifetime in Nate years), KA points out: $25, the price of a movie and we enjoyed ourselves as much.
Once home I steal a private moment and give her the box. She is shocked, but oh so happy. She tries it on for herself, for the kids, with the dress – this is fun. Just before bed I secure the house – turn off lights, the mundane – and when I come back to the bedroom, KA is sitting there with the box open on her lap, admiring it.
Of course I write to understand myself (and I can already assure you that the next post will not be as flattering). As I think of this I am struck by the fact that if she had suggested we purchase the necklace, I would have. With resentment, with cheapness boiling over, with an underlying sullenness that would have clouded the diamond forever. Yet once it was my idea I did it with joy – the box is sitting on her nightstand as I type.
For today I will leave my psychological frailties aside and instead revel in her happiness.
But there I am: my wife and eldest and youngest daughters, a guaranteed five or ten minutes. They go to the jewelry section. We have some weddings bearing down on us and it seems my wife is not happy with any of her necklaces. This is news to me but I am impassive – it’s a nice evening, two draughts in my belly, no place else to be. She grazes finally coming to a rich patch and tries one on. A nice necklace: quite becoming. The saleswoman tells her the price. I am impassive – it’s a nice evening. My wife hands it back and points out it was more than she anticipated. I am relieved. Behind my calm façade I was beginning to quiver.
We walk around some more and I am thinking. I bought her a necklace once – eighteen years ago: a heart ringed with diamonds, if that is the term for stones that small. A gift from a boy to his new girlfriend. Over the years there has not been much jewelry: a consequence of divorce, child support, new children- in short a life. Clearly KA liked the piece – as did I: she has always had good, simple, classy tastes. I consider what joyous times are coming – marriages of her two eldest girls. I consider how much of her joy I have sucked out of these wedding preparations by my coming out. Most of all I consider how much I still love her.
I ask my daughter her opinion – of the necklace, not my life. She notes it is expensive but a fair value. I decide to get it. A diversion is arranged; I sidle back to the counter and make the arrangements. The little necklace is now in a big box. My daughter has a pocket book and is sent for the pick-up. We succeed in our conspiracy. The youngest tells the oldest this is her first big secret- they are excited. We continue to shop buying a $25 item. As we walk out of the store after an hour and half of shopping (a lifetime in Nate years), KA points out: $25, the price of a movie and we enjoyed ourselves as much.
Once home I steal a private moment and give her the box. She is shocked, but oh so happy. She tries it on for herself, for the kids, with the dress – this is fun. Just before bed I secure the house – turn off lights, the mundane – and when I come back to the bedroom, KA is sitting there with the box open on her lap, admiring it.
Of course I write to understand myself (and I can already assure you that the next post will not be as flattering). As I think of this I am struck by the fact that if she had suggested we purchase the necklace, I would have. With resentment, with cheapness boiling over, with an underlying sullenness that would have clouded the diamond forever. Yet once it was my idea I did it with joy – the box is sitting on her nightstand as I type.
For today I will leave my psychological frailties aside and instead revel in her happiness.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Dsyfunctional?
Over the past few days I found myself spending some time – together and separately – with my two friends to whom I am out. While my alternative existence is not a taboo topic, there is not all that much to add to the tableau, so the picture is out there but not debated. Each of these friends comes with their own stories.
I have known one friend for 35 years; he is local and is married. He and his wife stopped liking each other years ago, his wife redefines intolerant and he is an alcoholic. Other than that things are going quite well. Maybe it is a guy thing, but he and I have never discussed these issues. Until this weekend. His wife skipped a social gathering- she instructed him to blame her stomach. He told her, and subsequently me, that he was not going to lie to a friend who had bared his soul. We spoke at length that day and again the next. I asked the most basic of questions: assuming it is repairable (by no means a given), is that what he wants?
My other friend is from out of town – one reason for coming out to him first, sort of like opening in New Haven. He has been married for 25 years and has two in college and his youngest entering his last year in high school. He and his wife not only stopped loving each other a decade or more ago; they have maintained separate bedrooms for years. Now I understand wanting to be near ones kids and I understand the economic pressures of the real world. I do not understand his refusal to date until next May when their child finishes high school and they take up separate residences.
My blog is all about me – just ask KA – and more specifically my issues of sexual identification. I do appreciate my own difficulties – married, bi-sexual, and more interested in other men for sex than emotional relationships. But as KA and I chat about my friends and their troubles, I cannot help but feel less dysfunctional. My wife is not in full agreement – she does consider my wanting to have sex with men to be a “biggie” and so it is. But still she and I can discuss this question of relativity. Neither of my friends can have such discussions with their spouses.
Today is a special day for many parents: work closed and day-camps open. So while I take a few minutes to write (and play with my music) KA will be back from her therapist in a few minutes and we will continue our day together. Life is good.
I have known one friend for 35 years; he is local and is married. He and his wife stopped liking each other years ago, his wife redefines intolerant and he is an alcoholic. Other than that things are going quite well. Maybe it is a guy thing, but he and I have never discussed these issues. Until this weekend. His wife skipped a social gathering- she instructed him to blame her stomach. He told her, and subsequently me, that he was not going to lie to a friend who had bared his soul. We spoke at length that day and again the next. I asked the most basic of questions: assuming it is repairable (by no means a given), is that what he wants?
My other friend is from out of town – one reason for coming out to him first, sort of like opening in New Haven. He has been married for 25 years and has two in college and his youngest entering his last year in high school. He and his wife not only stopped loving each other a decade or more ago; they have maintained separate bedrooms for years. Now I understand wanting to be near ones kids and I understand the economic pressures of the real world. I do not understand his refusal to date until next May when their child finishes high school and they take up separate residences.
My blog is all about me – just ask KA – and more specifically my issues of sexual identification. I do appreciate my own difficulties – married, bi-sexual, and more interested in other men for sex than emotional relationships. But as KA and I chat about my friends and their troubles, I cannot help but feel less dysfunctional. My wife is not in full agreement – she does consider my wanting to have sex with men to be a “biggie” and so it is. But still she and I can discuss this question of relativity. Neither of my friends can have such discussions with their spouses.
Today is a special day for many parents: work closed and day-camps open. So while I take a few minutes to write (and play with my music) KA will be back from her therapist in a few minutes and we will continue our day together. Life is good.
Friday, June 30, 2006
The Gods of TV
One may have sensed frustration in my last post: one would be correct. So last night KA and I turned the volume down – backed away from the ugliness of the previous two nights. What better way to seal the deal then mindless TV. Of course we are in re-run season so the pickings are slim. KA surfs along and there at 9 PM is a Primetime – a Court TV style murder mystery.
As usual we have never heard of the case – all the better for watching the show. Durham, NC – an upscale family, a wife falling down the stairs and bleeding to death, a husband finding the body and calling 911. A husband arrested for murder. Standard issue TV fare; all that is missing is the money and sex, but the show is still young.
The police have their search warrant and of course seize, among other things, the husband’s computer. KA is watching quietly, but I have my first inkling. They find pictures on the computer. My antenna is going on alert: KA is watching quietly. Husband says he never had an affair – it was only physical. My brain is starting to scream: KA is watching quietly. Then the “punch line” – they show a picture or two: men. KA is watching – intently: we look at each other. This was supposed to be our night “off”. Volume down, right-sizing, but no.
Husband is bi-sexual. His brother tells us the family knew from age 13 or 14. His children tell us they are cool and still love him. His wife, well she’s dead now, isn’t she. The theory of course is that she did not know: the discovery on the computer was not a planned coming out. I suppose he was not a blogger.
The husband is a killer (he is convicted) and he is bi-sexual. As a minority within a minority, one wonders what viewers are thinking – bi-sexual – killer, let me see. From a personal viewpoint I am watching – husband, devoted to wife, not looking for a relationship but enjoys sex with men. This is supposed to be a TV, not a mirror.
I suppose it all gets back to the right-sizing issue. It is tricky sometimes. KA just finished a Joyce Carol Oates book – The Falls – which I am now reading. I have studied the jacket, the blurb, at length. There is nothing to indicate that in the first chapter this woman would marry and the next morning her husband, realizing how gay he is, will throw himself into Niagra Falls at dawn. (This is, after all, 1950.)
Maybe we are more attuned – the antennae working overtime – to what was there all along. Maybe it is the Gods of media teasing us. The nice part is that I am out to my wife; these events become opportunities for us to keep our dialogue going. That is what happened last night. If my view of the TV last night had been through a crack in a closet door… well, I cannot fathom that scene, the feeling of deception and isolation I would have been left with. So life is tricky, but life is good, particularly when imbued with a dose of honesty.
As usual we have never heard of the case – all the better for watching the show. Durham, NC – an upscale family, a wife falling down the stairs and bleeding to death, a husband finding the body and calling 911. A husband arrested for murder. Standard issue TV fare; all that is missing is the money and sex, but the show is still young.
The police have their search warrant and of course seize, among other things, the husband’s computer. KA is watching quietly, but I have my first inkling. They find pictures on the computer. My antenna is going on alert: KA is watching quietly. Husband says he never had an affair – it was only physical. My brain is starting to scream: KA is watching quietly. Then the “punch line” – they show a picture or two: men. KA is watching – intently: we look at each other. This was supposed to be our night “off”. Volume down, right-sizing, but no.
Husband is bi-sexual. His brother tells us the family knew from age 13 or 14. His children tell us they are cool and still love him. His wife, well she’s dead now, isn’t she. The theory of course is that she did not know: the discovery on the computer was not a planned coming out. I suppose he was not a blogger.
The husband is a killer (he is convicted) and he is bi-sexual. As a minority within a minority, one wonders what viewers are thinking – bi-sexual – killer, let me see. From a personal viewpoint I am watching – husband, devoted to wife, not looking for a relationship but enjoys sex with men. This is supposed to be a TV, not a mirror.
I suppose it all gets back to the right-sizing issue. It is tricky sometimes. KA just finished a Joyce Carol Oates book – The Falls – which I am now reading. I have studied the jacket, the blurb, at length. There is nothing to indicate that in the first chapter this woman would marry and the next morning her husband, realizing how gay he is, will throw himself into Niagra Falls at dawn. (This is, after all, 1950.)
Maybe we are more attuned – the antennae working overtime – to what was there all along. Maybe it is the Gods of media teasing us. The nice part is that I am out to my wife; these events become opportunities for us to keep our dialogue going. That is what happened last night. If my view of the TV last night had been through a crack in a closet door… well, I cannot fathom that scene, the feeling of deception and isolation I would have been left with. So life is tricky, but life is good, particularly when imbued with a dose of honesty.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
What Size Am I?
For much of my adult life my shirts had a 15 ½” neck. One day I found myself in Nordstrom’s during a sale and went to buy a new suit. Wearing only a tee shirt was a problem but as befits a high end store they had extra dress shirts for fittings. Wow, that shirt was comfortable. It had a 16” neck; for the first time in years I could button and breathe simultaneously.
I have given much thought lately to Flip’s concept of right sizing. The volume at home has been lowered. There are other things to talk about – some benign and as in any marriage some almost (though never quite) as charged as TGT. There is much in my life to occupy my mind – family, work, and music. Less time has been spent posting (sorry guys).
Yet in my mind, that little place central to all, the size while smaller is still quite substantial. Just the act of writing of right sizing is a form of “wrong” sizing. Of course the story of my neck is not random. My shirts were right sized at 15 ½” for many years. Then something happened: I got older, added a few pounds, nothing special, just life. Sexual identity is much more complicated and how one addresses newly found identities just add to the confusion.
So I do want to right size this in my life. I have been telling people – my therapist, the small circle I am out to, and of course myself - how successful I have been. My therapist tells me it is okay to put the bus in idle – this is my bus. But I still think about it – always there – peeking around the corner at me. I sit at work and in a random moment with a minute or two to kill while on hold find myself looking at Craig’s List. I consider, multiple times a week, whether to call the guy I had been hooking up with. Desire does not go quietly into the night.
Intellectually I understand that a marital spat – even an ugly one – unrelated to sexuality is normal and is, well, unrelated to sexuality. But after the fight, laying there in the dark, I cannot help but question why I am not hooking up. I have permission. She assumes it is only a matter of time. We are in the land of don’t ask, don’t tell again. So I lay there – I sit here now typing – and cannot fathom why I do not send my friend an e-mail. I would love to have “lunch” tomorrow.
I am afraid I suppose. Afraid that like an alcoholic, one drink will not satisfy me. Instead I will remember that I enjoyed the taste (lets not go there), the excitement, the forbidden nature. And I fear the emotion of turning a bad day or two (and the last few have been pretty bad) into an excuse to act out.
So Flip, I would like to right size, Lord knows, but my thoughts are not as cooperative as I claim. When I look at CL my fingers betray me. The road continues...
I have given much thought lately to Flip’s concept of right sizing. The volume at home has been lowered. There are other things to talk about – some benign and as in any marriage some almost (though never quite) as charged as TGT. There is much in my life to occupy my mind – family, work, and music. Less time has been spent posting (sorry guys).
Yet in my mind, that little place central to all, the size while smaller is still quite substantial. Just the act of writing of right sizing is a form of “wrong” sizing. Of course the story of my neck is not random. My shirts were right sized at 15 ½” for many years. Then something happened: I got older, added a few pounds, nothing special, just life. Sexual identity is much more complicated and how one addresses newly found identities just add to the confusion.
So I do want to right size this in my life. I have been telling people – my therapist, the small circle I am out to, and of course myself - how successful I have been. My therapist tells me it is okay to put the bus in idle – this is my bus. But I still think about it – always there – peeking around the corner at me. I sit at work and in a random moment with a minute or two to kill while on hold find myself looking at Craig’s List. I consider, multiple times a week, whether to call the guy I had been hooking up with. Desire does not go quietly into the night.
Intellectually I understand that a marital spat – even an ugly one – unrelated to sexuality is normal and is, well, unrelated to sexuality. But after the fight, laying there in the dark, I cannot help but question why I am not hooking up. I have permission. She assumes it is only a matter of time. We are in the land of don’t ask, don’t tell again. So I lay there – I sit here now typing – and cannot fathom why I do not send my friend an e-mail. I would love to have “lunch” tomorrow.
I am afraid I suppose. Afraid that like an alcoholic, one drink will not satisfy me. Instead I will remember that I enjoyed the taste (lets not go there), the excitement, the forbidden nature. And I fear the emotion of turning a bad day or two (and the last few have been pretty bad) into an excuse to act out.
So Flip, I would like to right size, Lord knows, but my thoughts are not as cooperative as I claim. When I look at CL my fingers betray me. The road continues...
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Two Moments
Last week I had lunch with my contact at one of my clients. I approached the event with some trepidation – was she thinking of quitting, looking for more money, maybe an opportunity to vent. It was a pleasure to learn she just wanted to have lunch and talk of anything other than business. So we talked of our lives, places we grew up – we are from the same area so surprising amounts were in common, simple general conversation.
The conversation gravitated to giving. This was “giving” in the best traditions of Spider, though I decided any conversation that could ultimately lead back to this place would be a mistake and Spider remained only in my thoughts.
Then she gave me a pop quiz meme. She did not know it was a meme, but we know. She told her story and then asked what was the best thing I had done for someone? A tough question given time to ponder: impossible sitting in a restaurant under a microscope. She wanted an answer and did not think much of my offer to e-mail one eventually. I came up with an answer – not a moment but a good concept all the same.
Since then I have occasionally thought of the question and yesterday realized that one of my best and one of my worst moments involved the same person. When I was twenty-seven there was a legal secretary at one of my clients – a mere babe of maybe twenty-two. We became friends – I would have preferred more, but with minor exceptions friends it was. (One day I will post on my propensity for brother / sister relationships.) She was my hero because she had come from a poor background, depressed small city, alcoholic dad – all the bells and whistles – and was working her way up towards the American Dream.
She –Kage - has actually graced my blog once before. Tickets to a Broadway show I won at a raffle when we were together at an office Holiday party, the minor issue of living with my girlfriend in what had become a stale (at best) relationship, and the question of who to take to the show. Kage of course.
When we had known each other for a few years, Kage came to me with a problem. She had slept with an old friend – younger and poorer than her- and was pregnant. So for the first and last time in my life I found myself funding an abortion and I wasn’t even the doer. She went on to lose the boy, move into a strong management level position, marry and have a family. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if not for the abortion: somehow I sense that instead of her having joined the middle classes, she would have continued a cycle of poverty. It was a small act for me – not a lot of money for a young unmarried professional – but the future it purchased…
This “best” moment came to mind last night when I was reminded of one of my worst moments. KA and I was discussing this blog community and her jealousies of the bonds that exist between many of us. It is a strange fact that in this bi/gay world my closest friend is a straight spouse – sis as I call her. (Yes, there really is a post on my brother / sister thing just waiting for the writing.) This relationship has not gone unnoticed by KA and when I referred to the “safety” of this relationship, KA said safe it is – sis is 3,000 miles away. That may be true but it is not the source of the “safety.”
Twenty years ago I was married to my first wife but had a few un-reconciled issues – well, maybe more than a few. One day Kage came to my city on business. She had by this point moved into a solid management position and was a source of joy and pride. She was staying at a nearby hotel – quite upscale – and we met for dinner. Nothing untoward, my wife at the time knew where I was and who I was with. Kage and I had a wonderful dinner – two well dressed business people in the Hotel restaurant. Afterwards we stood in the lobby and – it is still hard to say twenty years later – I hit on her. Nothing physical, nothing noticeable to a passerby, but I made it clearly known I wanted to take her upstairs to her room, that I wanted to make love to her.
She wisely rejected my advances and I went home a little chagrined, but I had been embarrassed before – haven’t we all. I did not realize the damage I had done. It was the last time we ever spoke. By the time years later I was ready to apologize, I no longer knew where to find her. To this day I regret what I did and regret never having had the opportunity to apologize even more.
So when KA wonders if I would ever hit on Sis, she need not worry. A true friend, of either gender, is a treasure to be valued, something that even transcends sex. In a strange sense one can “buy” sex; friendship is not for sale. And that is central to everything I think and write because while Sis has become a true and dear friend, my best friend in the world is my wife.
KA and I will always be best friends – a fact neither of us doubts – and when you combine that with being lovers you have something not to be tossed aside lightly no matter what issues of sexual orientation are lurking.
The conversation gravitated to giving. This was “giving” in the best traditions of Spider, though I decided any conversation that could ultimately lead back to this place would be a mistake and Spider remained only in my thoughts.
Then she gave me a pop quiz meme. She did not know it was a meme, but we know. She told her story and then asked what was the best thing I had done for someone? A tough question given time to ponder: impossible sitting in a restaurant under a microscope. She wanted an answer and did not think much of my offer to e-mail one eventually. I came up with an answer – not a moment but a good concept all the same.
Since then I have occasionally thought of the question and yesterday realized that one of my best and one of my worst moments involved the same person. When I was twenty-seven there was a legal secretary at one of my clients – a mere babe of maybe twenty-two. We became friends – I would have preferred more, but with minor exceptions friends it was. (One day I will post on my propensity for brother / sister relationships.) She was my hero because she had come from a poor background, depressed small city, alcoholic dad – all the bells and whistles – and was working her way up towards the American Dream.
She –Kage - has actually graced my blog once before. Tickets to a Broadway show I won at a raffle when we were together at an office Holiday party, the minor issue of living with my girlfriend in what had become a stale (at best) relationship, and the question of who to take to the show. Kage of course.
When we had known each other for a few years, Kage came to me with a problem. She had slept with an old friend – younger and poorer than her- and was pregnant. So for the first and last time in my life I found myself funding an abortion and I wasn’t even the doer. She went on to lose the boy, move into a strong management level position, marry and have a family. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if not for the abortion: somehow I sense that instead of her having joined the middle classes, she would have continued a cycle of poverty. It was a small act for me – not a lot of money for a young unmarried professional – but the future it purchased…
This “best” moment came to mind last night when I was reminded of one of my worst moments. KA and I was discussing this blog community and her jealousies of the bonds that exist between many of us. It is a strange fact that in this bi/gay world my closest friend is a straight spouse – sis as I call her. (Yes, there really is a post on my brother / sister thing just waiting for the writing.) This relationship has not gone unnoticed by KA and when I referred to the “safety” of this relationship, KA said safe it is – sis is 3,000 miles away. That may be true but it is not the source of the “safety.”
Twenty years ago I was married to my first wife but had a few un-reconciled issues – well, maybe more than a few. One day Kage came to my city on business. She had by this point moved into a solid management position and was a source of joy and pride. She was staying at a nearby hotel – quite upscale – and we met for dinner. Nothing untoward, my wife at the time knew where I was and who I was with. Kage and I had a wonderful dinner – two well dressed business people in the Hotel restaurant. Afterwards we stood in the lobby and – it is still hard to say twenty years later – I hit on her. Nothing physical, nothing noticeable to a passerby, but I made it clearly known I wanted to take her upstairs to her room, that I wanted to make love to her.
She wisely rejected my advances and I went home a little chagrined, but I had been embarrassed before – haven’t we all. I did not realize the damage I had done. It was the last time we ever spoke. By the time years later I was ready to apologize, I no longer knew where to find her. To this day I regret what I did and regret never having had the opportunity to apologize even more.
So when KA wonders if I would ever hit on Sis, she need not worry. A true friend, of either gender, is a treasure to be valued, something that even transcends sex. In a strange sense one can “buy” sex; friendship is not for sale. And that is central to everything I think and write because while Sis has become a true and dear friend, my best friend in the world is my wife.
KA and I will always be best friends – a fact neither of us doubts – and when you combine that with being lovers you have something not to be tossed aside lightly no matter what issues of sexual orientation are lurking.
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