For me, for now, Denver is my home.

I know, it seems like such a simple statement to make, and it’s not really a matter of anything or of any importance to anyone but me, but maybe with a little backstory, you might understand why this is one of those Big Things for Thom.

I moved out of the house when I was seventeen years old, off to college, and away from all the confines and constraints of small-town life in Maine.  I loved my home, I loved the farm I grew up on, but I knew there was more in this world for me.  I knew I had to feed my imagination further by exploring outside of the places I had grown comfortable in.  With that, I set off.

Of course, my first step wasn’t very big.  I landed in New Hampshire, where I was for a number of years while I attended my undergraduate program at UNH.  I was there for two years, then dropped out and came out.  Without going into the details of that time after dropping out, it’s suffice to say that I started my nomadic life.  I met my first boyfriend on the night that I came out to myself.  The next year and ten months saw us moving from house to house, apartment to apartment, weekly rental to weekly rental, and even couch to couch, in a constant stream of motion.  I never unpacked my car.  I never fully put my feet down.

After he and I split, I moved out on my own and was in a tiny, crappy apartment back in New Hampshire for about four months.  It was then that I met Nathaniel, and in a matter of moments (it seemed), I was moving into his apartment.  We stayed in that spot for just about a year, and then moved.  I returned to school, and got my BA, and landed a job back in Maine shortly thereafter.  So, we moved again.  After another year or so, he’d had enough of Maine, and so did I.  We thought a return to where we had been before might do us good, so we packed our bags and headed back to the seacoast of New Hampshire.  We lived in a mutual friend’s basement for a few short weeks, then got our own apartment.  I had subsequently returned to school to get my teaching certification, and by the time that was over (in May, 2006), we were gearing up for probably the most momentous move ever.

August 2006 saw me in England, where I would live both with Nathaniel for about a year, and on my own for a total time there of two years.  Again, movement, but there, I had started to form my own personal concept of home. I knew that having a home would be tied to my employment, my career.  At that time, though, it was also tied to a relationship, and it was because of that tie that I was willing to move back to the United States, to attempt to save a relationship that was faltering quite a bit.

Back in the US in 2008, we lived with his parents for a few months, and then moved again to our apartment in Boston, where we lived, and tried to make a real go of our relationship again, only this time as a married couple.

By summer, 2010, and my entry into Grad School, it all fell apart, and I faced the prospect of moving again.  At the end of August, 2010, along with the help of my mom, I moved to Portland, Maine, back to a place where I was comfortable, and back to a place where I could gather myself together and try and forge a path ahead.

It was in the summer of 2011 when I met Nathan, and was inspired to do better by myself.  I knew, instantly, that this meant I needed to leave Maine again, and it was last October when I packed my car and drove here, to Denver, where I am now.

As you can see, the past fourteen to sixteen years have been nothing but nomadic.  I’ve not had the time or place to put down any real roots, or forge any connections to place.  I haven’t allowed it.  Instead, what I’ve become is rather thick-skinned and very reserved about getting to know a place, and it’s people, for fear of having to leave it.  I suppose this might be akin to a child of the military, whose parents are relocated and stationed around the globe in different places at different times.  Eventually, the child might struggle to make close friends.

I think it was this visit from a very close, very old friend of mine that hit the hardest this week.  Amanda and I have known each other since we were 11 years old.  A person who knows me that long (and there are only two), knows what I’ve been through, and what roads I’ve taken to get where I am.  They know my past, and they know me.  I can’t hide anything from them.  Amanda, for me, represents a connection to the Thomas I am, rather than the Thomas I’ve become with all of this movement and callousness towards relationships.  It was with her, as we drove down from Red Rocks park, that I had my moment, had my realization, and decided to make this place my home.

She joins me here at the end of April, and between now and then I need to scrape together the funds needed to move into a home with her.  I’m not worried about it, though.  It will happen.  It’s a matter of Fate and Will again, and regardless of what occurs, I know now, finally, that I have a place that I can really let myself call home.

I’m home, and I couldn’t be happier.

The following morning began the residency, and Evan and I ended up on campus really early.  This was to our benefit, as it gave me a chance to let my presence there sink in.  I did a little anticipatory writing, which was really my way of opening up my mind a bit, and unplugging from the life I’d put on pause back here in Denver.  I simply let the worries of my day-to-day go, and took some deep breaths of fresh Vermont air.  What struck me the most, and became the thing I found myself fixating on, was the feeling of being back in a place I was very familiar with.  I don’t know if it’s home.  I do know that vibration, that resonance, with the sound of chickadees and the crunch of wet snow under my feet, of being in a place I know in my core.  As my friend Jonah suggested, I was there to fill my root-tank, and renew my sense of purpose.  In those first few hours of alone time, as the other writers began to arrive on campus, I could feel that tank, that sense of history and connection, coming to fruition.

Of course, all week, I was dealing with a massive head cold.  Never before had I gone to Goddard and experienced a residency through the fog of a cold or illness, and sadly, it did take away from some of the experience.  I shut myself off for a couple of days, not attending workshops or readings because I didn’t want to be the sniffling, coughing guy in the back that annoyed everyone else in the room.  Still, I took advantage of two days of being good to myself, eating my fill and drinking lots of tea, and in the end, I managed to get over the initial awfulness of the cold.  I was still very snotty, very congested, and coughing a lot, but my head cleared, and I could participate fully in the workshops that remained during the week.

One such workshop was on writing the trauma narrative.  Though it was focused primarily on fiction writing, the faculty member delivering the workshop was a memoirist, and in the end, we did discuss how trauma fits into the story of a memoir.  For me, personally, my memoir hinges on an event of trauma that I’m trying my best to navigate and discuss with clarity and honesty.  Recognizing my place in the story, and how it might relate to a wider audience, and how to be sensitive to the experience and moment of trauma was an important thing to wrap my head around.

The second workshop I attended that spoke to me deeply was about the Inner Life.  The premise was a discussion about how we, as writers, fuel our inner selves in order to keep a balance between our writing life and day-to-day life.  What fascinates us? What feeds our desires? What are the things that we are mildly (or not-so-mildly) obsessing over.  For me, the idea of motion and movement coupled with a confusion about the idea of ‘home’ was where my head was at, and remains.  Through some pretty honest and forthright conversation between the attendants of the workshop and the faculty member leading the discussion, I got some pretty good insights as to where my writing should go for now, and what sort of things I might want to explore.

For me, the idea of home has become a central movement.  What defines ‘home’ for me? What would it take for me to feel like I’ve ‘come home’ or am ‘at home’ in my daily life.  Because I’ve spent the last fourteen years pretty much as a vagrant and traveller, I have lost a sense of place in my life.  It stemmed from my first experiences as a gay man, but why do I continue to behave in such a manner?  Why do I persist on seeking newer and different places to reside, in the hopes of my life improving?  Why do I resist putting down roots and making a specific geographical place my home, or whatever?  See? I’m still unable to use the word ‘home.’  It’s a loaded word for me, and clearly something I need to wrangle with in my writing. This is coupled with the idea of constant motion.  Movement, either by running on my two feet, or traveling miles and miles in my car, has always been a thing for me.  I enjoy it, I get lost in the idea of simply moving, and am not one who can really sit still, or stay in one place for too long.  Why is this? What part of me feels the constant need to be in motion?  What does this provide me? What does it take away from me?

Perhaps one of the most intriguing workshops I attended had to do with a Tarot card reading.  I drew a card that was super powerful and meaningful to me, and though I’m a little hesitant to go into details here, it’s sufficient to say that it fed into the ongoing story and saga of me, and my reasons for being where I am.  Letting go of the old, and ushering the new was the general reading I got, and it’s something I am actively embracing.  I’ve said it time and time again, but now, as I’m back in Denver, and facing down the future ahead of me, I need to do just that.  It’s a new year, a new chance to do things better, and a chance to reinvent myself.

On top of all of these thoughts are the practical details of my upcoming semester.  My first packet is due in a month, and I have a new advisor who, by all intents and purposes, will kick the shit out of me if I don’t provide him with the effort that is required.  I need to raise my own standards of what is acceptable, what is considered my best, and present him with what I’m fully capable of.  No longer can I simply put down in words what I’m thinking, breeze over it with a light editorial pen, and be done with it.  No longer can I simply avoid doing the work I need to because I’m too scared, or it’s too difficult.  Writing is not meant to be easy.  It’s not simply filling pages on the screen.  It has value.  It has merit.  I need to bring to the writing the sort of respect and honor it deserves.  This semester, with all my editing and filling in the gaps in my manuscript, I intend on cleaning up my act, cleaning up my language, and getting down to the brass tacks that my story requires.  I intend on being brave.  I intend on rising up to meet the personal challenges I’ve put in place for myself.

For me, this begins with pulling back from things here in Denver.  I learned, as I spent the week in Vermont, and then during my three days after school touring around New England visiting friends and family, that Denver is not my final destination.  This place, this mountain city, is where I am now to complete a lot of things that have been at loose ends in my life for a while now.

Finishing my MFA, getting my personal house in order, accepting the person I am now, and letting go of the adolescent that I once was, all while making deeper connections to those that matter and improve my life here and abroad are all the tasks set before me while I live in Colorado.  I know that I will again return to New England, or even New York City.  I belong at the water’s edge.  The sea is me, and I am part of her.  I recognize this, and it’s my desire to be back at the coast that fuels me now.  If I want to return there, to that place where I felt most alive and most myself.

I am homesick, as I sit here on the Front Range.  I admitted this yesterday to a friend of mine here, and was stunned by how my body reacted to actually admitting this about myself.  I choked up, and nearly broke down.  It gave me pause, to say the least.  I’ve never had this feeling so strong inside me.  I know I need to explore this, and let my writing and instinct guide me through these emotions.  That, at least, I’m capable of doing.  In order to focus, I’ve pulled back from being social.  I’ve pulled back, again, from making new connections here in Denver.  Those I have reached out to upon my return are those who have enhanced my life and are positive people that I want to be around and learn from.  Hopefully, it will help.  Hopefully, being more reflective and insightful, rather than simply avoiding the work I need to do by making myself as busy as possible with things of little matter or consequence will work.

I traveled though Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Massachusetts, and Connecticut.  I knew those roads by heart, only needing my map for the intricacies of Boston.  That place, those familiar roads and faces, are where I belong.  I still need to earn the right to go back, though.  I intend on returning as a better version of me.  It’s that metamorphosis, that change, that keeps me here in Denver, for now.

XX

T

“Just so you know, I’m HIV-positive.  I want to put that out there right now.”

As he spoke, he pulled back from me, almost imperceptibly, and waited for my response.  In his eyes flashed a twinge of fear, of defense.  I could see his jaw clench, and for the moment, his muscles froze.

“I’m okay with that,” was my immediate response. “Thank you for telling me.”

The honesty, bravery, and fear that was mixed in his statement hung in the air over the bed for longer, though.

This conversation, this interaction, at the moment of most intimate contact, is something I’ve navigated ever since I could remember.  Every time I make the choice to enjoy the company of a bedfellow, HIV makes a presence.  The little microbe, not even a living thing, is part of the moment, like some dark interloper, some unwelcome third party who takes up residence in the space between his body and mine, sending a cool breeze across our anxious, receptive skins.  No matter how close he presses his flesh against me, and no matter how tight I draw him to me, that tiny thing presents a barrier, a wall, an obstacle to negotiate.

I am becoming an adept negotiator, though there are moments where I want the bravery to simply disengage with that conversation, and jump head-long into the passion and fire that exists between me and the man I am with.  Is this the difference between him and I?  Did he earn his HIV status by diving headlong into the carnal exchange between himself and another?  Did he disregard the risk factors, the back-and-forth, and simply exist in that singular, explosive moment?  Was he braver than I?  Is that a sign of bravery?  Is it a sign of weakness?  Why can’t I linger in the moments before I knew his status a bit longer?

The moment passes, and we manage to enjoy the time we are together, though I can feel the presence of the virus in every move we make.  Every time he touches me, puts his mouth on me, caresses me, I do an internal inquiry.  Will this be safe?  Will this act put me at risk?  The checklists of what to and what not to do are flashing behind my eyelids.  Knowing his status has taken me out of the moment, taken me out of the space we inhabited just before I gained this information.  I regret this.

I know a lot about HIV.  I know the facts as they have been presented to me.  I know the risk factors, the modes of transmission, the numbers and figures of newly infected people.  I know the treatment options, the psychology, the physiology.  I know how to take care of myself, and I do all I can to listen and support those I know who are living with HIV and need a shoulder from time to time.  I know I’m not perfect.  I know I’ve danced the fine line of sero-status a few times.  I know that part of my time as a gay man has relied solely on being lucky to not have HIV, if not having HIV is a good thing.  I also know how HIV has limited me.  I stare down my fears about contracting this little thing with each glance I make at the bars, or when I’m looking across the cafe table as he sips his coffee.  I cross-check myself and my lists each time a guy puts his hands on me.

I’m tired of being afraid.  I’m tired of not being able to let go of my inhibitions.  I’m tired of having to negotiate with that little thing at every corner.

Yesterday, I spent some time with a dear friend who just received a positive result on an HIV test.  He’s just at the threshold of the battery of tests, blood draws, and all that comes with a new diagnosis.  His face revealed the stress, the anxiety, and the exhaustion that he tried to hide from me.  I simply looked at him and told him to be good to himself.  This is not the first time I’ve been in this spot, consoling a friend who was newly diagnosed.  Each time it happens, my heart breaks.  Each time, I take mental stock of what I can and can not do to help him.  I go through a miniature grief cycle.  I am initially saddened.  Then I’m angry.  Then I’m resolved.  Still, I’m at a loss.  That little thing has created a small hole in my life.

That little thing has torn a piece of the fabric, and altered it, slightly.  In the grand scheme of things, it adds texture, and from a bit of distance away from the immediate moment, the cloth is still a thing of beauty.  I simply need to incorporate this new thread, this new string, a new color, into the pattern and course of my weaving.

I hope I’m better at handling the news, the change, and the shift in the relationship.  As much as I deny it, HIV cuts the gay male community in half.  It’s a little barrier, a little wall, something unseen, but very real, and very present.  I’m on this side, and he’s on that side.  We can see, smell, taste, hear, feel each other.  There is no wall, fence, or a physical barrier, unless I erect one.  I can pass through it anytime I want.  I can make that choice to barrel headlong into this division line, and easily convert.  I know what that means, and what it would take.  I hold back now, I play it safe, I keep my body on this side of the fence, but at a cost.  I’m fraught about how I express myself, how I let myself go in the presence of another man.  I draw lines.  I establish boundaries based on this little thing.

I would prefer a boundless existence.  I would prefer to say yes, rather than no.  I would rather not need the prophylactics, the lists, the conversations, the fears and anxieties.  I would rather see my bedfellows able to let go and be themselves, too.  I want that little thing kept outside of that deeply personal, deeply human space that I share with him.  I would prefer to never see that look in a friend’s eyes as he realizes his mortality, revealed to him by this little thing.

What I realized, as Emily sent me the invite to her house, was how much I missed being on the open road, putting miles underneath me.  As the weather has turned cold, and the roads are covered in snow, I’m not able to get out and run as much as I want to.  Driving my car, as un-environmental as it is, is a mental replacement for that.  Miles and miles of highway before me, and with each wheel rotation, I was leaving the stress and pressures of my day-to-day life behind me.  The road trip there was just what I needed.

I started off around eight in the morning the day before Christmas, and took I-25 the entire way there.  There were detours and other ways there, but the highway seemed the fastest and most direct route to my destination.  I simply wanted to get there.  Along the way, as the cities of the Front Range slipped behind me (Denver, Castle Rock, Colorado Springs, Pueblo), I felt like I was falling off the map again.  It was the similar feeling I had when driving through Nebraska.  My phone had limited service, so I wasn’t able to really text or stay connected.  I had my music, and as I looked around me, there was simply nothing but sky, white ground, and mountains that ran along to the right of me.  It felt like I was traveling down the spine of North America, moving from someplace around the lungs, where air and breathing are central, to a space further south, like to the gut, the stomach, the place where instinct and internal energy comes from.  Coming down out of the Raton Pass, I found myself on an open plain, still very high up in elevation, but looking more like something out of Planet of the Apes, or a lunar surface.  Distance was distorted, but it was clear that it would take me all day to simply walk across the vastness and reach something of elevation.  Solitary trees dotted the fields, and at times, the white ground blended perfectly with the milky white sky, to the point where all I could really see was the black ribbon of highway that stretched out before me, leading me to a distant point of disappearance on the horizon.

It took my breath away, which is exactly what I wanted.

Winding my way across northern New Mexico, the land eventually lost the blinding whiteness of snow and revealed to me the colors that New Mexico is known for.  The bluffs and buttes that the highway snaked around showed striations of red and black and gold.  Scrub grass was a light sage green, and the few piñon trees added depth and dimension to what I was seeing.  When I got out of my car in Santa Fe, my nose was filled with the most intoxicating and lovely smell of the piñon.  This aromatic tree literally perfumed all the air around me.  I immediately smiled and felt the tension of driving melting out of my body.

Emily and her partner, along with Emily’s daughter, and their friends, truly made Christmas Eve amazing.  Wine was poured, games were played with the daughter as she was visibly anxious for the arrival of Santa Claus.  Being four years old, the magic of the holiday still was alive in her eyes.  We also lit Hanukkah candles, as Emily is Jewish, and celebrated a lovely rendition of the prayer song that is sung with every candle lighting.  After, I lit a small fire in the kiva, which gave such a lovely warmth and smell to the entire house (especially after we figured out the flue was shut and ended up smoking the house out for a bit!).  Still, after the air cleared, the evening settled, and I knew that I was right where I needed to be for this holiday.

The morning after, I was awakened by a four-year old girl who’s eyes were in utter amazement about the booty Santa had left her under the tree.  The first thing she checked was the cookie she had left on the plate, and to her amazement, most of it was eaten.  It was such utter joy to see her in absolute shock and awe that Santa had really come.  I enhanced this as much as I could by telling her, though I slept on the couch, next to the fire and the tree, that I had no idea he came, and that I never heard him.  I played it up as best as I could, and I think she was thoroughly pleased.  After the presents were opened, and breakfast was served, Emily seemed pleased that I had helped bring a little more magic to her daughter’s holiday.  I thought it was the least I could do, especially since she and her family had given me the best Christmas present ever: space to relax and unwind and let go of my worries.

I left their house around two in the afternoon, and decided to come home a different way that would lead me between two ranges of mountains and along a plateau into southern Colorado.  This would add an hour to my journey, but I was told it would be more scenic.  It certainly was that!

At one point, at the Taos Plateau, I stopped the car, pulled over, and shut off the engine.  I got out, and stood as the icy wind buffeted at my back.  It was a stunning silence.  Miles and miles and miles of snow, sage grass, and the distant run of mountains to my east, with a large hill behind me took my breath away again.  It was seventeen degrees out, and I still had many miles left to travel, but that moment, those few minutes of just being the only human for what felt like a hundred miles around me, was exactly what I needed.  It reminded me of standing next to the sea back in Maine, feeling small, insignificant, and that my personal issues, whatever they are, are not as big or as important as my mind would let me believe.  Those mountains, that plateau, gave me the perspective I was craving.  It was a giant reset button being pressed.

You can view the photos from my trip over at Flickr, or if you follow me on Facebook, you’ve seen them there too.

I will return to New Mexico.  It is a land of magic, and as the motto says, Enchantment.  I loved it there.

Thomas was my first boyfriend.  I’m dedicating my thesis work to him, once it is done.  Have a read, and let me know what you think.

At the Corner of Bramhall and Congress

The cars from the direction of the hospital come to a stop.  I approach, with long, measured strides. As I draw nearer to the intersection, a stiff late-October wind has captured the fallen leaves and loose sand, sending them swirling into a vortex around my legs and feet.  I can feel the light tapping of gravel pelting the loose pant legs around my calves.  The sky is a a brilliant cerulean.  Light clouds travel distant miles above me on their way to the sea.  Autumn blazes among the leaves dancing in the branches over my head, rustling, whispering.  I pause, as the traffic lights cycled, and wait for my turn to cross.

This corner sees tragedy every hour of every day.  I live where I can hear the sirens blaring by my house, nearest the largest hospital in the state of Maine.  People from as far away as Houlton and Caribou, and as near as Brackett street, go to Maine Medical.  It witnesses patients arriving in panic, blood pouring, bones broken, lives seemingly shattered, dead relatives.  It hears promises made, lives adjusted, situations up-ended.

I wonder if this corner saw Thomas.  I wonder if it witnessed his body dutifully taken into a holding tank, somewhere in the bowels of the hospital, under refrigeration, treated as toxic waste.  I can see the ambulance now, lights flashing, but no sirens (body transport but no life-saving measures being taken).  It leans deeply into the right springs and shocks of its frame, taking the uphill turn towards the hospital.  Shifting downward in gears, the weight of the vehicle requiring more from it’s engine, it’s transmission, it’s internal fluids and machinations.  Cruising up the hillside street, maneuvering deftly past ice and snow that lined the streets, the ambulance would have stopped under the covered entrance to the Emergency unit, but it wouldn’t have been an emergency.  It was protocol.

Thomas’ body would have been in a bag, his face blocked from ever seeing the sun again.  His sunken skin folding into deeper creases, jaw drooping, perhaps stiffening from the rigor mortis.  His dentures would have been removed.  His collar bone pushing upward, fighting against the forces of gravity to keep his chest cavity open, at least until the ligaments and sinews break down, or burst in the furnace heat of the crematorium.

It’s been over thirteen years since I left him standing there, behind two police officers in Exeter, in the only apartment I was every proud to have secured with him.  I had thought he’d turn violent on me as I tried to gather my things and leave.  I didn’t make eye contact with him that day.  I didn’t tell the officers how he tried to woo me the day prior, with flowers and candles and a shared soak in the tub.  He knew he was losing me.  The fist he had let fly at me a few days earlier had secured my decision.  He was scared too, I think.

He had lived through an entire outbreak of a disease no one in history had ever seen or dealt with before.  And just as new drugs, new treatments, new approaches to coping with the virus were made available, he turned and walked away from them.  He didn’t trust them, or the doctors that prescribed them.  His trust: Vodka. Cocaine. Sex. Lust. Disappearing. He believed in these things more than any microprint description of side-effects and symptoms.  These were the things he still had control over.  They were his response to the failures and hidden secrets that were being spread like gossip around and through his body.

I was told he died peacefully.  He wouldn’t have felt the bumps and shakes of the ambulance ride through the city streets.  He wouldn’t have been worried about how he looked, or the presentation he made when he arrived at the hospital doors.  None of that would have mattered, for the first time in a long time.  He wouldn’t have to work at keeping it all together, fiercely protective of his image, of his dramatic persona. His carriage would have turned the corner gracefully, and drifted out of sight from passers-by waiting at the corner for the light to change.

Better than I planned.

Sort of.

I woke up with a little bit of ambition, fueled by coffee that I obtained in weather that hovered just below the 10F mark, with fresh snow crunching under my feet.  I turned the corner near my house, and just as they were opening, I made my way into a local cafe that served up the freshest coffee I could find in walking distance, and a very delicious croissant with chocolate filling.  Those two things alone put a big grin on my face, and no cold western wind blowing down out of the peaks was going to take that from me.

I got home, and realized that the mountain of laundry was just a symptom of the disorder in my life these past few days.  I decided to gather it all together, and along with my roommate Sid, we trucked off to get things washed.  After about an hour and half, I had a trunk full of cleanliness, a roommate with a big smile on her face, and plans for the rest of my day.  I had connected with a guy I met on Thanksgiving, and as I had the remainder of the day free, we agreed to meet.

His name is David Agee.  He’s an artist here in Denver, who works in mixed media.  You can find out more about him here:

Click on the Picture to See David's Work

I met him via another fella I’ve made the acquaintance of here, and I had the most awesome afternoon with him today.  I came over to his house, and he showed me some of the pieces he’s been working on, along with the photography he creates from these pieces as well.  You can see a lot of his stuff on his site, and I highly recommend you check it out.

What struck me the most, as I was appreciating his work, and while we were talking, is how I was feeling inside.  By discussing art, and seeing his works in progress, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to come home and write, or perhaps share some of my writing with him (something I intend on doing, at some point – fair is fair).  This feeling of being inspired by someone else’s work is not new to me, but today, especially after a few weeks of a mild case of doldrums, it was just the push I needed.

There have been a string of creative people in my life who have, in their own way, lit the fire inside me.  I write because I need to, because it’s who I am.  They paint, sculpt, photograph, sing, dance, build, take down, or write like I do, simply because it’s who they are.  Every time I have the opportunity to interact with these guys and gals, I’m left feeling filled, almost overflowing, with energy to dive into my own stuff, and sort through the story lines, the plot, the character details that make up the work that I do.

In every case, I only hope to help inspire them too.  David confirmed that today, and agreed with me when I told him how I was feeling.   As far as I can see it, regardless of what is going on in the world around us, with it’s mass consumption, rush to the end, and lumbering sway into the smoky future, creative people need to know each other.  We need each other to spurn each other on, to inspire, to critique, and to push each other to do better, to get to the heart of the matter, or simply to express how we experience and bear witness to what surrounds us.

Each person, in their own way, has made my life brighter, deeper, fuller.  For that, I am and will always be, eternally grateful.

For some reason, unknown to me, the turning of the month has put me in a mood.  Not a bad one, but not a great one, either.  Pensive? Thoughtful? Inward-looking?  Maybe all of these things?  I know I’ve been doing a lot of introspection over the past few weeks as I’ve made a real change in my approach to relationships, friendships, and how I treat myself.  I’ve challenged myself to pull back, to stop the chase, and to just let myself inhabit my skin for a bit.

As I’ve slowed the pace of my life a bit, which is going on exactly when the rest of the world around me seems to be spinning faster as we approach the holidays at the end of the month, it’s as if I’m a bit lost.  I’m stuck in a space between the man I was and the man I’m hoping to become, and I’ve removed a lot of the distractions that hindered my ability to inhabit this space for a while.  Honestly, I knew it would be an uncomfortable spot in a lot of ways.  That said, it has also been wildly affirming, and a good experiment for myself.  I’ve started to take stock of what I am capable of, and what I want to bring into my life, especially in terms of creativity and work.  I know I can do better.

I know I’m capable of doing good things, and being a good person, with or without the validation from others that I tend to seek.  I’m not leaning on the eyes and ears of others to tell me I’m a worthy person.  I’m learning for myself what it truly takes to be a happier man in this life.

I don’t need the support of others, though I will always desire the companionship of friends, and potentially someone even closer.  Still, there is no rush.  There is no absolute need to be with someone right now.  I can take my time, work on myself, and put my own house to right on my own.  There is a laundry list of things I still need to accomplish before I feel like I’m at a place where I can give what I should to a relationship.  These things, ranging from taking better care of my body, to finding the job that brings a sense of purpose and fulfillment into my life, to simply being able to hold my head up a bit higher than I do now, are all on that list.  They are big things that will take time, and the art of patience (something I’m working on continuously).

I am anxious for the turn of the year.  I’m anxious for the winter solstice to arrive, and to celebrate the future.  Next year is going to be a good one for me.  I am optimistic.  I will get things in order in my life, and make some major moves, I’m sure.  If anything, I’m always up for an adventure, and I hope to be able to take many next year.  For now, as the night is longer than the day, and the snow is crunching under my feet tonight, I will make it through this darkness, and embrace whatever comes ahead.  I know, I know, that sounds cheese-ball, but it’s how I’m feeling.  This sullen state of mind is not permanent.

Besides, my beard is massive.  And that’s really all that matters.

This episode’s music:

• Safe By the Numbers by Vanbot
• Have You Ever by Brandi Carlisle
• Daylight by Funabashi
• The Devil Never Sleeps by Iron & Wine
• Pot of Gold by Juliet
• Shake it Out by Florence + the Machine
• What Sarah Said by Death Cab for Cutie
• Heartlines by Florence + The Machine

Last year around this time, I was hoping to get together and do an alternative feast for the holidays with some of my friends from the podcasting sphere I belong to, Pride48.  Of course, time and life and money all tend to occur and put up barricades to some of my best-laid plans, so in an attempt to square being 2000 miles away from my family, I simply made no plans for the holiday, and was going to be here, at home, reading a stack of books.

Turns out, I didn’t even crack one spine.  Those books are still piled up on my desk.

I got a text about a week ago from a friend of mine here who was curious what I was up to for Thanksgiving, as his partner (a nurse) had to work on Thanksgiving Day.  I replied that I had nothing planned, and from there, I was invited to join in a small feast with some of his friends here in Denver.  I was asked to make a vegetable dish, and successfully made a nice, light dish of green beans with sautéed almonds, which from what I gathered, everybody enjoyed.  I had so much fun preparing my little dish of food to share, but what really made the day was being around new friends, and making more in the process.

Yesterday began with a delicious breakfast and coffee while Sonny began making the dishes he was bringing to the feast.  He had the responsibility for a pie (sweet potato pie with pecan topping – something the angels would enjoy), his speciality mashed potatoes, along with cranberry sauce (also divine).  We hung out in the kitchen, talking, making the phone calls to family, and enjoying each other’s company.  We met up with his partner, Chad, and sat with him during his lunch at work.

The two of them, in my estimation, are one of the most adorable couples I’ve ever met, and between them there flows this amazing energy of affection, understanding, and true devotion that is rare to see, let alone palpably feel between to people.  They’ve been together for years, and their’s is a relationship to be celebrated.  I am enjoying getting to know both of them individually, but even more as a couple.

After lunch with Chad, we headed up to Uptown, another neighborhood in Denver, where I met a group of guys all gathered as holiday orphans to enjoy a really, really good feast.  I over-ate, as I’m prone do doing on Thanksgiving, had a little wine, and pie, and truly felt contented, but moreover, I caught myself taking a step outside of myself, and being SO THANKFUL for being where I am, and getting to know the fellows that I’ve made contact with since landing here in Denver.  These guys, all of them, have been gracious, welcoming, and make this solo act feel very at home here.  It serves as a reminder every time I catch up with any one of the guys I’ve met here that I have made a very, very good decision to be here now.  Denver is good for me at this space and time in my life.

After the feast, and after I got back to my apartment, I took a nap.  A full belly, a contented smile on my face, and my feather pillow was all I needed to fall fast asleep.  Still, my night wasn’t over.  I had been invited out to the Eagle here in Denver with another new friend of mine, Josh, to hang with him and some of his friends.  I caught up with him around nine, and off we went, picking up his friend David along the way.  It was a great night, hanging with another new batch of guys, playing darts, and just talking.  I got in last night around a quarter till two in the morning, and honestly couldn’t have been more pleased with my day.

Today, the fun continues, with yet another new friend here, too.  Jonah invited me over to join him in a day of holiday candy making.  He and I met a few weeks after I first landed here, and went out to a lovely brunch, where he reminded me to give myself time to settle in here, and have patience with the transition to a new place.  Since then, he also has taken me to my first professional hockey game at the Pepsi center.  He is an interesting guy, with a busy, crazy life, and has high energy.  I’m looking forward to spending the day with him in his kitchen, as it seems every time we catch up with each other, he’s in the middle of cooking or baking something.  Personally, I’ll be taking notes, as I’m finding I also enjoy cooking, what little I can manage to do, and see it as a good skill I should try to work on.

In all, this has been the best unscripted and unplanned holiday I’ve had.  No pressure, no strain, just a great moment in time with people I’m going to enjoy getting to know better.

I also was able to take some pretty good pictures, which I’ve posted over at my flickr page, which you can find here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/thominuk/

Have a view and let me know what you think! (Oh, the video wasn’t very steady-handed, so consider this a trigger warning for those of you who might get motion sickness easily)

Last weekend, I went on a really, really lovely date.  This gentleman and I made first contact on Scruff, the app I’ve written about before that connects guys of a certain type to guys of a certain type, both of which include a healthy body image that includes body hair and other masculine features.  He and I met up on Saturday before I went to work, at his request.  I discovered a nice little coffee shop that’s barely ten minutes walking distance from my house that’s locally owned and operated, and truth be told, far more inviting than any Starbucks I’ve been into in a very long time.  In fact, the owner of the place and I had a quick chat, as I told her I was new and didn’t even know this place was so close to my home.  She welcomed me with a large coffee and a warm invitation to return anytime.  That kind of service goes a long way in my book.

But, I digress.  Such are the workings of my mind.

I met up with Brian there, and after a few minutes of chat about work and living in Denver, we wandered around the Belmar area of Lakewood, where I live.  It’s a planned community, so it does have a bit of a Sim City feel to it, but beyond the “pretty” facades and well-appointed buildings, there is something here.  There’s a bit of a human feel that’s slowly adapting and changing the newness and concrete that the area is made of.  I can see it becoming something better, with time.  Still, my attention wasn’t really on my surroundings as much as it was on Brian.  Wandering around, we talked about so many things, from living over seas, to his job, to my aspirations, to politics.  In the end, it was about three hours of time that made me feel really glad that I had accepted his invitation.

Later on that day, as I was at the store working my butt off, Brian invited me to stop in after work for a fresh-baked cookie, glass of wine, and a movie enjoyed by a warm fire.  Of course, being a lover of all things comfortable and home-like, I accepted his invitation.  What started off as a shot-in-the-dark coffee date turned into a lovely evening by a fire in a cozy place next to a really, really nice guy.  I do hope to see him again soon.

When I left, though, I knew something had changed.  Something was different about the entire experience.  For the first time, in a long time, I was not the person instigating a meet-up.  I wasn’t the guy who was worried about making a good first impression.  I wasn’t the guy who was wondering if I met a number of ticks on a checklist.  For the first time, in a long time, I was simply a guest who was being treated like a guest should be.  With no expectations, and no specific pattern of behavior.

This comes after a string of dates that I’ve been on since coming here, where I’ve felt there has been some sort of expectation placed upon me to either perform a certain way, or entertain, or simply try to fit the mold that the other guy was seeking.  It’s no secret that I’m actively looking out for my next possible future boyfriend/partner/other in my life.  What I realized, sitting on Brian’s couch, with his two enormous cats purring and adorable dog asleep at my feet, was that perhaps I didn’t need to worry about all of that stuff so much.  Perhaps, just maybe, I’ve got qualities about myself that are valuable, and I don’t need to necessarily conform to someone else’s fantasy boyfriend mold.  I simply have to be myself, and breathe more.

Of course, being the writer that I am, this inspired over twenty pages of writing that I did on Sunday into Monday.  I chatted with a dear friend from Hawaii (my Wonder Twin), and he basically underlined everything I was thinking, and gave me props for coming to this realization, though it’s not the first time I’ve had a bit of this awakening.  I don’t need to be anything other than myself, and truly, I can put myself out there, but I don’t need to be so active in my search for a partner.  I simply need to be me, and if I happen to catch the eye of someone, I need to be perceptive enough to decide how this person could fit into my life, if the interaction even gets to that level.

As a newbie here in Denver, what I need are friends.  So far, I’ve met some pretty awesome people that I’d love to hang out with more often.  They range from the lovely couple who took me in when I first landed, to guys I’ve met via Scruff, to some of my coworkers that I’m getting to know over time.  Being social has never been a weakness for me, that’s for sure, and I know this will come in handy as I start to let my roots settle here for a while.  One of the best pieces of advice I got from a guy here was to give myself time, and not to pressurize the settling in process.  It will take precisely as much time as it needs to, and I have zero control over that.

I also need to just let go of my pursuit for a partner.  There are so many other things I need to work on first.  And I don’t need to conform to anyone else’s desires/needs/wishes just yet.  That sort of compromise comes later, if any relationship gets to that point in the first place.  Sure, it’s great to meet guys, to have fun, and to get to know them.  I’d be doing them a disservice, and let myself down, if I was anything other than myself.  Why it’s taken me this long to figure this out is beyond me.

I’ve been a chameleon/shape-shifter since I first stepped out of the closet.  I’ve been willing to mold myself to the expectations of the other in order to garner affection, acceptance, and validation.  I’ve been willing to give up far too much of myself to others in order to gain just a glint of favor in return.  This, according to my mom, is something I got from her, and it’s something she’s warned me about before.  Stubborn as I am, it’s finally started to sink in.  I don’t need to do any of those things in order to be loved or desired.  I simply need to be me. It’s up to me to be the best person I can be, for myself first, but for the others I interact with as well.  I deserve no less, and neither do they.

Truly, this is Teaching Thomas.

Below is my annotation of the latest book I’ve read for school called “Housekeeping” by Marilynne Robinson.  I loved the book and recommend it.  It is the perfect read for a cold autumn night.  If you get a chance, and happen to read it, I’d love to know your thoughts!

-T

Housekeeping 

by Marilynne Robinson

I have just put down perhaps the most disassociated book I’ve read in a long time.  The story has left a haunted, empty, rootless feeling inside me, like I’m floating on water that matches my body temperature, and I can’t feel it.  The narrator, the women in this book, and the presence of smoke and mirrors has left me feeling disoriented.  I rather like this feeling.

The story is set in a sleepy lumber town called Fingerbone.  Tragedy opens the story with the narrator, Ruthie, giving the details about her grandfather’s tragic death, and her mother’s suicide.  This puts a shadow of darkness over the story right from the start, and throughout the rest of the book, this mystery seems to crop up.  Ties to the lake, to the rail bridge that goes over the lake, and to the damp and dark woods that surround the town all pull at the fringes of the plot.

The narrator is a tall, gangly girl who is out of place in this town.  She keeps to herself, has no friends, and merely observes what goes on around her, with very limited engagement and interaction.  Her younger sister, Lucille, has more direction, and is more grounded than Ruthie.  Lucille delivers orders and makes decisions.  The two of them have had to live with a grandmother, then their doddering great-aunts, and finally their actual aunt Sylvie, who is both kind and recluse.  Lucille comes to realize that the life that she’s been leading is not like everyone else’s, and eventually she leaves the house to live with a teacher from school.  Ruthie and Sylvie, however, continue to live in the strangely-shaped house.

Eventually, the two of them are caught riding back into town on a train after an excursion into the wilderness, and fall under the eyes of the townspeople.  Because of Sylvie’s strange form of guardianship, and the disrepair she has allowed the house to fall into, the local townspeople become concerned with the welfare of Ruthie, and the sherriff calls a hearing to decide if Sylvie is fit enough to be a caregiver for Ruthie.  Rather than be split apart, the two of them leave town, believed to be dead, and remain wandering around on the trains that criss-cross the country.

What remains in me, as the story closed, was the sense of displacement.  The narrator is ethereal.  The dialogue in the story, such as it is, seems broken and jagged.  There are moments, especially when the girls are left in the care of two aged great-aunts, that I’m bemused by the back and forth between the aunts.  The author has created a conversation that has such a light fluidity as the old ladies piece together thoughts and bounce ideas off of each other.  Other moments, such as when Lucille is dictating the direction of the story, there is a pronounced anger that lies beneath her voice.  The emotions are palpable.  Dialogue that contains Sylvie also adds the missing elements to her character.  She is barely a capable caretaker of the girls, and when she does speak, often her reaction to a situation or a comment from either Lucille or Ruthie is not what the reader expects.  Sylvie’s character is strange.  She has eccentricities that come out not only in her actions, such as her hoarding tendencies, but how she speaks to the girls.  She treats them squarely and frankly, but also allows them freedom that is not what is expected.

Geography and location add to this mysterious quality of this story.  Tucked in a valley by a glacial lake, Fingerbone is a town that is barely hanging on.  It is a lumber town, and a whistlestop for the trains that roll through frequently.  These trains, and the bridge that goes over the lake, play a significant role in the story.  From the death of the grandfather by a massive train wreck that sent an entire passenger train to the bottom of the lake, to the flooding and snows that frequent the town – sometimes literally crushing houses and the lives of the people there – this place is barely inhabitable.

Still, with the guidance of Sylvie, and the eyes of Ruthie, the reader is able to see the magical qualities of this location.  The narrator describes the location in a way that is other-worldly.  When Sylvie takes Ruthie over the lake to a specific valley where a house has collapsed, she references the children that live in the woods.  Like some form of sprite or wood nymphs, these children are felt, but never seen.  Ruthie can sense them, and sense the presence of some thing or some one around her, but never sees them.  In this moment, Sylvie has left Ruthie to her own devices in the woods, and it’s this space in time that allows Ruthie to explore her own thoughts.

As a young man, I used to be like Ruthie, in that I would go to abandoned homes, or cellar holes where homesteads once stood, and wonder what life was like there before the home collapsed and rotted back into the ground.  Often, I would explore the grounds looking for remains of the life that was there before.  Broken old bottles, rusted cans, old nails, rotten wood, and sometimes bits of glass were all that remained in many of these old cellar holes.  Still, as a reader of this story, and one who has shared a similar experience to Ruthie, I understand where her head went.  I understand her imagination.  Perhaps this, in a way, is where I really connected with the story, even while I felt lost in it’s pages.

Dreamlike, dispossessed, and fluid, this is a book that adds credence to the power of good story-telling.  It took me, as a reader, out of my own sense of place and time and put me in a mildly uncomfortable place that seemed to be always shifting, always changing, much like the behavior of the characters themselves.

When I got to Denver, I truly had nothing but the clothes on my back, and whatever fit in my car.  I was fortunate enough to be able to transfer my job to a different location, but because I had taken a week off, and already lived on the precipice of check-to-check living, missing a week’s pay was a big pill to swallow.  Fortunately, I also have friends.

The couple I moved in with literally took me under their wings.  They fed me, gave me shelter, guided me around town.  I can’t thank them enough, and only hope that I can pay their generosity forward in my own life.  I spent a couple of weeks on their couch, taking up space in their living room, and started at my job at the mall near their home.  I didn’t need to drive, but only had to walk to work, which was good, as there was limited funds for fuel.  Still, I survived, and they made me as comfortable as possible while I went from 75mph to the pace of life as I started to settle.

Two weeks went by, putting me at half-way through the month, and I got my first paycheck from my new location.  It was very, very small – about enough to cover the move-in to the new place I share with a different couple now.  Still, it was a start.  During that period of time, I was solely focused on adjusting to work.  The pace at my new location was very different.  I would come home totally exhausted, and only had a bit of energy to tidy up, do a little writing, and catch my breath before going to bed.  I did manage to get out a couple of times, though, and found my local gay bars, which was a must for me, given my propensity to socializing at such establishments.  There will be further engagement with these locations in the future, but for now, at least I know where they are.  October 15th, I packed my things again, and moved my butt out to Lakewood, a suburb of Denver, just to the west of the city.

Where I live now is in an apartment complex, and though it was a bit off-putting at first, I’ve begun to settle in.  For all that it lacks, such as the quaint neighborhood feel of any place I’ve ever lived before, or local shops, or that feeling of closeness I’m used to in east-coast towns, it does offer a lot.  There’s a bunch of trails right near my house that I can go hiking or running on.  There is a couple of small bodies of water where I can go watch the birds and just take in the scenery.  Only a few minutes further out 6th Avenue and I’m in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, in Golden, Colorado.  It also offers a great escape from the city, though I can see the skyline from my balcony, and the sunrise over Denver every morning, and I’m only six miles from the heart of town.

I’m still lacking for modern creature comforts.  I need a bed.  I need a bureau.  I need a desk chair.  Still, I have had less and survived.  I’ve made do with cast-offs and hand-downs.  I know I will survive, and thrive, here.  In April, a dear old friend of mine is moving to be with me here, and I look forward to having her back in my life.  I have met some pretty awesome guys so far.  The ones I’ve met have been cordial, respectful, and truly good to be around.  I’ve not felt this welcome into a new city in a very long time.  Probably not since I moved to England, where everyone took me in under their wings if only to hear my accent and ask me questions about America, have I been treated this way.  To say it is refreshing is a massive understatement.

I’m still happy to be here.  I’m settling in, bit by bit, piece by piece.  Things are falling into order, in a way I probably couldn’t have planned.  My guts are still telling me I’ve made a good move.  The air and space here is good on me.  I can’t wait to see what happens over the next year here.  2012 will be very interesting, I think.

XX

Thom

Waking up, having breakfast with my roommates, and just relaxing this morning was just what I needed.  I was determined, however, to get out of the house today.  Fortunately, though it had snowed a couple of days ago, today’s weather has turned out to be rather lovely.  I took the opportunity to go for a walk in a park near my house, camera in tow.

You can see what I shot here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/thominuk/

Here are some samples:

I landed here in Denver on my thirty-fourth birthday, full of excitement, wide-eyed, and optimistic.  Now, twenty-five days on, some of that initial glisten has dulled, though not necessarily in a bad way, just a real way.

I have a really good job.  It pays well considering it’s in retail.  I work with some of the funniest, most endearing people I’ve met so far in my life.  Truly, going from one Apple store to another was easy for me because I knew the kind of people I would encounter.  Hard-working, quirky, and full of smiles, the group of guys and gals that make up my department make me smile, even when I’m at my wit’s end, as I have been for over a week now.  See, the thing is, stuff is just done differently.  Not wrong, and not without the same end-goal as I had in my last store, just differently.  For me, finding my rhythm, my pace, my place has been the greatest challenge.  I have a huge list of ideas which I think would improve my work environment, and thus help the entire store, but I don’t feel I know the right channels or the right way to go about presenting these ideas.  I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, and come like a bull in a china closet to break apart what has been working for them.  I have to remember I’m the outsider coming in.  I’m the new guy.  My place, so far, is on the periphery, learning.  Still, this has been nothing but frustration for me, and I need to find a way to deal with it.  I know there are some pretty awesome people I can interact with in a positive way about all of this – I just need to find the personal courage to put it out there, to say what’s on my mind, and trust the people I am sharing with.  Perhaps it’s just that – trust – which I’m still earning and gaining from them.

I also am living in a place that is still so foreign to me.  I live in an apartment complex six miles from work.  Honestly, it’s a really decent apartment, and once we get it furnished with more than a few pillows and some odd end tables, it will feel more like home.  A couch is on the way, and for me personally, I need a bed and a place that will hold my clothes.  These creature comforts are things I’ve taken for granted for a while, but now that I do not have them, I know what I’m missing.  Not to fear, I have a pad on the carpet and lots of comfy blankets, so I am sleeping in relative comfort every night, when I can sleep.  And I know that it’s only a matter of time and a few more paychecks before I can raise the level of comfort I am living in.  What I’m lacking, across the board, is patience.

I had a brief chat with Nathan this morning, who reminded me that even though I may lack patience, it’s because of my semi-impetuousness and willingness to take a leap of faith like I have repeatedly in my life which has given me the opportunity to see and experience more than a less brave person might.  Moving to England was his example – and it reminded me that yes, in fact, I did move to a foreign country for two years after only an 8-week notice.

My adventurous side comes at a cost, I’m learning.  I have a limited amount of patience for things, and would rather go and do and see than wait and watch from the sidelines until the perfect moment to take a leap or go off on an adventure.  Part of me gets a massive thrill when I go blindly forward into my life.  Part of me (the part I’m dealing with now) really appreciates having the things in my life that allow for the roots to be put down, and for a sense of permanence to take hold.  Not having those things around me – the furniture, the steady rhythm of bills and income, the familiar routine, the schedule – has put me in a state of anxiety that I’m only recognizing as of late.

A really good brunch with a fella I have met here in town last Sunday also underlined a few things for me too.  He, a transplant as well to Denver, told me that it was nearly a year before he felt like he was settled.  Fact is, I only barely had a year in Portland before I moved again, and truly, I never felt that attached to Portland.  I always knew it was temporary.  In that light, this town, this Denver move, is going to be the next real place of settlement for me, as I intend on being here for a while.  I could possibly make this place my home, depending on how my career pans out.  I do love it here, even if I’m too anxious to really take it all in right now.

Fortunately, I have outlets.  I have this blog.  I have my writing.  I have been journaling like a fiend, and it has helped.  I have been able to remind myself, in words, that I’m going to be okay, and that though right now things seem a bit dire, they will improve.  I am starting from literal scratch.  I am a man with a few clothes, a laptop, and ambition, and a little bit of charm.  Reminding myself of the positives has helped me get out of bed and go forward with my day. It’s also helped me get out of the house and meet some pretty amazing guys here.

I also, for better or worse, have my running.  Though the altitude has really put a stop to my extra-long ten-milers, this morning I managed four miles, and that made me happy.  I’m less than two miles away from reaching 200 miles run since the end of May.  For me, this is a massive accomplishment, and one I will celebrate once I step out in my sneakers again and make that goal.  Running, though, has a far deeper effect on me than simply mileage on my sneakers.  It’s a way for me to deal with the stress of being here and not being settled.  It’s a way for me to cope with the twinges of homesickness I seem to get at the most random of times.

I know I’m going to be okay.  I know I’m going to survive, and thrive here.  I have to remain good to my self, my mind, my body, and my spirit.  I need to watch the colors of the sun reflecting off the mountains that are literally in my back yard.  I need to take deep breaths of mountain air and remind myself that the discomfort and stress of today is only temporary.  I will write it all out, and someday have something to look back on and reflect upon.  It will serve as a reminder to myself how strong and brave I have the potential of being, even when things feel so swamped with anxiety and worry.

It’s super late, but not a work-night for me, so I thought I’d take the time and finally put together a little something about my trip west.  Here’s my latest video project:

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODvKxWS2-7s[/youtube]

This last weekend, I made my way to my first gay bar here in town, which was a pleasant experience.  I got the chance to chat with some locals and enjoy a little whiskey, and for the first time, let my guard down a bit.  I’ve been tense and nervous about being here, anxious to settle in, but truly, the guys here have been nothing short of gracious to me.  There’s a noticeable lack of too much ego, generally speaking, and a certain amount of grace and manners that really suits me.  At no point have I felt awkward, or out of place.  For me, this is a massively good sign.  Fitting in, in some manner, is vital, especially as I start to ground myself here for a while.

This week, I move into my new home out in Lakewood.  I’ve already done a bit of shopping online at IKEA, and will be able to outfit my room for under a grand, which is doable.  It’ll take some time, but I’ll get there.  I know I’m restarting from scratch, and as much as that can be full of anxiety, it’s also a chance to do it right.  I can be deliberate about what I decide to purchase.  I can take my time and not feel rushed.  As of now, it feels like I’m going to be here a while.  I am looking forward to having my own bed, my own dresser, and my own bathroom (first time ever!).

I am also looking forward to unpacking my car, and then taking Oliver out into the mountains around town.  Being in the city is great, but I’ve got to keep my rural roots happy too.  I expect in the near future to be posting tons of pictures of life around here beyond the urbanity of Denver.  It’s only a few miles out of town before you get into a very rural area of Colorado.  I can’t wait to go exploring!

With that, I’m going to try again at running.  Last time, I managed three miles before I felt like I was going to explode.  I’m shooting for a repeat performance today, but hopefully go a bit further.  Just a little.

-T

This morning I went up to the roof of the parking garage at the apartment where I’m temporarily staying, and to the west, the Rocky Mountains run the entire length of the horizon.  The sun, behind me, was just coming up over the eastern horizon, and as it did, it reflected back to my eyes one of the most majestic views I’ve seen in a long time.  The mountains, in majestic purple, were just breathtaking.  One in particular, Mt. Evans, has already become covered in snow.  Of course, my current camera does not have a powerful enough lens to capture this and share it with you all here (perhaps this one will), but take it from me, it is truly amazing.

These mountains are a key point of reference for me, especially as I get used to my new surroundings.  I traveled over to Lakewood yesterday, where I’ll be getting a new home with my friend Evan and his girlfriend Syd.  I knew I was headed in the right direction based on where the mountains were.  I’ve also become more and more at ease with navigating myself around this city, thanks to it’s smart grid design – something many east coast older cities do not have.  Avenues run east-west and streets run north-south, generally.  It makes sense.  For someone who often says go left, when he means right, this is just the kind of layout I can handle.  Last night, I took a five-mile stroll through a large part of the city, and much to my happiness, I never felt like I was lost.  It’s a comforting feeling, especially being so new here and so far away from the places I know, to at least have a good sense of direction.  At this point, any comforting feeling I can gather feels good.

I’m still settling in.  Today is my first day at my new store.  I’m nervous, but hopeful for a good day.  I will give it my all, and hope that I can impress the people I work with.

I also am going to put together a little something I created on my journey here.  Hopefully I’ll be able to share it with you all in the next few days.  Stay tuned!

I am fortunate, however, to have both my maternal and paternal grandmothers still in my life.  Unlike my maternal grandmother, I have a bit more distant relationship with my maternal grandmother.  She is a woman on the go, the space between us is purely logistical.  I never sit still, and neither does she, so the chances we do have to connect aren’t as frequent as perhaps would be ideal.  Still, as I realized today, there is a deep, seemingly wordless connection between myself and her.

I pulled into my maternal grandmother’s driveway after visiting the gravesite of her husband.  As I am getting geared up for this trip, a lot of my time has been spent trying to figure out why I am this way; why I simply can’t put down roots yet. Everyone else in my family, as far as I can tell, has settled, has found their spot, and has taken on the pace and timing that comes with routine and connection to a specific place and space.  I’m the odd-ball.  I don’t stay still.  I want to know where that road leads, or what’s beyond the distant mountains, or even over the sea.  Ever since I could drive, I’ve gone off on adventures that have led me to discover and explore the land and terrain that I live upon.

After just a few moments with my mother’s mom, I realized where I got this from.  She, like me, can’t stay in one spot.  Her raison d’être has been to go and see and do as much as she can, and enjoy the ride along the way.  Her and my grandfather took many epic journeys around the country aboard their Honda Goldwing motorcycle.  They used to tell of stories from when he was stationed overseas during World War II, and I would sit in rapt attention, hanging on every detail, and hoping someday that I too could travel like that.  Today, when I walked in, the first thing I said, after hello, was:

“Tell me what you know about Denver.  I know you’ve been there before.”

Sure enough, she had not only been there, but still remembered lots of spots to visit, and the feeling of traveling through the mountains just outside the city.  As she told me what she could recall, I saw her face light up and the memories flowed even more.  I must have been with her for about an hour and a half, and in that time, not once did she question my motives on moving.  In fact, the first thing she said when I broke the news of my movement there was how excited she was for me.  No questions, no worries, just sheer pleasure with the thought of me driving myself out there and seeing what there is to see.

This is my connection to her.  As much as I didn’t really ever have a proximally close relationship with her, I get it now, probably with more clarity than I ever have.

I understand this side of me a bit better.

I’m not doubting this move of mine.  I’m not doubting that I need this adventure.  I’m only anxious to start.

I’m anxious to take this journey, to see what I’ll see, to write it all down, to take pictures along the way, and to share this adventure with my followers here and across the internet.  This is not only an opportunity to spread my wings and fly a bit, but it’s also, hopefully, going to be a great opportunity to gain some perspective on who I am, on what I want, and to really push myself to becoming the man I’m intended to be.  That means finishing grad school.  That means returning to the classroom.  That means standing my ground, being strong enough and brave enough to stand up for myself, and to truly grow up.

I came to Maine to heal.  I came to Maine to restart.  There’s nothing quite like coming home to help one figure out where they went off track when they set off in the first place.  I’ve been able to really sift through a lot of the stuff that’s been circling around in me, from my past loves, to my childhood, to the things that I’ve been keeping under wraps out of fear or shame.  Most of it, if not all, has arisen in my thoughts, and even in my writing, during my time here.  My intent is to keep going further with this self-exploration.  I want to push myself harder, I want to flex my brain more, and to shed some of the past that I think has been holding me back.

I’m also hoping to meet some amazing people, both along the way, and once I arrive.  Though it is not my intention, I’m keeping the door open to just about anything in terms of relationships too.  I mean, why not?  One of my dear friends, my Wonder Twin, has reminded me time and time again to keep myself open to anything that is coming my way, and to stay aware of things around me.  He has been a font of support and trust over the last few months, and I’ve got to say, he’s continuously right on a lot of things.  As long as I keep my eyes open, as well as my heart and mind, the universe can teach me a lot.  This act of remaining aware is something I can do.

Today, I finish up here in Portland.  Tomorrow, it’s a drive north to spend some quality time with my family for a little bit, and then, if all goes as planned, I hit the road next Wednesday or Thursday.  My first stop is New York City to visit a friend, then it’s off to Chicago, and then, depending on time, I’ll either drop down to St. Louis for an overnight, or drive straight on through Nebraska to Denver.  That will be decided as I go.  Stay tuned here, or find me on Facebook (http://facebook.com/TeachingThomas) or on Twitter (c_corax77).  I plan to be sharing posts about the journey, taking PLENTY of pictures along the way, and reflecting on what I experience.

If your interested, I’d love the company along the way!

Each time I’ve had a bit of dark chocolate, I’ve learned to get past the bitter, and let the cocoa sit in my mouth for a moment or two.  Once this happens, I get that rush to the head of joy.  It’s similar to the rush I get from runner’s high.  It sends a tingle straight down my jawline, and an electricity courses through me.  Today, as I sit here in Tommy’s Park, next to my favorite coffee shop on a brisk, autumn morning, I’m reminded of bittersweet chocolate (thank you to my friends Kiko and Amanda for pointing this out).

I’m moving.  I’m leaving this comfortable, secure space that has been my home for just over a year, and I’m heading out on an adventure, similar to the one I made when I moved to England in 2006.  I’m packing light.  I realize I don’t own anything of real value, so the act of getting my stuff together will be easy – a few boxes, a suitcase or two, and maybe a bag of assorted stuff, which will all fit easily into my car.  It’s the intangible things, however, which I’m discovering are the heaviest items I bring with me.  Things I can’t physically carry, like friendships, like social connections, like my love of the sea, or the sound of the crows congregating outside my window in the morning, are all taking up more space in my car than I originally thought.  Today, this is becoming the bitter part.  The part I have a hard time adjusting to.

I know from prior experience that this will pass.  I know that things will settle down, and the sadness of leaving will be replaced with the joy of arrival.  I’m anticipating an adventure, and as most of you know, I am definitely always up for an adventure.  For now, I’m recognizing the bitter and the sweet.  I’m accepting that my departure is me putting myself in the hands of Fate, and going on instinct.  I’m okay with both of these facts.

I also know and recognize that there will come a day that I finally live in a place beyond a few years (or even just one).  I will find my home, I will settle, I will put down roots.  These are the affirmations I tell myself, and constantly seek.  Just like I will one day own a dog, and will one day have my own little spot to plant a garden, I will stop my migration.  I will stop my search.  This will be the ultimate sweetness, and send that familiar tingle down my jaw again.  It is that feeling, that sense of electrification, that I will know when I’ve found a home.

I shot him a quick hello and welcome to Maine, and didn’t expect a reply at 4:00 am.  Turns out, he was awake.  We had a great little chat.  In the process of the conversation, I thanked him for his work with the app I’ve grown to appreciate, and I told him about an essay I had written recently that included Scruff as part of the topic of discussion.  I have only shared this with a few people, but under his suggestion, I’ve decided to put it up here on my blog.  I’m curious to get reaction from you all, my faithful blog readers, and perhaps get your thoughts.  Do you use these apps? Have they been frustrating or helpful in making connections?  When do you sign in?  Are you honest about your profile?

Have a read, and let me know what you think.

Thanks!

Connectivity

(August 30, 2011)

I’ve been single now for over a year.  In that time, I’ve moved from the small metropolis of Boston, Massachusetts to the seaside town of Portland, Maine, and in doing so, shrank the community of gay men that I know by a large percentage.  Instead of seeing new faces every time I went out to the bars that cater to our crowd, I now have a regular bunch of guys that I see at the same bar.  There’s a sense of close-quarters here in the small town I’m currently living in, and with that comes a bit of claustrophobia, especially as a single guy.  Thankfully, however, I also am the owner and user of a smartphone, specifically the iPhone.  This is not a piece about the power of the technology that is the iPhone – I’ll leave that to the geeks and nerds I work with and adore, and the websites and blogs they worship and follow.  What this device has provided me, however, is access to a much larger phenomenon.  On my phone, and in my pocket for the last year has been a community of gay men from all over the globe.  Because of the GPS, the internet data capability, and the camera that these phones are equipped with, I can connect with gay men in a way that I never thought possible when I first took my baby steps out of the closet.

Today, as my eyes opened and I made the decision to lounge for a moment longer, or actually get my butt up out of bed and do something useful, I reached for my phone.  Like every other morning since owning this device, I have a list of applications that I check.  First, it’s my e-mail and text messages.  Next, it’s Facebook and Twitter.  Then, especially over the last year, it’s two applications that get my tap: Scruff and Grindr.  These applications, in ways I never thought possible, have had a serious impact on my life.  As a man tied into technology and the power of the internet, when I do unplug and take a step back from it all, the ways that these applications, affectionately known as ‘apps,’ have shaped the directions I’ve taken and the people I’ve had the opportunity to interact with takes my breath away.

My first foray into using my phone as a social device was through Grindr.  This app, available in a ‘lite’ version for free on the iTunes App Store, allows users to upload a picture, give themselves a screen name, write a short bio line, and post a few stats about themselves.  This harkens back, for me, to the days of AOL m4m chat rooms that were my first gander into the gay world.  Because anyone can steal a photo from the internet, and lie about what they really look like, I’ve learned to take everything put in front of me as attractive, sexy, or even a potential coffee date, with a bit of a reality check.  What this app provides, like others, is a chat feature.  I can send a guy who I find visually attractive a note (or a missive proclaiming my undying love, if I choose), and if he’s not logged in, he will get my message when next he signs in.  I can choose to interact with guys who are logged in, as indicated by the little green dot, the universal sign for GO, and, if he’s intrigued by what I say, or by the picture and stats I have posted, the conversation can begin.  Otherwise, he can choose to ignore my witty banter and not reply, or, if I’ve been egregiously over-affectionate (read: weird), he can simply block me from ever seeing his profile again.

The same goes for the app Scruff.  This app, however, has been designed with the more hirsute of the gay male population in mind, and has become the one I prefer.  Here, I can let my inner bear out of his cave.  The men that appear on my phone are there with a shared interest in mind: body hair.  This app, unlike its step-sister Grindr, has four windows that one can interact with.  The first, and probably my favorite one, is the Global view.  This app, also free on the App Store, goes far beyond the geographic distance of the free version of Grindr.  Without dropping one red cent into Apple’s coffers, I have instant access to a hundred men from all over the globe who, in one way or another, are drawn to or have an affinity for the furry fellas, like myself.  Smartly organized by distance away from my location (with location services turned on, of course), I can interact with men from as close as a few feet to tens of thousands of miles away, in descending order on my screen.  I mean, sometimes I want to stay close to home, sometimes I want to talk to someone in Australia and see how their winter is going while I’m lounging in the summer sun of the northern hemisphere.  This app gives me that option.

The next window available to me as a free user is the Local tab.  This shows me a bit closer to home, many of whom are also users of Grindr, especially up here in the far reaches of the northeast.  It’s here, though, on the app for the fur balls, that some of them choose to reveal that side of themselves (more on this later).  The next tab is Favorites, where the men I have given the thumbs-up to and want to continue our discussion later reside.  Because of the volume of men using the app, it’s become increasingly important to use this feature, for me, as the chatter and messaging have limitations on the free version, and over time, the ones I talked with a month or so ago tend to literally fall off the next screen, Messages.  On the free version, there is only space for a few of the recent guys I’ve chatted with, and like text messages, sometimes a reply isn’t convenient, or able to be completed due to real-life interferences (you know – work, family, bills, no connectivity, etc).

As chat rooms and message boards before them functioned, the user can create an alternate reality for themselves and post pictures of the guy they want to be, complete with stats, profile and location information, and any other number of things to suit their fancy.  Alternatively, and thankfully what has been my experience thus far, one can also be as open and honest about who they are and what they look like as possible.  Sure, maybe like me, you don’t put up a full-body shot of yourself as a profile picture, but certainly more and more men are posting head-shots.  The trick, however, is in the details.  Some prefer to share specific positions in the bedroom and want everyone to know this.  Some have more subtle details, such as their activities and interests, or simply how tall they prefer their partner to be.  Some are already partnered and are looking for a friend (or a third) to chat with. Overall, each man is looking to make a connection to another man, on any number of levels, outside of the real-world they inhabit.  Bridging the two worlds is just an option.

These apps, and the power of connectivity they assume, all speak to familiar bases among the gay population.  First, and most evident, is the visual attractiveness factor.  Men with suggestive and sexy profile pictures get the most attention, just as the boys dancing on stage at the clubs or the beefy muscle bear leaning against the wall at the bar might on any given Friday night out.  To get a hit, to make a connection, it’s imperative it seems to put your best feature forward.  Though there is a lot of commentary to be made about the right-or-wrong aspects of being this kind of judgmental, it’s a fact of life in the dating scene.  We are inherently attracted to the most attractive people.  Our standards and measures of what we find attractive, however, differ from individual to individual, and thankfully, on these apps, there seems to be an ever-growing range of possibilities.  Part of me feels shallow and empty when I catch myself poking the picture of a good looking fella simply because I find the picture he chose to post sexy or intriguing.  Part of me has to accept that this is just me being a human.  Again, thanking the ability to message the guys I find most appealing, it’s easy to filter out those who are a bit too vainglorious for my taste from those with a spark and connectivity possibility that goes beyond the visual element, usually discovered in the first few moments of interaction.  This, to me, is very much like the club and bar scene, which in a way justifies the feeling of shallowness I tend to get as a user of these apps.

For me, both Grindr and Scruff have served very interesting purposes.  Upon signing into Grindr, I happened upon a guy who I found to be rather attractive.  With a few first messages, suddenly I found myself engaged in a conversation about music and photography.  Over the span of a few days, my partner at the time and myself were invited to this guys house to enjoy a post-Thanksgiving get-together he was hosting.  This, for me, turned into a conversation about the possibility of going back to graduate school and earning my MFA in creative writing.  Growing from this connection I’ve made on this silly little app on my phone, I am currently enrolled in a really phenomenal program, earning an advanced degree in an area of my life that I’ve never really taken that seriously until now.  This connection was, and still is, all thanks to an app on my phone.

Today, in fact, while chatting with a man from England on Scruff, I learned that he is a professional opera singer, and he, with his glorious tenor voice, sent me a rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” after I discussed my desire to learn piano, and his comment that I could play accompaniment to his voice, to which I responded “only if twinkle twinkle little star is in your repertoire.” Turns out, it is!  I’ve also chatted with photographers, writers, dancers, other singers, artists, cowboys, construction workers, financiers, contractors, check-out clerks, waiters, and a whole host of gay men from around the block and around the world.  These apps, particularly Scruff, have profoundly broadened my reach into the gay community in rather particularly amazing ways.

After my former partner and I split, I was reticent to dip back into the dating pool.  I simply wasn’t ready for any further interaction with anyone on any level for a measure of time.  Still, I had the power of an iPhone in my hand, and even though I didn’t want to make physical contact with anyone, I still wanted to talk out my situation.  I still needed the social network that I had built over time on these apps.  Moving to a new location, and feeling a bit in the spotlight as the new guy at the small-town gay bar, being able to continue the conversations I had begun before moving eased the transition I made to my new life up the coast.  I eventually grew more comfortable with the local scene here in Portland, and though the apps still existed on my phone, I slowed up on my use of them.  For a time, I wasn’t busy checking them, and had in fact removed them from the device.  I was focusing on making local connections with guys I could easily meet for coffee or brunch at a moment’s notice.  Time, and the reality of small-town life, however, brought me back to the apps, especially Scruff, with its global reach.  I discovered Grindr, without paying for the extra possibilities, was very limiting up here.  It is better for me to just simply go out for a walk through town and meet the guys I see on there in person than to bother chatting with them on the app.  I started to turn to Scruff to talk to men beyond my geographical location.

Because of the nature of Scruff, and the general tenor of the men who use it, I have also developed a stronger sense of self, especially in terms of body image.  I’m hirsute by genetics.  For years, I fought against the outcropping of yet more body hair in places that, for the longest time, I never thought it should exist.  This negative outlook towards the follicles in my skin was only enhanced by the pictures of gay men portrayed in magazines, in advertisements, and things directly marketed towards me and this subset of the population I belong to.  Being furry was not attractive, for the most part, or if you were furry, you needed to also compensate for this by being overly muscular and aggressive looking, neither of which I am.  This stereotype, I found, was echoed among the other gay men I interacted with, as well.  For most of my life, especially out of the closet, conversations about body hair often circled around waxing, shaving, trimming, or any other method of hair removal.  Not once was it made apparent to me that being hirsute could be an attractive quality, and, in fact, there was a whole world of other men who not only appreciated a guy with fur, but actively sought them out.  With Scruff, and for the first time in my life, I found a world of guys who I could not only connect with on a mental level, but who also allowed me to feel more comfortable in the skin I inhabit.  When I do make the leap from virtual to real, it’s already understood that I won’t be asked to shave any part of me, or have a joke about wearing a sweater year round thrown in my face.  For me, on a deep and personal level, this has added a huge amount of value to my life, and has fostered a better, more healthy relationship to my physical body than perhaps I’ve ever had, which carries over well when the physical connection and face-to-face meet up occurs.  I am more confident, and by extension, potentially more attractive.

Perhaps the strongest, and most convincing argument for the use of these apps, and especially Scruff in my case, is the way that I can connect with guys who live beyond my geographical area.  I may not have made many connections to the guys here in Portland, Maine, but I have been able to connect and get to know guys from many other parts of the country and the world.  I have been able to share more of myself, and in turn receive compliments and kind words, along with support and virtual shoulders to lean on from guys I would have never had the chance to meet only a few short years ago.  Living up here in the sticks of Maine doesn’t seem so isolating when all I have to do is reach in my pocket and send a quick message to one of the guys I’ve developed a conversation with, who may even live thousands of miles away.  Out there, through these apps, there exists a voice of support or a simple cheeky comment that can make me smile.  This technology has pushed not only the boundaries of geography, but the boundaries of acceptance and bravery in myself.  No longer do I need to rely on the reaction I get from the men around me to know whether or not I fit in, or am part of the local community here.  I simply do not have to be part of it at all.  The virtual community I belong to, in many ways, can be just as supportive and just as fulfilling, as the group of guys I run into at my local gay bar, and sometimes more so.

Over this summer, and at the right time for me personally, I made a connection with a guy who lived a few hundred miles away.  What started as a quick banter back and forth on the app jumped to text messages on the phone.  This process of making the transition from within the app to swapping phone numbers and being able to communicate via SMS, MMS (and voice, when feeling particularly brave or connected) has turned into another interesting stage in the dating process.  It takes a certain level of confidence and honesty that has to begin upon initiating the conversation.  Simply sending my phone number to a guy in the app means I’ve reached a level of approval and connectivity with him that indicates my interest in him.  I definitely don’t give out my number to just anyone either.  It has, in it’s own way, become a filtering method of the countless guys that I find interesting or who have expressed an interest in me.  The connection I made with the fellow to whom I gave my number was very engaging. We met a few times, and for a month or so, I was totally smitten with him.  Distance, however, proved to be a challenge, and we reached a point where it was untenable to maintain a physical relationship beyond friendship and camaraderie online (and still do to this day), but it was through the app and learning how to gauge when to take it outside of the app and to the next level, that the power of connection revealed itself to me.  Making the leap from virtual to reality is crucial, and, for me going forward as a single man, was something I needed to become more adept at doing, especially in this day and age of the smartphone.

These apps will not replace the actual meeting of a person face to face.  They will not, like the chat rooms, message boards, or even the dating phone lines before them, take the place of the non-verbal, non-visual, pheromone, and intangible chemistry that forms when two guys meet up in person.  They may tap into a bit of the gut-reaction factor when the conversation extends beyond a few lines and maybe a picture swap, but they simply can’t remove the human factor from standing a few inches away from the next-future-possible partner in my life.  As a man of the twenty-first century, though, they provide another platform to start from.  They can provide, when used with integrity, a means to meet an entire world of men that I never would ever have the chance to meet otherwise.  Suddenly, and like never before, I can connect to the population of men who think and exist on a similar plane as myself. Being able to bounce between a chat with a fellow from Down Under, to the guy living in the next building that I never seem to meet, the social dynamics of the gay community have been altered by the presence of these apps for me, and for many of us.  It will be interesting to see and experience the further connections I can make using these apps as I go forward.

Geographical, physical location, for me, seems almost arbitrary.  I can live just about anywhere (and, given my track record, I nearly have).  As long as I’m connected to the internet, I can interact with everyone I care about through social media.  I can comment on a blog from Boston while sipping tea in Tokyo.  I can reach out and wish a good friend a happy birthday in Maine while I’m sitting at a rest stop in Oklahoma having lunch on the prairie.  I can be in the middle of the sea, and make a connection to a fella half-way around the globe.  Geographical location has lost a lot of its power.  The only real issue now, at least, is time zone changes.

I’m moving at the end of this month.  I’m packing up my things and I’m moving west.  If this were twenty years ago, that would constitute falling of the edge of the world.  It would mean going where nobody knows me, nobody has ever seen me, and I could start from complete scratch and build a new life.  Today, though, with the power of the internet in our pockets, I’m connected to people back here in Maine, as well as people who don’t even live on this continent.  I’m able to make contacts and chat with people from where I’ll be moving.  I’m able to house hunt, job hunt, even shop and have things delivered to a location there that I don’t even reside in yet.  I’m virtually there.  My physical presence simply has to catch up.

It is with this in mind that I’m realizing I’m not that nervous about the actual move westward.  I can do what I’m doing now in a Mountain Time city and not much will change, except the name of my podcast (At Water’s Edge might become In the Mountain’s Valley, or something to that effect).  What will happen, though, when I unplug for a while from the ‘net, and go out and explore my physical territory, then I’ll feel like I’m removed.  Then, a sense of place will hit me.  Still, I can do that in measured increments.  I can control how much space and place to incorporate into my life.  What exists, and is only malleable if I let it be so, is this virtual space I inhabit.  Right here, online.

The only real counter-balance to this is the physical contact received from the ones I care for.  As much as it feels great to get a wall full of birthday wishes on Facebook, it doesn’t compare to a hug and a smile from a friend or loved one, in person, and in the flesh.  For me, that might be the thing I miss the most when I do move.  But that’s only a physical thing.  It’s not as powerful in my life as it once was.  Or, at least for now, it isn’t something I linger over.

A Year Ago

A few days ago.

Maybe it’s just me who sees it, but when I look at pictures of me from before I started running, I see a sad, lonely fella.  Today, my body and my eyes reflect a lot more spark, a lot more vitality than before.  Or, at least, that’s how I see it.  I feel more alive, more in tune with my body, more energized, more aware, and definitely better looking.

Back then, I was just getting the feel for the ground beneath my feet again.  Now, I relish the idea of feeling the ground move below me.

There is an element of vanity to running, or to any exercise, for that matter.  In the end, it will make us look better, and appear more attractive.  This comes from both external visual cues, but also from the boosting of confidence, of self-worth, of self-pride and all the rest that comes from a workout well done.  For me, confident men are easy to spot, and will easily steal my heart every time.  If you carry yourself with your head held high, and walk in a manner that is matter-of-fact, and simply feel good in the skin you’re in, I am sure to notice.  I strive to be one of those guys.

The running has helped me enormously with all of this.

I will continue to put the miles beneath me for as long as I can.

Right now, motions are underway to relocate myself to Denver, Colorado.

Yes, Rocky Mountain High, Colorado.

My roommates have pretty much finalized on a condominium here in Portland, and are shooting for October 1 as their closing date (and hopefully moving date, if all goes as planned for them).  I am very happy for the both of them, as they are an adorable couple who are moving up in the world together.  They have been nothing short of gracious, kind, and giving to me in the time that I have lived with them.  It’s been a great place to call home for a while.

I had an inkling that my stay up here in Maine would be short-lived, so the idea of moving on from Portland is not a shock to me.  Now, just over a year after coming here to sort my stuff out, to gather myself back together, I am making plans to move on.  Personally, it couldn’t feel better. I’ve done a lot of personal growth and development over the last year, and I don’t think I could have done it in a better place than where I have lived.  Being by the sea, being around familiar people, in a familiar land, has been soothing and restorative in a way I wasn’t really expecting when I moved back to Maine last fall.

The other day, as I was festering over what I was going to do about my living/working situation after October 1, I decided to put out words across the internet via Facebook.  I mean, I have a lot of connections to other on there, so as long as I was willing to open up and put my needs out there, it could prove to be useful.  Again.  Mind you, I actually caught wind of the place I live right now via Facebook connections, so it wouldn’t’ be the first time that social website has actually earned it’s keep in my online life.  This is what I put up:

In a mere matter of a few hours, I had three people respond, one of them being a grad-school classmate and former member of my advising group.  He currently lives in Denver, and is looking to get out from his sister’s house and get into a place of his own.  Of course, this is much easier to do with a roommate.  He and I have become fast friends via school, and I personally owe him a huge debt of gratitude for reassuring me last semester when I thought my long critical paper was going to eat my soul.  Living with him could be very engaging, very electrifying, and hopefully help feed the creative monster inside me.  This guy has always pushed back on what I’ve said in ways that are thoughtful and insightful.  I could sorely use this more often, especially as I go about preparing my final manuscript.

Just to be clear, I’m not moving for a guy, as many have asked me so far.  I’m not moving for any tangible purpose other than a change of scenery, and for the experience.  I’m interested in living with another writer, and maybe having a chance to examine things in my life from outside of the geography of my childhood.  I am a rambling man, and as much as I want a place to call home, and I want to put down my roots, I still have a bit of wanderlust in me, and still need to figure out what home might look like.  I have an idea right now, but I haven’t really seen any other options.  Maybe a year in Denver will help?  Maybe I’ll like it so much out there, and be successful there, that I can stay.  Maybe it’s a stopover on my way to the west coast?  Maybe it’s simply a year in my life spent at a higher altitude.  I don’t know.  What I do know for certain is that the idea of moving there has me very excited.

I have applied for a position at the Apple store in downtown Denver, and have the approval of my store leader here.  I’ve forwarded all of the information and paperwork that he needed.  Now, there needs to be a phone call between the store leader there and my store leader here.  I don’t know what the next step after that will be, but hopefully this can be accomplished in the next few days so I can start to really plan accordingly.  Fact is, if Denver is a no-go, as disappointed as I might be at first, I do have other options.  There are Apple stores all over the place who are actively seeking a person with my training.  I have friends all over the US, thanks to the power of the internet and my grad school.  And, if it all falls apart, getting a place here in Portland, Maine, is still a viable option.  I don’t hate it here.  I’m just ready to move onward.

None of this, however, is set in stone yet.  It’s just a possibility at the moment, as much as I’d like it to be finalized.  Keep your eyes on this space over the next days and weeks.  It could get very interesting!

The weather today could not have been more perfect if it tried.  Partly sunny, breezy, low seventies, zero humidity.  I was out on the breakwater, walking out to the lighthouse at the end, and got a chance to look back towards mainland, and could see from the Camden hills all the way to Owl’s Head Light.  Big, puffy clouds with brilliant white tops and rich grey underbellies raced out overhead towards the islands and sea that lay behind me.  The wind got stronger the further out on the breakwater I went, walking by a lot of fishermen, tourists, and people just out enjoying the day.  I knew, simply by the weather and the way the wind blew, that I had made the right decision to make the trek.  And, Oliver ran like a champ!  He needs new tires, that’s for certain, but we cruised on up Route One brilliantly.

Thing is, this friend of mine has been someone I’ve turned to a few times for a little bit of perspective.  Each time I’ve seen him, and we’ve had a chance to interact, he’s always showing me a thing or two about the way life should, or even could, be.  His is an honest life of work, home, and living fully, even in a very small town on the coast of Maine.  His isn’t a life of solitude, either, as one would imagine it could be for a gay man in mid-coast Maine.  He’s gregarious, and has some pretty good friends up there too, from a lot of stripes of life.  It’s not the gayest town ever, but it certainly seems to be friendly enough.

The reason I mention all of this is because, in some way, I’m at a bit of a crossroads.  My time here in Portland is about to get really shaken up, as my roommates are moving out rather soon.  I will need to find a new place to live before the holidays.  I’m torn between trying to find a place here in Portland, moving to a completely new city, or perhaps, and just maybe, moving to a small town further up the coast.  Part of me is desperately social, and feels like he needs the volume of options that comes with living in a city.  Part of me, however, craves the peace and solitude that small-town life can provide.  So long as I have a car, or at least means to get out of the town when I need to, I could easily live in a little community.  I just don’t know which way to fall here.  I don’t know what would be the right decision.  For now, I’ll keep thinking about it, and seeing what comes of the next few weeks, but truly, something’s got to happen.  I just wish I knew what that was.  Talking to my friend today added a lot of good perspective on a viable option or alternative to what I’m used to.

I had a bit of a moment in the car today, too.  Cruising up the highway, one of my favorite songs came up in the mix I made.  It took me by surprise, and I started to smile, and cry at the same time.  Tears of joy.  Tears of release.  I don’t know where they came from, or why it happened, but it really, really took my breath away.  I know things are going to get better with each passing day.  Something strange, something beautiful, something completely unique.  I can feel it coming.

This Episode’s Music:

• Northern Wind by City and Colour
• If It’s Love by ATB
• Open The Door by Betty Carter
• Lowdown by Boz Scaggs
• I Love My Man by Bent
• Heaven’s No Place by Horse Feathers
• Gabriel by Lamb
• O’Sister by City and Colour

It wasn’t at all how I expected it to be.  In a good way.

I hopped on a bus Tuesday morning.  The sun was brilliantly and unexpectedly shining, so I was glad I brought my camera.  I had nothing really scripted for the day, other than hoping to make contact with some of my old friends from the city.  On my way down, I watched a silly film on the bus, “Gnomeo and Juliet,” and was rather contented to be digitally entertained.  Upon getting into South Station, I ventured out, smiling, and with a destination in mind.

I wanted to meet up with Nathaniel at his place of employment.  We’d been arranging a meet-up for a little while, and I knew he worked a ton of hours, so I figured that’d be the best place to go.  Turns out, I was also craving coffee, and as he works at a cafe, this was a complete win all around.  I saw him, we smiled, and after a massive hug, I got my coffee and bagel and we chatted a bit.  He’s doing really well, and we are able to talk about things without any awkwardness or strange vibes between us.  It’s a good, solid circle of completion that feels really good, both inside and out.  I’m happy he’s doing well, and by all accounts, he’s happy I’m doing well, too.  Having been over a year since we split, it’s clear to me now that both time and distance have served us well.

After coffee, I set off to wander around the city with my camera in hand.  I made it as far as the Reflecting Pool at the Christian Science Center when I got the idea to text another friend who didn’t work that far away, and see when he was doing lunch.  James, and our mutual friend Sean, were taking lunch at noon, and after a brief ride on the Green Line, I was soon joining them for lunch and getting caught up.  Sean has recently returned from ten months spent in Berlin, and I haven’t seen James in a number of months (nearly a year), so to see them both was heartwarming.  They both looked good, and as we bantered over wrap sandwiches in the sun, it occurred to me that I missed them tremendously.  In fact, as the sun beat down on us, and the rush of people going up and down the street whirred behind us, it also occurred to me that I miss the city more than I anticipated.

Later that afternoon, I caught up with my friend Rob who runs BosGuy Blog, and is a follower on Twitter, and he treated me to coffee at the South End Buttery.  It was excellent to see him as well, and we talked tech and blogging and living in Boston for a couple of hours.  He and his partner are adorable, and I’m very pleased to know them both.

Around seven, I met back up with Sean and James and a host of other guys that I once knew in the city at Tremont 647 for $2 taco night.  The food wasn’t as good as I remembered it to be, but the socializing was wonderful.  What once was a staple in my social life, having fun with the boys of Boston, has now become somewhat of a rare occurrence, and it was there, sitting around that little table with the wobble over fish tacos and a plate of nachos that I again got that feeling that I was missing something by living so far away.  Granted, Portland is a quick and easy distance from Boston, but to get down there is an effort.  To find a place to stay is an effort.  To enjoy the city takes time, and often I’ve only got a day or two to enjoy it.  Living there is different.

What really has me thinking, though, is how much I really have put down the idea of returning to that city, or any city for that matter.  I’ve been very quick, since moving up here, to dismiss the idea of city life again for me.  I’ve been sticking to my guns about being a boy from the sticks, and feeling comfy in a more natural setting.  Truth is, I am.  I am a boy from the sticks and I am always going to be more comfortable in a natural setting.

But I miss the social life of the city.  I miss having opportunity to do whatever I want practically whenever I want.  I miss catching up with a friend over lunch, or hopping a subway to another part of town just to have a cup of coffee.  I miss the Boston Public Library with all of its tomes of literature and history.  I miss the adorable pedi-cab drivers (that I swear could double as A&F models).  I miss people watching in Copley Square or while sharing a cup of coffee with a friend.

I think the bit thing for me was getting time and space away from Nathaniel after we split.  That’s why I fled Boston, and convinced myself that I had to leave in the first place.  I did need that space.  I did need the time to heal.  Now, though, with that reality morphing into something better, something more peaceful, and me feeling more secure about myself and who I am, I think I am really ready for somewhere other than where I am right now.

Granted, I don’t want to move tomorrow.  I’ve still got things to do while I’m here, and there are still things I need to finish here before launching forth into a new life.  Still, I know I’m ready to go.  I know I’m ready for something other than here.  I want my next move to be a long-term commitment to one place.  Upwards of five to seven years.  Maybe longer.  I want it to be a Big Deal.  I want it to become my home.

Yesterday, I went for another run.  This time, however, I went a lot further than I had intended.  Generally, I stop after about 10k.  That’s usually long enough for me to feel like I’ve accomplished something, and I can do it in about an hour or so.  I did 10 miles, or a little less than four miles more than normal.  It may not sound like much, but given the way my hips, knees, ankles, and feet feel right now, it was certainly a work out.

There is a reason I do this to myself.  Sure, there’s the physical aspect of getting into shape and toning up a bit.  Over the past two months I’ve dropped three inches off my waist, and every now and again, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I’m happier with what I see there.  For me, though, it’s not about the physical.  For me, as I have said in the past, running has become more of a meditation for me.  It’s a way for me to slip out of my current consciousness and into someplace else.  Today, unlike most days, I was really paying attention to what my body was feeling as I ran.  I got what is typically called ‘runner’s high’ while out there – a sudden warm tingle that courses through my body and gives me a sudden boost of energy and focus – and as a side effect, causes me to smile.  I think it’s adrenaline or dopamine being released into the body.  It’s documented out there on the web somewhere.  It happens every time I run, but today, for some reason, it felt different.  It was more intense, more consistent, and lasted longer than it ever has in the past.  This is why instead of the usual 6.2 miles I run, I went further.

It is a release.  It is a coping mechanism.  It is addictive, in a way.  What the human body is capable of doing, and achieving, is pretty amazing.  For me, this means being able to run ten miles without stopping.  For others, it could be anything from scaling a sheer rock wall, to diving deep into the ocean, to simply standing on two feet.  Why I run is to see where my limits are.  I also do it to push myself, to let myself go, and to engage in my person in a way that is unlike any other.

I highly recommend some form of physical activity for everyone.  It truly does a body and mind a world of good.

This island is the end of the road for Route 24, running out of Brunswick, Maine, and down a long neck of land that stick into Casco Bay. You travel from Brunswick to Great Island, onto Orr’s Island, and finally to Bailey Island, where at the end exists a gift shop aptly named Land’s End Gift Shop. No, it doesn’t sell clothing for those who enjoy the outdoor lifestyle. Rather, it’s full of kitsch. LOTS AND LOTS of kitsch. It’s an Emporium of All Things Tourist with regards to Maine. The shop itself, however, was not our destination, but rather a stop along the way.

First, we pulled into a spot in Brunswick hoping to catch a pipe organ concert, but when we realized we’d misread the sign, we hopped back into his convertible and continued down the isthmus to the islands. We stopped for lunch at Cook’s Restaurant, and enjoyed some appetizers on what was truly the most quintessential Maine summer day I’ve experience in a very long time. On either side of us was water, with the fjord-like stretch of water between Bailey and South Harpswell full of buoys, day-sailors, and sea kayakers out enjoy the day. There was a gentle breeze off the water as the tide was at its fullest, and the sky was totally absent of clouds. Honestly, it couldn’t’ have been more perfect of a day if I’d tried.

After lunch, we drove to Land’s End, and then on the way back, I took Jerry to one of my most sacred places, the Giant’s Stairs. This is a basalt rock formation that has taken on the shape of a set of stone stairs that lead into the sea on the windward side of the island. For me, this spot has a very, very special place, and will always be where I go, or dream of going, when I need a bit of space and time to clear my head and ruminate over my thoughts. We only stayed for a brief few minutes because we were illegally parked, and both a little tired, but still, it was really good to get a chance to visit, and to share this place with someone.

Going to Bailey Island was full of memories and a bit of a time warp for me. As a child, my family had a summer place down there, along the water, and nearly every 4th of July was when we would all go down as a clan, and enjoy the long weekend away from the heat of south central Maine. For days, I would search for starfish and crabs, flip over rocks, watch barnacles, snails, and fish. I would walk along the intertidal zone, lost in my own thoughts. It was such treat to get down there and get away from home. Going back now, and seeing the place where my family used to congregate, and to drive over the cribstone bridge that links Bailey’s to the rest of Maine, I was transported back to my younger days. I still wish and hope that someday I will have the opportunity to summer on an island similar to Bailey. Having the ocean at my doorstep, enjoying the sound of fishing boats trolling the water, the screams of distant seagulls, and the gentle breezes at night that are typical with waterfront property would make a dream summer vacation for me. Hopefully, as a teacher, this is something I can do in the future.

The bit I told him of was a simple few statements about the state of my being back when I was first coming out of the closet.  It was a little snippet that revealed my approach to affection, my past approach to relationships, and a little bit about how that made me feel:

This has happened again recently.  I gave my heart over to someone totally, utterly, and completely, and quickly.  Officially, I have done this three times now.  Three times I have given myself to someone in an manner that is unbecoming of me.  I have instantly and wholly turned myself into an appendage of someone else, for them to control, for them to use, for them to manipulate in any manner they saw fit, simply because they professed to love me in return.  I know this is not a behavior that is healthy.  I know that this is not a behavior that will feed me or the person I will be.  I know that it’s very easy for me to do.  I can carry the idea of love to the ultimate end.  I can mediate on it’s meaning, I can describe its colors, its flavors, the way it feels to the touch, the way it smells at various times of the day.  I can act out its various pieces and parts.  I can become someone else’s definition of what love is for them.  Or, rather, I can try.

It’s been my experience that no matter how much I twist and bend to be something for someone else, I can’t truly break the person I am.  I can’t detach from my shape enough to suit them completely.

What my new friend suggested was to, perhaps, own this behavior of mine.  It’s fine that I recognize it’s not healthy.  It’s fine that I know I need to strike a balance between giving up myself completely to another, and remaining true to who I am.  What I also need to do is take account of myself in my writing.  Clearly, when I was going through the paces of developing relationships that had meaning for me over my past, I was making active decisions on how I would behave.  One of these behaviors, he suggested, was that of a shape-shifter.  I decided to bend and contort myself to align with the needs of the other man.  It’s something I’m very capable of doing, and perhaps am starting to perfect.  It is, to me, a bit sinister.  It’s a darker side of myself.

The truth is, however, that my friend may be onto something.  Maybe this behavior, this side of me, is a space where I draw power, rather than self-loathing.  Just maybe, it’s an ability that I can transform into something stronger.  I think the ability to align myself with someone is powerful.  It is a form of empathy.  It lends itself to being able to listen, to feel, and to connect emotionally with another person.  On the flip side, if not handled well, it could mean giving up things that I believe, values that I hold, and ways that I think about certain things in order to be in accord with the other.  I like my ability to listen, to feel, to empathize.  I don’t like my ability to lose myself in the other person’s needs.

What this means, in terms of my writing, is a bit of revision.  What it could lead to is a bit of forgiveness for the person that I was.  I do think there’s a bit of acceptance about who I was when I was first coming out of the closet that needs to happen, and as the larger piece I’m working on for school addresses this part of my life, this acceptance/forgiveness/giant hug from across time should be part of the storyline.

It was an insight that has given me pause, and I really, really do appreciate it.  This is why I write.  This is why I share.  This is what gives me great joy.  It feels like a piece of the puzzle inside me has fallen into place, or at least made itself know.  I can’t wait to see where this takes me.

Summer has reached it’s apogee and has begun a slow decline into the blaze and color blast of fall.  Like all things New England, the seasons never really stop shifting here. A lot of people up here often spend a lot of energy trying to make the most out of what we have left for good weather.  This, however, doesn’t really apply to me.  I think the shift in the weather is rather reflective of my own state of mind, and might be why I really do look forward to what’s next in terms of seasons, and the future.  Personally, I look forward to each change with anticipation and optimism.

Yesterday, I went on a really, really lovely date with a man who lives just down the road from me.  Well, actually, he lives off the peninsula in Cape Elizabeth, but compared to the three hundred miles away that Nathan lived, this fella practically is a room mate.  We met online, as is apparently the only way I ever meet guys these days, and decided to meet up at Fort Williams Park.  Where is this you might be asking?  Well, here’s a hint:

Portland Head Light

We spent the afternoon right on the rocks, just below the sweep of it’s guiding light, talking about just about everything, and enjoying the antics of his little beagle, who truly did steal my heart.  We shared some strawberries, crudités and hummus, and enjoyed the waves crashing on the rocks only a few feet from us.  As the afternoon slipped into evening, the gentleman I was with invited me to his place where he grilled up a magnificent dinner, and our conversation continued until dusk. He is a really nice guy, very good taste in food, art, and has a healthy perspective on things such as social issues and politics.  He is also a really great conversationalist.  I’m hoping to see him again on Thursday and see how a second date goes.

I think I could happily spend the remainder of my summer balancing work, school, and hopefully meeting guys such as the man I spent yesterday with, and  perhaps going dates with them occasionally.  Over the past few weeks, I’ve been keeping my eye on a few things at once: my immediate needs for interaction with people here, my short-term goal of getting ahead on my school work before the semester truly kicks in towards the end of August, and the long-term goals I have for where I’ll be in a year.  It’s a balance I need to maintain, and somewhere, amidst all of these things, is a fulcrum point of happiness, where I feel like things are moving in the right direction all at once.  I like finding that balance.

Music (all available on iTunes.  Buy your music!)

• Shameless – Ani DiFranco
• If It’s Love feat. Melissa Loretta – ATB
• Love is Not Enough feat. Zoë Johnston – Above & Beyond
• One More feat. Christina Soto – ATB
• Sweetest Heart feat. Zoë Johnston – Above & Beyond
• Sun In Your Eyes – Above & Beyond
• Little Hell – City and Colour

I had started to get a better read on where he was in his head, and about a week ago, I suggested that he might not be quite at a space in his life where he was ready for a relationship.  After some thought, and a really great weekend away for volleyball, he and I connected, and he told me that he agreed with me.  He wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship that I am clearly looking for.

It stung, but it was the truth, and for that I am very thankful he told me.  He also knows how emotionally invested I’d allowed myself to become in what was between us, and he’s been nothing short of a gentleman with regards to my feelings and emotions.  Truly, a shift in the ties between us couldn’t be softer.

I don’t want this post to be about the end of things on that level between him and I, however, as I had known from the beginning, I had no idea where this was going.  I knew from the start that what began as a white, hot spark could just as easily burn out.  On the hottest level, it has.  On a deeper level, though, it continues.

He, in his own way, has allowed me to see things about myself that I never thought were true.  He inspired me to really begin taking a closer look at who I am, what I am capable of becoming, and taking the first steps to being the man I’m meant to be. He demonstrated adventure, excitement, and allowed me to fall very far into an emotion I really had no idea I could feel again, or would ever want.  I have learned a lot about my connection to the word ‘love,’ and where my behaviors towards it have come from.  I have learned what it means to be home, what the past dozen or so years have done to me as an individual, and have made some really meaningful insights into how I’ve become the man I am today.

I can’t forget that he made the journey to see me because he saw, and still sees, value in the person that I am, and will become in the future.

Before he came into my life, I really had no focus.  I was struggling with my writing.  I wasn’t able or willing to turn and look a little further inward to see where I needed to grow and develop more.  Now, with an appreciation of my own self-worth, and a realization of the capacity for love that I still have inside me, I feel like I can really get back on track with the goals I have set for myself.  I do recognize that this is a journey I must make, and I will need to do a lot of the legwork on my own, but I really do have to thank Nathan for giving me pause, helping me to look upward, and see myself in a new light.

I still have feelings for the fella, and will probably hold a soft place for him for a great long time.  He knows this.

For my part, I am still keeping my heart and instincts open to the next possible adventure in my life, be it with someone at my side or not.  I don’t doubt my instincts for letting me fall head over heels for Nathan, and I certainly don’t regret having let myself be loved by him.  Well, maybe a little, for the time being, but those feelings will heal.  I know this.

I’ve been digesting and mulling over ideas about home, and what that means.  I’ve been thinking about power, how it is gained, lost, shared, given away, taken back, regenerated, and who really holds the power in my life.  I’ve been thinking about love, and what that word truly means to me, and how I respond to it on a physical, cerebral, and emotional level.  I’ve made connections between the stories I used to tell myself as a boy just before going to sleep, and the approach I made towards falling for my first boyfriend.  I’ve been working through the idea of independence, and what that feels like to me today.  I’ve been spending a lot of time in my head, with my laptop’s keys clicking away.  It’s been beyond therapeutic for me, and it’s all going towards my work for school, so it’s all not just an act of selfish navel-gazing.  At least, I hope not.  Even if no one ever reads this writing, it’s my way of processing stuff.  It’s my way of drawing a line in my life and saying that was then, this is now, and I have changed, or have at least the potential to.

The big challenge for me now is how to put all of these lessons, these realizations, these conclusions to work for me as I go forward.  No longer do I want to be the young man I was.  Patterns of behavior that have been part of who I have been for as long as I can remember and that aren’t healthy need to change.  Ways of approaching the future, especially in terms of relationships both intimate and social, are also up for inspection.  I’m capable of being better at these things, better at being more communicative and honest with both myself and the person I’m interacting with.

I’m a wiser man than I think I am.  I have more talent than I give myself credit for.  I have more abilities than I admit to.  I am a teacher.  I am also a student.  I can stand on my own two feet, and be strong enough to be counted on by those who need me.  I am responsible for and take complete ownership of my life in all ways.  I will achieve what I set out to do.  I can be the man I’m meant to be.

I can also let go of the parts of my past that do not make any more sense or have any relevance in my current life.  They will always be a part of my makeup, and be a part of the fabric of who I am, but they do not wield any more power over me – or at least more than is reasonable.

It feels like I’m crossing a bridge.

Much Love,

Thom

It’s exactly a year on into this new life of mine, and like a great cosmic alignment, things I’ve been trailing behind me are finally coming to the surface.  Things from my past, memories, desires, thoughts, losses, lessons learned.  It’s as if this simmering geyser has finally decided to bubble up and vent.  Sulfur fumes and all.

I have come back from Vermont, down out of the mountains, and am in a space in my head I haven’t been in before.  At least, not that I can remember.  I haven’t allowed myself the space or time to settle into this pattern of thinking, chewing it all over, and releasing into the ether.  Ever.  Now, that time has come.

I sent Nathan a text earlier telling him I needed to work through this old stuff so that I might be a better, stronger, sexier, more powerful person for us, whatever comes of this relationship we have.  I know the poor guy has seen a side of me he probably never saw coming, and for that I don’t know how to apologize enough.  He’s caught me at a bit of a crossroads, and in the same token, has inspired me to really take stock, and sort myself out.  There’s something here between him and I that I’m finding I value a lot more than perhaps I originally did.  What I saw initially as a small spark and definite connection has turned into something I want to nurture further.  I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I know that in any case, he deserves, I deserve, to be a better man for whatever comes our way.

This means me sorting through old internal boxes and the dark shadows inside.  This means me sorting through the places and things that I’ve been carrying with me for way too long.  This means getting it out of me, doing some meaningful reflection, and making better choices going forward.  I’ve made the choice to do this with my writing, which seems to be the only real outlet I have besides running.  It’s not much, but it seems to be working for me.

I have generated more work towards my thesis in the last week than I have in the last year.  The writing I’m doing now has taken on a realness I haven’t ever felt.  I still journal daily, but I’ve stopped going too far with that.  I’m saving that energy for the good stuff now.  I’m refining the direction I’m headed with it, and as far as I can tell, I’m producing things that are of value.  That all remains to be seen when I start presenting it to my advisor, but the line from that bright, white, hot spot of creative and imaginative energy inside me to the lines that form on the pages before me has never been clearer, never been less interrupted.  Something is happening here, and I truly am loving it.

This only serves to reinforce the fact that I was meant to do this.  I’m a born storyteller.  I have my stories, I have the ones I create in my imagination.  I have the stories of others around me that are fascinating and deserve to be told.  This is what I am here to do, along with inspiring others to tell their stories.  I’m here to write and to teach.

Today, I applied for a teaching position.  I don’t think anything will come of it, but the act of doing so, of putting myself out there in that light, felt cathartic.  It felt right.  I plan on doing more of it throughout the summer, and to places I could possibly move towards as well.  I’m following my instincts, listening to what feels right, and going with it.  It is truly getting better.  Every day.

I don’t get to celebrate Independence Day like I used to. These days, I cower from fireworks.  These days, I have a different understanding of what it means to be a free man.

My autonomy originally came the day I left for college.  I was free of the shackles of my parent’s broken marriage.  I didn’t have to fix, to support, to tie together the frayed edges.  All I needed to do was get to my destination.  I simply needed to shut the dormitory door, behind my parents who had dropped me off, and begin being the person I was meant to be. I had so many options before me, and every time I turned a corner, more doors, more windows, more spaces became accessible to me.  I loved being free to decide.

I discovered a new form of this freedom when I accepted the fact that I love men.  Suddenly, I was breaking internal bondage.  I was tearing off a skin that kept me back, held me down, and refused to let go.  I was no longer lying to myself and to those around me.  I was liberated.  I was transformed.  The internal revolution saw the past being further defeated.  I didn’t need bayonets or cannon fire.  I simply smiled at myself in a mirror, said out loud that I was a gay man, and allowed my new body and self to unfurl his wings, like a newly formed butterfly drying his wings before flight for the first time.

My next release from oppression was my decision to leave Thomas, my first boyfriend.  Perhaps this was the most important choice for me.  He had turned, hit me while I was driving for no other reason other than I’d said the word ‘no,’ and I decided that there, on that battlefield, I’d take my stand.  Victory was not going to be his.  I turned and fought back in a quiet, stubborn sort of way.  Gritting my teeth, I put down the ultimatum, and he called on my bluff.  I drove off as soon as he was out of the car.  I swore I wasn’t coming back.

This was my pyrrhic victory.

My freedom then saw me living in a cave.  It saw me flinging my body about, hoping someone would catch me, stop me, hold me down.  It saw me losing sight of any loftier goal than simply disappearing into the cocktail in my hand.  I had my freedom, my liberation.  I had released myself into the darkness of a life of little purpose or depth.  I refused to stop and contemplate anything beyond my next night out, beyond my next bedfellow.  I gave up the stability of my chaos with Thomas for the instability of a simpler life without him.

I let myself be annexed by Nathaniel soon thereafter.  I fell to pieces in his arms, and he collected me together in a pile, allowing me to reconstitute myself out of the despotism I’d fallen into.  For a time, he gave me shelter, hot showers, made me dinner, treated me with a kindness I’d not known.  It was easy to let him over my borders.  I practically forced him to take over, to take control.  I needed the guidance.  I needed the boundaries.

Like all things, time has a way of changing the way the pieces fit, the rhythm of the dance shifts, and someone gets their toes stepped on.  Eventually, the pacts, the treaties, the agreements made while our bodies lie intertwined amid the sweaty sheets simply fell apart.  It was nearly a decade of promises that came undone.

Nathaniel bid me good day on Independence Day.  I cried under the most brilliant fireworks I’ve ever seen.  I wept for the hole that reappeared in my heart. I was free, but it felt more like free-falling into the black abyss again.  I had no footing.  I had no direction.  My line of sight went from the wider horizon of next month, next year, down to the next moment, the next second.

I’m was left as a free state.  I have since built stronger defenses along my borders, reinforced my constitution, armed my soldiers.  They say freedom isn’t free, and that it needs to be defended, protected.  All this talk, all these plans and high defenses only seem to serve one purpose: to keep the next one out.  Guarded, jaded, steely-eyed, my borders are patrolled.  I’ve trained myself to shut out all incoming energy, all incoming emotions, and to be vigilant, suspicious, and remain on point, finger on the safety.

For all this time and energy expended in getting prepared for the next assault on my freedom, the next terrorist attack on my heart, I forgot one simple thing: how to stand down, how to lower my rifles, how to call off the dogs.

Now, I’m left trying to remember.  I’m left looking for a way to disarm.

Music:

• Ragged Wood by Fleet Foxes
• Longing to Belong by Eddie Vedder
• Only a Few Things by Above & Beyond
• Good Enough by Sarah McLachlan
• If It’s Love by ATB
• Sun in Your Eyes by Above & Beyond
• Pink Toenails by the Dixie Chicks

I wake up, and decide this is the day.  I have had enough.  So, I get my stuff together.  I grab my knapsack, and in it I put the things I think I’ll need: a knife, extra clothes, a notebook and pen, a compass, a lighter I stole from my father.  My family had taken my brother to some game – a football or baseball game – and left me at home to my own devices.  I wasn’t going to be there when they got home.

I raid the fridge, grabbing what I would need for the journey, but knew that I’d be finding food when I got to where I was going.  I already knew the spot.  There was a cliff face on a piece of property my grandparents owned about a hundred miles north.  I wanted to live on that cliff that overlooked the fields of blueberries nestled in the valley below.  Before departing, I reached down and pet my dog, Rusty, on the head.  She was still tied up to the runner behind the house.  She wasn’t to be trusted with strangers, and I wasn’t sure if I could feed her or keep her healthy.  She had to stay.  I hugged her, then turned on my heels, and left.

I make my way down the road, and finally work up the courage to stick my thumb out.  I’ve been warned about the dangers of strangers and what to look out for.  I figure, I’ve got my knife, so I’ll be fine.  Eventually, someone picks me up, and thankfully they don’t know anyone from my family.  I ask them to get me out of town, and take me a few towns over, near the highway I’d needed to get to where I was going.

I hop into the back of the truck, and lay down in the bed, hiding from passing vehicles and to watch the clouds drift by overhead.

Eventually, I’d made my way by hitchhiking to a few miles away from my destination.

By then, I’d be asleep.  But, from there, my dreams would take over.  I would dream I was sleeping in my grandparent’s hunting cabin, a low fire burning in the giant fieldstone fireplace.  I could smell the damp wood, the rotting mattresses, the odor of gun oil and pipe smoke still lingering from when my grandfather had last visited on a hunting trip.

These fantasies would take me away, and put me someplace else.  Looking back, I wonder if perhaps they’ve shaped me into the person I am now.  I am constantly shifting, constantly moving.  I haven’t lived in the same place for over two years in the past dozen.  I’m migrant.  I have no roots.  I have no sense of place.  Every night, my imagination takes me places other than where I am.  Every time I start to feel like I’ve found a home, and can put down some semblance of roots, I’m shifted.  Like the perennial in the garden that never seems to be in the right spot, I’m dug up, moved, transplanted, given a few seasons to see if the spot fits right.

I want to know why this is so.  I want to know why I can’t just stay.  What keeps me from getting used to one place? Why can’t I simply just be in a spot for a while, and let it grow on me.  Will I ever find home?  Is this a survival technique for me?  Is this how I keep people at a distance?

As tired of moving as I claim to be, it seems to be all I do.  I think, maybe, it has to do with figuring out my path in life, and owning the person I am.  I have been transient for so long because I keep looking for the right opportunity.  I keep seeking a place that fits all the right spots, such as a steady, rewarding job, a place full of creativity where I can stretch my wings in any direction I choose, and a place where I can have someone meaningful to me in my life.  Up until now, these things have not happened at the same time, and I haven’t had the staying power to remain in place to wait it out.  Like a thunderhead, I roll on, stretching outward and upward.  I haven’t given myself time to settle.  I haven’t simply let my anchor drop.

Maybe I’m afraid to.  Maybe I’ve witnessed what happens to people when they stay stagnant, or become stagnant.  They become fixtures.  They fade into the background.  They become woven into the fabric of the place, and are taken for granted.  Maybe I’ve been taken for granted in the past, and simply refuse to go unnoticed.  There is a certain rush that comes from being the new face in the crowd.

Moving has always offered me a chance to reinvent myself.  Coming to Portland, I had this opportunity to be the person I was meant to be.  I finally had shed the past, or was starting to.  I was healing.  I am still healing there, but the sense of motion, the itchy feet, the anxiety about place has started to rear itself again.

I haven’t had the fantasies much anymore.  Instead of dreaming of a new place or a new life, I simply create one.  I make choices that move me, physically, to a place where I can try again.  I don’t dream of moving, I simply do it.  I’m not tied down, and nobody really knows me anymore.  Nobody knows the real me because I haven’t given them the time to learn.  It’s in flashes, moments of weakness, or strength, that I reveal a bit more about myself to those around me.  Maybe, just maybe, I’ve come to the end of this behavior.

I think, perhaps, I have, or at least I want to.  I’m ready to grow up, to settle down, and to allow a sense of place to become part of me.  I’m ready to allow that feeling of consistency to take root, to let myself take root.  I think, maybe, my next move will be that one move.  Of course, this adds weight and gravity to the decision, but maybe I’m ready for a little bit of that.  This air-sign is ready to be grounded a bit.  I need a counterbalance.

I’m here, in Vermont.  It has been a couple of day to settle in, to get my head unspun from my life outside and off of this mountaintop, and back to where I really need to spend more time – in my creative space.  I’ve reconnected with friends, celebrated their accomplishments (with more of that tonight and tomorrow as I wave good bye to graduates from the program), and have generally settled into a space that is both comforting and energizing.  I love coming here.  I love being here.  I love the community that is here. This whole experience has altered my life immeasurably.

Today, in the opening address to students, one of the instructors said the following:

“If we aren’t honest, then what are we writing for?”

She spoke from a place of truth, of power, and of knowledge.  This is what I, as a student, need to be reminded of.  For me, keeping to the truth, keeping to the reality of the story, is critical.  I struggled with this as I tried to tell my story of Thomas and myself, my first boyfriend.  Last semester saw me doubting how to tell the truth, or at least remain true to the story, and still keeping myself in the space and time that I wrote about.  It frightened me.  I cowered from that work, from that effort.  It felt wrong, and angry, and not what I needed to do.  I forced myself, I willed myself, to attempt to work through all that.

Turns out, I wasn’t writing in a way that was honest with myself.  I mean, I was telling the truth, but I wasn’t following my gut that was telling me that the time wasn’t right to tell that story.  Not yet.

This semester, and going forward, it’s all about letting the writing, and my gut, lead me.  I need to just do what feels right and write what feels right.  No holds barred, and no fear.  No more fear.  NO MORE FEAR.

This residency is going to be unlike any other.

Last residency, I was in a pretty dark spot.  It was midwinter, and things in my life were spiraling downward.  I’d managed to move to Portland, and get away from where I was, and the life I had been leading in Boston.  I had come to Portland to heal, and to face down my past a bit.  Disappearing into the mountains of Vermont for a retreat in the middle of January was, at the time, about the most perfect thing that could have happened to me.  It was, perhaps, the lowest point I’d been at, and just when I needed the creative boost that comes from these trips to the Green Mountains, I got one.  Well, sort of.

I spent last semester sweating over a past that didn’t seem to be relevant anymore.  I was trying to tell the story of a boyfriend who hasn’t been part of this world for over a dozen years.  It turns out, in retrospection, that he doesn’t hold any more sway over me.  He doesn’t hold anymore power, anymore force, and for the first time in a long time, I can simply let him go.

I can simply let him go.  And forgive him.

For me, at this moment in time, this means a great deal.  It means I can move forward.  It means I can speak for myself as myself, and not be in his shadow any further.

This is also a major factor in how things progress with Nathan and myself.  I refuse to let the past (that with the first boyfriend, especially), come between myself and this angel who has come into my life.  I trust that I won’t be hurt by him.  I won’t be abandoned by him.  I won’t be left to fend for myself.  (all things I had to deal with in my first ever gay relationship).

I will go to Vermont tomorrow with a different outlook, and a different perspective.  This semester is all about teaching what I’ve learned.  It’s about taking the lessons of the past few semesters and putting them to use in a learning environment of my own design.  I’m not 100% sure what direction or shape that will take as of yet, but I do know where I want to end up.

Last semester was a total struggle for me.  I was disenfranchised with my writing, frustrated with the direction that my voice was going, and really came up against some serious walls inside me that I didn’t see or knew existed previously.  It was a struggle to stick to my schedule of writing.  It was easier for me to disappear into the night, hiding behind a bottle of Jameson at times, in order to simply not do the work, or keep it at bay.  There were demons in my writing, there were points that were scary, too dark, or simply too much for one person to sift through in one sitting, and certainly not something that needs to be dealt with while under the pressure of deadlines.  I didn’t get nearly enough reading done, either.  The moments where I did feel better, where I was able to engage with what I was doing, were the moments of fiction that I wrote, the pieces of my imagination that flourished on the pages before me.

It wasn’t until the end of the semester, with my advisor’s final letter to me, that he gave me license to step back from what I was working on, and simply write what felt right.  Truth be told, I didn’t need him to tell me this.  This is something I needed to realize on my own.  It would be another facet of the “follow your guts” movement I’ve been undertaking as of late, and will be what I do going forward.  I can’t stress the importance of being true to your entire self enough.  Seriously.

Writing, breathing, living from a place of honesty, of genuineness, of centered and focused realness, and just being able to put my entire self into a thought or movement or moment has made a huge, positive impact on me.  It’s been a serious life lesson.  Match this up with letting go of stuff I have no control over, and honestly – I couldn’t be a happier man if you paid me to be.

Also, this morning, with thoughts turning towards school, and all that it means to me, I have found myself contemplating a life after all this work.  I love my current job.  I love my simple life right now.  It suits me for the moment.  What it doesn’t do, however, is fulfill me completely.  Right now, I am surviving and thriving.  When I look up to the horizon though, as I’m often wont to do, I don’t see this current path of my life as sustaining.  I need to be back in the classroom.  I need to be doing the thing I love.  I need to be creative on a wider, and deeper level.  I need to push my brain further and in bolder directions.  I need to be the educator and teacher that I know is the true me.

It’s all a matter of mental preparations at the moment.  Right now, it’s about getting my thoughts in order, and finding the focus to see my way forward.  Right now, it’s just potentials and possibilities.  These, however, will convert.  They will become realities and achievements.  I know this in my core.  How I’ll get there, though, remains to be seen.  As long as I remain brave enough to accept the unknown, and when I get nervous, know that I can reach out and hold  Nathan’s hand (a blessing I’m growing more and more fond of by the moment), I’ll be okay.  Leaps of Faith (or Fate) are becoming my speciality.  I can do this.

This week’s music:

• Youtopia (feat. Adam Young) – Armin van Buuren
• Lovesong of the Buzzard – Iron & Wine
• Every Other Way  (feat. Jes) – Armin van Buuren
• All I Need is You (feat. Sean Ryan) – ATB
• Always (Chicane Remix) – BT
• Ice Cream – Sarah McLachlan
• Starry Eyed – Ellie Goulding
• Thing Called Love (feat. Richard Bedford) – Above & Beyond

There is something of an awakening going on inside me these days.

The initial flurry and fire of new-found love has now formed a white-hot ember inside, and it is as if a certain purification is under way inside me.  Slowly, the heat and fire is clarifying things, clearing out cobwebs, and literally burning down walls of doubt, of darkness, and pain.  More and more, I reach points where words escape me.  Parts of me thrash and tear, putting up a defense that is not needed, but is a simple, basic reaction to the changes that are taking place.  Parts of me go into hyper-speed, racing to explain or to understand, or simply label and describe what it is I’m feeling, when in reality, this is all very new to me.  I’m groping in the dark for guidance, for a direction.

Lots of my defenses have been activated.  Lots of my insecurities have been laid out for Nathan to see, and to try and understand.  There seems to be a correlation between how close I let him get to me, and how defensive I can become.  I get into super-protective mode, and close down, when it would be far more healthy for me to simply open up, take a deep, cleansing breath, and let go of the anxiety and fear.  I don’t know why this is happening, but it is, and it’s up to me to find my way through it, and get to a place that is calmer, stronger, and more centered.

For his part, he’s been nothing short of angelic, patient, and kind.  He’s allowed me to speak what I’m feeling and has not judged or questioned these things.  He’s accepted them as truth, because, for me, they are.  And, just as they are truths in my life, they are mine to sort through and to let go of.  He’s witnessing the process of me doing this, and just when I need him, he’s there, behind me, hand on my shoulder, bolstering my bravery, my resolve to put the past where it belongs – in the past.

It’s a slow process.  Slower than I’d like.  Truly, I want to just wake up and be done with it all, and have a fresh, new, doe-eyed outlook on the world.  As much as I seek out and find the goodness in the world around me, I can’t help but see things through filters, or without referencing what has already gone on in my life.  There is a reason that morning air smells sweet to me.  There’s is a reason why the cry of a gull, or the gentle wash of the ocean’s waves are important to me.  These things all have reference points in my past that add to the value of their existence in my life.  What I’m also learning is that certain things, certain behaviors, also trigger bad memories, bad reactions, and call up memories I’d sooner like to forget.  I’m also learning how to spot these behaviors, call them what they are, and simply stop them in their tracks. I’m taking away the power of the past over my current and future life.

Truly, this is an awakening for me.  It’s another way I’m moving into my adulthood.  As scary as it is, it is also terrifically liberating.  Best of all, I get to do this while holding the hand of a man I’ve fallen madly in love with.

I won’t get into the sordid details of getting medical treatment, but suffice to say, it wasn’t terrible.  Not great, but not terrible.  I was just fortunate to have insurance this time around, and I know that.

What I’ve since realized from all this mucus and headache and fever and general wretchedness, is that I need to take better care of myself.  My road to health and fitness has been impeded by my life choices for far too long.  This includes, among other things, smoking.  For now, I’ve signed off the tar bars.  Oddly enough, whenever I think I might want to have one, in a strange psychosomatic response, I cough.  And I’m reminded that I don’t need them.  And I’m reminded that those awful little sticks have been a massive suck on my funds, my energy, and my vitality, for far too long.  Yes, I’ve been down this road before, trying to quit and trying to get past them.  Honestly, I hope this sticks.  Waking up in a pool of one’s own sweat day in and day out for three days straight, unable to breathe, and feeling nausea at every turn simply because of a craving for a smoke is ridiculous.  It’s that memory, and those feelings of terribleness, that are keeping me on the better path.  It’s just stupid to be sick because of smoking.

Plain and simple.

Yesterday was a day of dizziness and fever.  Today, this morning, the dizziness seems to have settled down.  I don’t have the acrid battery taste in my mouth as bad as I did yesterday.  I’m expecting to get into work today, having had two days off, plus one sick day.  It’s going to be a challenge, I’m sure, and I’m not going to run on full-steam, but I’ll give it a go.  I need to get out of this room, and back into functioning society.  Honestly, I’m climbing the walls here.

Through all of this, my darling Nathan has been a true gem.  He’s been in constant contact with me, making sure I’m resting, making sure I’m feeling okay.  He has said many, many times how if I were closer physically, he’d be stopping by home to take care of me every day.  It certainly made being sick and alone a lot more bearable to have him there, at the end of my fingers, whenever I needed him.  Plus, daydreaming about the future with him has been a great distraction from the aches and misery of the present.

I’m ready to be better.  I’m ready to move forward.  I’m ready to leave the old, smoky, unhealthy me behind, and come forward with a better, stronger, more powerful self.  This, for me, is an act of growing up.  I’m ready.

1. We met on Scruff.  An app on our phones that links furry fellas to other furry fellas from around the corner and around the globe served as the meeting point for him and I.  I say “hey there” and he responded.  It’s plain and simple.

2.  We text from our iPhones.  If nothing, our conversation seems to continue over texts.  Back and forth, daily, and all day long.  This also includes sending little snapshots of each other through our days, and sending them as MMS’s to each other.  Just so we can get a glimpse of each other’s lives at any given moment.

3.  We are connected on Facebook, my profile picture revealing the joy in our faces.  He comments, “likes,” and smiles at what I post and say.

4.   We are on Twitter.  My friends on there get to witness our banter, our cuteness, our silly love expressed in less than 140 characters.

5.  We Skype.  Using the power of webcams and microphones, its as close as we can get to each other, for now.  I get to look into his eyes and sigh.  He gets to look into mine and do the same.  We read each other’s body language, and are reminded why we are putting in the effort to make this work.  Sometimes we talk.  Mostly, it’s just staring, smiling, sighing, and laughter.

6.  We have a shared Tumblr blog.  This, for us, is a place to put to words what it is we’re feeling about this energy between us.  Each day, sometimes more than once, we both post to this space, and do our best to capture the essence of this shared emotion within the confines of the English language.

7.  We call each other daily.  These phone calls can be a brief check-in at lunch, or an hours-long session of shared thought and dreams, especially right before bed.  I can hear his giggle, his smile.  He knows when I’m being playful, or a bit sarcastic.  There are a lot of sighs and smiles here too.

8.  We have met in person, thanks to the power of aeronautics and flight times.  And, we’re scheming to do it again soon.

Time, money, distance, and opportunity are stacked against us, for the time being, but Nathan being Nathan, is optimistic and patient.  I, however, get very agitated and frustrated that I can’t just BE THERE whenever I want to be.  This, as my friend Sean pointed out, is going to be a challenge for me – patience and fortitude to see things through on broader, wider level.  I know I can do it, and Nathan is so good about reassurances that I don’t think I need, but he knows otherwise.

So, yes, on the outside, from a foreign vantage point, it seems like we’re merely a couple of men living an alternate existence through the power of technology.  I say, from a further vantage point, this is merely the beginning of it all.  Over a larger scope of time, the necessity to communicate via our various forms of connection will change.  I hope to be closer to him in a physical sense.  Neither of us are sure where we will end up, but can agree it will happen.  For now, the best word we’ve got is “soon.”

“Soon” is a very relative term.  I need to remind myself of this when I get super frustrated with my fiscal and transportation limitations.  Soon, I’m hoping this will change, skewing towards a better place for him and I.  Soon, and with enough faith in the unknown future, it will.

For now, I’ll be using all forms of technology at my fingertips to keep in touch with him.  For now, it’s working just fine.

This episode’s tunes:

• With Your Hope – Above and Beyond
• Spirit in the Sky – Norman Greenbaum
• Love of an Orchestra – Noah and the Whale
• This Moment – Nic Chagall
• Stars 4-ever – Robyn
• You Got The Love – Florence + The Machine
• Love and Some Verses – Iron & Wine
• Here Comes Your Man – The Pixies

I spent the last few days up to my mother’s house, and when things were quiet, and we weren’t busy doing stuff, I had a chance to really quiet my mind, and get down in my journal some of the stuff I’ve been swirling around over the last seven days.  Below are some excerpts from the writing I did while off the net and at the edge of the cell-phone network.  Sometimes, being out of touch allows for a sense of grounding, of settling.

The fuzzy man has really, really struck so many chords in me.  I’m still in awe.

____

I’ve told him about the situation with my lease.  I think it was something that may have piqued his interest.  I don’t know if Portland is going to be where I stay, or what that means in terms of work for him, or where he wants to go, but he was glad to have the information.  It was delivered to him without pressure, or without any constraints on time or space.  I would love to build a home with him, but I can’t allow myself to focus on that right now.  I need to be strong enough to step back and let go and allow things to fall into place in a way that just is.  Letting go.  The challenge of my life.

Letting go of worry.

Letting go of anxiety.

Letting go of the patterns that have held me back in the past.

Letting go of self-doubt.

Letting go of control.

Letting go of my heart.

Letting go of all the things that hurt, that do not fit, that do not bring joy.

Letting go of the opinion of others.

Letting go of fear.

Letting go of my breath.

I have so much to still let go.  Nathan, and all that he is to me, reminds me of that daily.  I still have a lot to work on, to get through, and to leave behind me.  At each moment when I could really stop, and feel frozen in my own tracks, Nathan has been there to push me forward, and reminded me to let go and have fun.  Just like I was before he came into my life.  I really don’t think he wants me to stop being me.  I wouldn’t be the man he’s fallen in love with if I did.

For some strange, inexplicable reason, it’s all aligning.  I get to be myself, and in doing so, hold fast to the love of a man who wants nothing more than the man I am, and the one I’m becoming.  This is truly unbelievable.  I also need to remember to let Nathan be the man he is, and is becoming.  I need to be continuous and steadfast in my desire to see him happy, safe, and living in his own skin.  I need to continue to provide him the space to exist in a way that is meaningful and has impact on his life in a positive way.  If this means stepping back and watching him shine, I know for a fact I can enjoy that.  I already have.  And he’s returned his thanks and gratitude in spades.

The over-tended plant does fail to survive.  I don’t need to shepherd or pastor along this thing between us.  I can step back and let the sun shine and water of time feed and nourish it right on it’s own, and give it the space it needs and wants to grow into whatever shape is natural and fitting.  For me, that means letting go of all the things listed above, and any other worries that come up along the way.  Let go of the sticking points, the vortexes of thought and worry, the mole-hills on their way to becoming mountains, and just breathe.

I know he loves me.  Right now, I feel it within me, and right now, it’s all I need to feel.  I am thought of, loved, and cared for.  Truly, I am one of the lucky ones.

 

I do have a lot to let go of. I have a lot of personal characteristics that need to be understood better, so that they don’t take over my senses and reason. I know I still have a long way to go, but for now, in this place and at this time, I feel like I have someone who will nourish my continued growth and future.

The sun is shining, finally, today, and I’m going to take myself to the water, camera in tote, and just enjoy this unofficial start to summer. By all accounts, this is going to be one very, very interesting season this time around.

This is Nathan.

This is the man I met last Sunday after a week or so of long phone calls, texts, and chats online.

I should start by saying I got his full permission to post here, and to let you all know about him, but for now, I’m just going to tell you things from my side.  If ever he wants to share what’s on his mind, and maybe even do it here, then that will be for another post.  For now, let me tell you a little story.

I mentioned in my last podcast that I’d met a guy via Scruff, that silly little app for furry gay men and their followers on the iPhone and other smart phones.  We’d made an initial connection, started by me, based completely on a simple profile picture and a few words he’d thrown up for the rest of us to read.  It was his smile, however, that captured my attention.  There was something energized, something sweet, something intriguing about it, and so I sent a little hello.  From there, the conversation went from a few lines of text on the app, to a phone number swap, and now countless words sent back and forth via text message.  Soon, that became hours-long phone calls, and what I can only describe as an upswell of emotion inside me that I haven’t felt for a very, very long time.

We started by trying to plan a meet-up some time in July.  He was coming to Connecticut to visit his sister (he lives in Syracuse, NY currently) around the Fourth of July, so we were thinking that might be a great time to meet for the first time and hang out.  At least meet in a neutral place, and see if the connection we’d been clearly making on the phone was something that would carry over into real life.  After a few more nights of texting and phone calls, though, Nathan wanted to do something better.

He knew I had last Monday off from work, and wanted to come out Sunday and stay into Monday.  He put this out to me as a suggestion.  I knew that this was him being brave, being adventurous, and straying out of his normal routine.  For him, as far as I knew, this was a big deal.  For me, though, it was easy.  I can be as hospitable as the best of them.  My mom taught me well.  I figured, if anything went awry, he could get a hotel room, and that would be the end of it.  Or, we’d figure it out.  Somehow, though, I knew that wouldn’t be the case.  Not in the slightest.

For the week leading up to his arrival, the phone calls and texts continued.  There was about a four day stretch between his arrival and the announcement of the trip, and in my head, I suddenly became something I’m not accustomed to – nervous.  He’d mentioned his mild allergies to cats.  I live with three long-haired felines.  I turned into a housekeeper from Hell.  Suddenly, I was planning meals, scrimping my pennies together to make sure we had enough food and ways to entertain ourselves both in and out of the house.  I was actually FRETTING over everything.  Something inside me, as far as I could tell, could sense this was something more than just an overnight with a nice guy.  I’ve had those before.  This was going to be something more, or at least I’d hoped, and I wanted to be prepared for it.

I managed to pull the house together to a respectable state.  The only thing in my way, though was timing.  Sunday, I was scheduled to work till 6pm.  Nathan was arriving in Portland at 11am.  Something was going to be awkward if I didn’t figure it out, and thankfully, my co-workers are awesome.  I managed to get my shift covered by swapping out for this Friday, which I originally had off, and in an instant, I was able to meet Nathan at the airport.

I got to Portland International Jetport (PWM), and proceeded to pace like a caged tiger in the area for arrivals.  Texting my friend Amanda, telling her about what I was doing, and getting the girl-power support I needed then was a life-saver.  Eventually, his flight came in, and around 11:30, I got my first physical look.  To say that I was amazed is an understatement.

He glided down the escalator, grinning from ear to ear (more on this grin and subsequent giggle later).  As soon as he could, he walked right up to me, and there, in the middle of the airport, we embraced for the first time.  Instantly, I knew something amazing was happening to me.

Nathan is over six feet tall.  He’s athletic.  He’s got the most amazing brown eyes.  His hair is slightly salt-and-pepper, and very well-groomed.  His clothes are all stylish.  He works as a software engineer for a company he’s been at since graduating college.  He’s a thoughtful and deliberate Taurus with an education and a love of math and numbers.  In many ways, he’s my polar opposite.  As I’m learning, he’s also been down a shared path as me, too.  There’s an amazing balance between the similarities and differences.

We left the airport by cab.  In the cab, we held hands.  I caught the driver smiling in his rearview mirror at us doing so, but didn’t really care.  I was on autopilot.  Nathan was still grinning.  I was in heaven.  We got back to my apartment where I showed him around for a bit.  It took all of a hot second for a real kiss to take place once we were in out of the public view.  Again, sparks of energy, unexpected, and powerful coursed through me.

After I showed him around the place a bit, we headed into the downtown area of Portland.  It wasn’t raining for that moment, so I figured we’d capitalize on that stroke of luck, as it was predicted to rain continuously while he was here.  We went for a bagel and coffee, and chatted some more.  Just about all I could say, being in a state of utter amazement, was how happy I was to finally meet him, and how thankful I was that he came.  We ate, then I took him through the Old Port.  We wandered down to the waterfront, to the Maine State Pier, and I showed him Portland Harbor, as I thought it was important for a man from inland to see a bit of the sea.  We sat on the end of the pier and chatted some more, kissed, held hands.  The local man who was fishing off the end of the pier wandered off and let us be there, on our own, but never said a word.  It was in that instant, and in subsequent instances after, that I realized just how open-minded Portland can be.

We wandered to my favorite spot on the waterfront, and then after asking if he wanted to go back, we decided to wander around the Eastern Promenade.  Along the path, we took a detour out onto some of the seawall stones, piles of large granite bricks built up to keep the sea from eating away at the shore.  Sitting on the granite edge of the water, we chatted some more, and just stared into each other’s eyes.

Each time we kissed, every time we held hands, each time I caught him smiling and giggling with me, I felt myself letting go of my fear and trepidation towards this new man in my life.  I could feel something good washing over me, slowly.  I could also feel something growing, something powerful, from deep within me, that took my breath away, and left a lump in my throat.  I managed to keep my composure, and we continued our stroll around the Eastern Promenade, and up over the hill to Congress Street, where we wandered back home.

We stopped off at the Portland Public Market, and there we got some soup and a bottle of really good Malbec wine.  Turns out we both have a love affair with the stuff, so it was easy to decide on what to get.  After our soup, we wandered back home, where we we took a brief nap.  After all, we’d been up late all week long prior to his visit, and by now, both of us were deliriously tired.

In a while, we got up again, and I made us a simple dinner.  All through the cooking process, he would hug me, hold me, kiss the back of my neck.  Each time, I just melted inside.  Truly, it was getting way more romantic than I ever expected.

A shared dinner and some wine, and soon we were back to sleeping.

Monday came, and because of the rain, we spent most of the day just snuggling and chatting some more.  We talked about a lot of things, from our pasts, to what we expect out of our futures.  He’s making some major changes in his life over the next year.  I’m at the point where I’m ready for a change too.  We daydreamed.  We laughed a lot.  He’s got an infectious giggle that just makes me overflow with smiles and happiness.  His face lights up with every chuckle, every moment of joy, and for me, sharing those moments has been utterly satisfying in so many ways.

Honestly, it couldn’t be any more ooey-gooey sweet if we tried.  I’m not joking.

Soon, it was time to take him to the airport, and we managed to get there really early.  We held hands for as long as possible on the bus, even while the other passengers boarded and glanced at us.  Again, nothing was said, no attention was paid.  As a gay man, this meant the world to me.  Those of you out there who are of a similar mind understand.  Public displays of affection between two people that may form a couple out of the traditional norms face no end of scrutiny, and sometimes violence of the highest degree.  Portland, Maine has impressed me to no end.

He treated me to dinner at the airport, and too soon, he was ascending the escalator to the terminal.  The last I saw of him he was waving to me just as he disappeared out of sight.

I think I made it about three seconds to the outside of the airport before the waterworks kicked in.  To top it off, he’d suggested I buy a song that was really meaningful to him, and said things that he felt he was unable to put words to himself.

Like I needed any other reason to bawl?

Still, I got home, and for the past few days since his departure, nothing in my world is as it once was.  The energy we exchanged has made a massive impact on my outlook on things.  We’ve agreed to keep this going.  We’ve fallen in love.  We’re not sure where it’s headed, but both of us are up for the adventure, and the journey of creating a warm and loving space for both of us to shine.

You can rest assured, there will be more posts here about myself and Nathan in the future.

Also, if you’re really into the cheese and sweet, we’ve started a collaborative project on Tumblr.  We both decided the word “love” was overplayed, overcharged, and really didn’t adequately express what we were feeling.  I suggested we redefine it.  Nathan liked the idea, and started by sending me an e-mail with his first redefinition.  I decided to take this further, and set up a Tumblr blog for us to post to.  The idea is to see how our definition of love evolves over time.  You’re more than welcome to take a look here:

Redefinition

I’m learning more and more about my own fears, anxieties, and strengths through this.  Nathan is amazing in so many different ways.  I can’t wait to see him again, and I certainly can’t wait to see where this goes.  For now, my life is full of joy, amazement, and wonder again, and it feels pretty damn good.

And for Nathan, who I know will read this post: I love you.  Thank you so much for appearing in my life.  I can’t wait to figure out our next step.  Together.  Us, We, Our.

It’s been gray and misty outside here for a number of days now.  It’s been perfect weather for sleep, and for contemplation.  Both of these things are what I’ve needed.  I had Monday off this week, and spent the bulk of it horizontal on my bed, enjoying the quiet time, and trying to set up this new site.  The last two days have had me at work both mornings early, which is totally fine, but with the weather being such as it is, all I really wanted to do was sleep and relax.

Funny enough, though, something else has happened in this misty stretch of days.  I’ve made a connection with a new friend.  He’s turned out to be a really lovely guy, and even though it’s been a brief back and forth via text and Skype and the phone, for the first time in a while, I’m feeling like there could be something more to this.  I have been been back and forth about sharing this here, in a public space, for all to read, but for me, something like this is too personally intriguing to keep to myself.  Plus, it’s my blog.  Revealing stuff here is what I do.

As you all know, I’ve spent the better part of the last ten months getting used to being myself again.  I’ve had to cross a few bridges, face down some stuff from my past (both of which are still ongoing).  It seems now, however, I’ve arrived at a spot where I’m at least aware that there is room in my life for something beyond being solo.  It’s a baby step, but a crucial one, for me.  It’s a small shove from the Ether in a direction I didn’t see coming, but so far, it feels pretty much spot-on.  I have a lighter step in my shoes, there’s a sly grin on my face more and more, and when I stop to think about this guy, the emotions I’ve not felt in a very long time suddenly resurge.

This time, though, I’m aware.  This time, I’m walking the line between over-thinking and staying in the moment.  There’s a deliberate pace, moments of reflection, and lots of deep breathing.  This time, I’m approaching whatever this connection is with a much wider point of observation, and the ability to pick my head up and see into the distance further.  This is a much more mature approach to things of this nature than I’ve ever attempted before.  As much as part of me is a giddy schoolgirl crushing on a boy, the larger part of me is a grown man who’s aware of his feelings, and his own goals and desires out of life.  It’s certainly a balancing act, and every now and again, a little squeal of joy escapes my lips (just ask my co-workers – they’ve probably had just about enough of it), but when I take a step back, and I really watch what’s unfolding before me, there’s a definite feeling of contentment, of positivity, and of pleasure in dreaming of the possibility.  We meet in person for the first time on Sunday.

In all truth, I don’t know what’s going to come of this connection.  I don’t know if this is just a white, hot flash in the pan, serving as a wake-up call to remind myself that, in fact, making such a connection is simply possible and I should at least entertain the idea of having someone a bit closer to me in my life.  I don’t know if this is something deeper.  What remains, and if I let go of the thinking and let go of the worry and nervousness, is this experience, these feelings of bliss, and the smile on my face.  I think, perhaps, at the end of the day, having a sense of joy and excitement that I can tangibly feel inside me and express to the wider world is what is key.  However it plays out, I’ll have known these feelings right now, and right now, they feel pretty damn good.

For me, the biggest thing to overcome has been my ability to run.  I’ve fought with my weight, dealt with bullying in high school because of it, and it’s always been a sore spot for me in terms of my own capabilities.

That is, until 2008, when a co-worker of mine at the high school I worked at in England suggested I take part in a 10k road race.  It was a team effort on the part of the entire English department, and those of us who rose to the challenge would meet a few times a week after school to train.  At first, I thought I was going to fail miserably, like I had always done before when it came to physical ability tests.  It turned out, though, that I was capable, and over time, I had built myself up to being able to actually run over 10k.  At one point, I had nearly reached the 10-mile mark.

I ran that race, and did 10k in about an hour, and for the first time in my life, I was pretty pleased with myself.  I had finally faced down this demon of mine.

But that was so long ago – nearly three years.  Since then, I’ve been an off-and-on runner.  My first return to it when I moved back here saw me hurt my foot and ankle so as to be lame every time I tried to get out there.  The following year, I ran again, but it became something grander, something beyond just physical fitness.  I used running as way to escape, a way to get out of my head.  It was then, last summer, that I realized why I like running so much.  I had a way to shut off my thoughts and just be.

This continued when I first landed in Portland, but as winter set in, I was not equipped to get out and run in the snow.  Besides, as much as I love running, I also love not slipping on ice and snow and hurting myself.  Having no medical insurance until a few months ago, I was doubly-careful this past winter.  These are the things one has to be concerned with as they get older, I guess.

Today, though, marks the return of something I’d not been able to achieve for a while. I ran for over an hour, and as indicated by the map below, I managed to make it 6.6 miles. Without stopping but once to stretch.  Seriously.  For me, this is rather big. I feel so good, and very pleased with my own ability.

Out on this run, I let my thoughts go, I found myself smiling to the music in my ears.  I felt myself chasing down those old bullies again, and surpassing them in leaps and bounds.  Every step was one step closer to being the physically capable person I have always wanted to be.

Here’s the map:
View 2011 Run 2 in a larger map

Yes, I’m tooting my own horn. Sometimes, it’s not a bad thing.

He is talking about violence towards people who belong to the GLBT community.

From the article:

The anti-gay industry lies every single day about their supposed harassment, but especially about GLBT people. The lie, defame and slander with reckless, giddy abandon because they know they can. The newsmedia gives them a completely free ride, leaving their hatred and bigotry unchallenged, because the anti-gay industry does all their evil work in the name of their god and religion.

Have a click here and go read the rest.

Run #1 2011:
View 2011 Run 1 in a larger map

As is often the case, whenever I set off on a walk, my mind starts to wander. I am able to pull away from whatever it is I’m working on at home, step out that reality for a while, and just let my feet lead me where they want to go. Today has been no different.

I am feeling like I’m at a bit of a crossroads. Especially with regards to work and school. This semester, which ends on Monday, has been an uphill battle from the start. I have found myself doing everything in my power to avoid writing about what I set myself as a task. I’ve read some great books, and put together some interesting fiction, but I feel these have served as a major distraction from the real reason I am here in Portland and where I want my writing to go. In fact, getting distracted has been the easy part, by far. Staying focused has been my Ultimate Challenge.

Part of me is feeling like I’ve tried too hard to control the direction of where my pen wants to go. There is a delicate balance between forcing a story, and letting the story lead me to it’s natural direction. Couple that with the idea that what I’m trying to accomplish is a larger piece of non-fiction, and what I’ve ended up with are fits and starts of something that hardly makes any sense, or has a logical order. I’ve been trying too hard to order my thoughts, when in fact, they simply refuse to fall into the alignment I think I want. This frustration between my control and letting he writing breathe has nearly stopped me in my tracks. There have been more than a few late nights where I’ve wanted to throw in the towel and just give up.

But I can’t. I simply won’t let go of the idea that I am a capable writer with something to say.

So, as the semester winds down, and I’m putting the final edits to a few pieces of stuff to submit, I’m feeling like this summer, without the pressure of school on my back, and the ability to simply write what comes to mind, I might start to feel better about myself and my abilities.

I’m also trying to cut way down on the smoking. I’ve been a cigarette smoker for so damn long, and it’s really time to shake that weight off me. I’ve decided I will probably always be a smoker, but the quantity of smokes is pretty limited. For example, in the past five days, I’ve had four smokes. For me, normally just over a half-pack a day, that’s a big improvement. I’m playing a psychological game with myself by not saying I’ve given up smoking because, simply put, I haven’t. But I feel more in control, and the side effects of that are very positive. More energy, sleeping better, and all that comes with less tobacco in my system. And, I haven’t killed anyone yet. This is a good sign.

I’m still debating on my future here in Portland, as well. I know I’ll be here another year at least, probably through till 2013, but I’m considering a return to England. I’m fairly certain I’m going to return, but that’s not in the immediate future. Still, keeping that in the back of my head has a way of changing how engaged and connected I allow myself to get to the town and people I am a part of now, as well as my job. I’m finding myself holding back a little, feeling a bit reserved, maybe? I don’t know…

For now, it’s me, a coffee, and a glorious morning by the sea. I’m content, and my mind is at peace.

I woke up very, very early today – sometime around four in the morning.  I had napped yesterday afternoon, taken myself out for a coffee around six, and was up till about eleven last night.  I was prepped for a decent night’s sleep, but for some reason, it didn’t come.  For some reason, I was tossing and turning about a lot of things as I tried to calm myself down, and get the sleep I needed to be functional today.

So much has been racing through my head these days, from the wrap-up of school for this semester, and the amount of work I still need to accomplish (and a goal by the start of next week to have it done), along with the plans I have for the summer in terms of continuing the writing, continuing to reach towards my goals, and all that.  I know that come the fall, I may need to find a new apartment, which is both exciting and a bit unnerving.  I also am thinking more and more about how long I want to stay in Portland.  I’m not so certain this is my final destination, though it’s been an amazing place for me to land, to gather myself together, and fully realize who and what I am.  I’ve been thinking about England.  I’ve been thinking about getting back into teaching.  I’ve been able to reconnect with a lot of people who had fallen out of my life for too long – friends, relatives, and just familiar faces.

I don’t know how things will sort themselves out.  I do know, though, that I’m not done transforming.  I know that I’m not through healing, either.  I’ve still got a ways to go with regards to growing up, to getting myself in order, and being the person I’m intended on being.  That’s not to say I’m angry with my progress, or that I’m too hard on myself for not being the guy I’m supposed to be right now.  I’m giving myself all the time I need, at a pace that is natural, that is real.

Right now, I could use a nap.  I could use a strong cup of warm tea, and a blanket, and my books.

I’ve got an idea of the direction I’m headed, and that feels pretty good.  Now, though, I need to be putting more energy towards keeping the forward movement going.  Now, I need to get down to brass tacks and make some decisions that are both healthy and wholesome for me.  I can do this.  I know it.

Today, though, I have done something different.  I’m up in land of my childhood again.  I installed a new computer at my gram’s house, and for the rest of the day, I’ve been base-camped at my mom’s house, but have chosen not to stay inside for most of it.  That is, of course, until the rain started, just a few moments ago.  I have spent the bulk of my time up here out in the woods, hiking the snowmobile trails that criss-cross the town I grew up in, and taking some pictures.  Truly, though, I wish my pictures came in a smell-a-vision kind so I could share with you all the richness, the fullness, and the wonder that is spring around these parts.  The ground is damp, the frost having let go recently.  Fresh sprouts are everywhere, and through the woods, signs of new life in the new year were everywhere.

Perhaps the most amazing sight, for me anyway, was the porcupine.  I came out at the edge of a field, and made my way along the tree line, following the trail I was on.  It was a field I had traversed before, once or twice on horseback when I was younger.  Today, though, the grass was greening up, though the remaining shoots from last year’s final haying crunched under my feet with every step.  Just as I made may way around a lazy curve in the field, and up over a small rise, there before me was this large, brown lump.  At first, I thought it was a clod of dirt, or something that had been blown down out of the trees.  As I got closer, the lump began to move, and in a few moments, I realized that before me was the fattest, most adorable porcupine I’d ever seen.  He was eating the new shoots of grass, keeping close to the protective forests that surrounded the field.  I crept closer, wanting to get a better shot with my camera, and not wanting to scare him away.  Turns out, I think I could have hung out all day, because he was far too intent on eating to even give me a second look.  I know they hibernate, and so I’m guessing the first thing on this creature’s mind was food, and not wondering if he’d be predated by something like me.  In any regard, there I sat, about twenty feet away from him, and took some shots.  Once I’m back where my computer is, I’ll post some of those pictures here.  I hope they came out as well as I think they did.

I remained there watching the porcupine for a bit, but after I’d taken my fill of pictures, I continued on.  Walking the trails, I could smell the familiar smells, hear the familiar sounds, and recognize the memories that I’ve had for these same paths, this same place.  The scent of fresh pine, the warm, damp air running thick among the trees – all of these were tickling my senses.  Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to spend today than outside in the open air.

I hope you all have a lovely Ostara, Easter, or Zombie Jesus Day (or whatever you call it).  Whatever you do, recognize that spring has come, and allow yourself to enjoy this season of new beginnings, bright pastel greens, pinks, and blues, and the anticipation of the high summer months coming.

I have just finished reading Maurice by E.M. Forster.

All I can say is this is a MUST READ.

Let me explain a little, and maybe you’ll see why I feel this way.

First, it important to know a few things: I’ve always liked E.M. Forster.  I was introduced to him waaaay back in the early days of my undergraduate studies at UNH.  One of my favorite professors introduced me to him, and had us read A Room with a View, a wonderful modern novel which was remade into a movie that I also liked a lot.  For me to find out that Forster fit within the context of my current writing excited me, so of course he fell on my book list. I love the way he plays with light, the way he builds his characters, and the amount of faith he puts into his readers.  He expects us to fill the gaps, and to draw reasonable conclusions on our own.  He expects us to be educated, and to understand the finer nuances found in his pieces.  Though this could be said about any of the greater authors of our time, Forster, for me, is a great example of these expectations realized.

Second, I’m a gay man.  As a younger person, though, not out of the closet, and desperate to reject these feelings inside me, I knew the pain of having a double life.  I knew what my thoughts were telling me, and the way I behaved on the outside were incongruous.  It is with this in mind that I related to the character Maurice in a very deep way.  He also struggles with who he is, runs as fast and as far away from the realization that he is gay, and does all he can to suppress it.  There is even a hint that at some point, Maurice admits he wants to kill himself because of the overwhelming inner struggle he has with his identity.

Third, this piece was written in NINETEEN THIRTEEN.  That’s right, 1913, and finished in 1914.  Of course, though, it could never have been published then.  In fact, it wasn’t published until after Forster’s death in 1970.  Over FIFTY years passed before this book would see the light of day.  What remains striking, to me, is the timelessness of the story, and, in a way, the timeliness of it, as well.

In reality, not much has changed in the span of Forster’s lifetime, plus an additional forty years.  We still get reports of kids struggling with who they are, and who end up taking their lives tragically too soon because it becomes too unbearable for them.  We still see the conservatives and neo-Christians offering ways to “pray the gay away” in order to create a “better” world.  There remains people at the end of their wits, simply trying to find a way to be at peace with who they truly are.  100 years on, and these facts remain.

I recommend this book for anyone looking to build a foundation in GLBT literary history.  I recommend this book for anyone who wants assurance that they are not alone in their struggle, or who wishes there was a place where they could flee and find solace in being able to be themselves.  I recommend this title for anyone who thinks we’ve come a long way socially, and that there is no need for any other changes to our current laws and ways of dealing with those who do not fall within the societal norms.

Just read the book.

I can write. And read. Outside! I’m very, very happy about the change in season and weather. I’m also feeling pretty good about a lot of other things in my little universe too.

I recently got back from a wonderful, yet brief, visit with my paternal grandmother. It was a trip down nostalgia boulevard, as it often is, and I had the opportunity to do a little wandering around the house and neighborhood. Reconnecting to my past is part of why I’m back in Maine, and my little visit home was definitely part of that.

One of the other reasons I’m posting is because of something that happened yesterday. I have had the opportunity to chat with a really lovely guy from Australia. Tim and I “met” through a chat program on my phone, and though it was initially just friendly banter back and forth, something about him has stuck, and after a few emails and sharing pieces of writing, I worked up the courage to chat face to face via Skype. I’m very glad I did.

The big take-away from my conversations with him, which has often come up in chats with other people I have had the chance to get to know, is that I still have a lot to learn. And a lot to let go of. I know I’m on the right path, and in time, and with patience, I’ll get to where I should be. I’m still figuring out who I am, and what I want out of life. Letting go, being in the moment, owning my past, and not letting it stand between me and the here-and-now, are all things I’m continuously working towards. Perhaps it’s simply living, simply processing. Whatever the reason, or outcome, I’m learning how to be a better, stronger, happier me.

Everyday is a new opportunity. I intend to make the most of each one.

• Firebird by Mark Doty
• Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn
• Maurice by E.M. Forster
• To The Friend Who Did Not Save My Life by Hervé Guibert
• The Man With Night Sweats: Poems by Thom Gunn
• Chronicle of a Plague Revisited by Andrew Holleran
• In the Company of My Solitude: American Writing from the AIDS Pandemic edited by Marie Howe and Michael Klein
• The Lost Weekend by Charles Jackson
• Jesus’ Son by Denis Johnson
• My Brother by Jamaica Kincaid
• Borrowed Time: An AIDS Memoir and Becoming a Man: Half a Life Story, both by Paul Monette
• Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov
• Martin and John by Dale Peck
• Secret Historian: The Life and Times of Samuel Steward, Professor, Tattoo Artist, and Sexual Renegade by Justin Spring
• The Blackwater Lightship and The Story of the Night, both by Colm Toibin

Red text = I’ve read them already

If you’ve read these, or have any comments, I’m all ears!

Okay, so that’s not completely true.  I did wake up, I did brush my teeth, and I did manage to shower.  I also took a nice leisurely stroll around town, taking some shots, and met up with a dear friend of mine in the East End of Portland.  All told, I walked about six or so miles today, and enjoyed the lovely late March sun that we got today.  I say I did nothing, though, because, for the first time in a while, I wasn’t engaged with work OR school.  It was truly a day to just be.  And, I’m glad I had it.

I got up early today, and did some light groceries, so when I went out for a walk, I ended up at the Maine State Pier around noon.  Sitting on the edge of the dock, I enjoyed a lovely turkey sandwich.  Of course, being near the shore, the seagulls are abundant, and I swear they can spot food being consumed from a mile away.  Needless to say, a few dark shadows swooped overhead, and soon I had a small flock of them crowding around me as I ate my lunch.  Two of the flock, though, were clearly in charge.  I awarded their tenacity with parts of my crust, and for my offering, this is what I got:

They are literally within a foot of the end of my foot.

I don’t know why, but they were very content to just lay there with me, even after I put the food away, and doze in the sun for a while.  The sun had a hard time overpowering the stiff, cold breeze blowing in off the water, but these two kept their place, and for about twenty minutes, I was kept company by these guys.  I really think, had I brought more food, they’d be eating out of my hand.  I know for a fact these birds eat like kings along the docks and waterfront of Portland, so I didn’t feel terrible for not being more generous, and really, it was kinda cool that they were so domesticated.

But, really, other than that, it was a day of No Thing.  Sometimes, days like this are necessary, and when the sun is shining, and the smell of the air is filled with the richness of spring air, it’s a pretty good way to spend the day.  Doing Nothing.

It’s a story about a man who has given his loved one the option of leaving him.  This person, depicted as a woman in the accompanying video for the song, has said good bye, and like me, he has chosen to dance to his sadness.  The song, set at a pitch and volume that is perfect for a large dance club, with it’s thunderous bass line, crystal clear whispers, and a forlorn vocal track, succeeded in transporting me from where I was, on that sandy sidewalk, to another place.  The words and accompanying music put a rhythm in my step that felt like a form of dance and marching.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I began to feel a tremble in my lip.  With each step, my knees grew weaker, and the warm flush of emotion streamed up from my chest, which had begun to tighten with each gasp.  In that moment, my eyes welled up, and for no apparent reason, I was crying.  In the next second, I knew why.  It was grief.  Lots of heavy, weighted grief.

This writing process this term has had me dealing with a large portion of the grief baggage I’ve been trailing behind me for over a dozen years.  Grief at love lost, at a man’s death to AIDS, at not being stronger, or wiser when I knew him, and grief at my freshly-lost love, as well, all swelled up inside me, seeking a boil-off, a quick steam release.  The emotional wave lasted only a few minutes, but in that span of time, I was reminded why I am doing what I’m doing.  I’m working through all of this to be a better man in the future.  I’m doing this to accept my humanity, and to get this story out of my head, for once and for all.

Here’s a link to the song.

Back to the writing.  Back to the reason.

It’s early. I’m awake. I should be, though, as I took a long nap when I got home. I guess I needed the sleep, but damn, my schedule is still on the topsy-turvy. It’s okay, though. I am a morning person, and this feels natural to me. Finally.

I woke up with visions of the motorcycle I want, and taking a long ride with a guy on back, just cruising up the coast to Rockland or Bar Harbor, or anywhere really, just feeling the wind in my hair, arms around me, and really flying away. Just going anywhere I want on a warm summer day.

This will be a reality for me, if I can control my spending. As it stands right now, I’m not doing so hot with this. But I can, if I put my mind to it. I know I can.

It’s been way too long since I sat down to write, and perhaps that’s where my frustration with my writing has come from. I just haven’t had the energy or the drive to put words down. Whatever the case, as I was telling a classmate of mine, I’ve got to put aside the stress and rage when it comes to meeting deadlines, and just write. There’s something about keeping it pure, keeping it simple, and letting it unfold before me that I prefer.

I know I need to cut to the reality more in my writing, too. No more bullshit dancing around the things that are painful, the things that I think might cause offense. No body’s going to read what I write anyway. Sure, my advisor will edit the pieces, and tell me they’re shit where they are shit, and that’s good. I need that from time to time – or every three weeks, as the case may be – but in the end, this writing is for me. It’s where I live, it’s who I am.

Big deep breaths help too.

I can do this, as much as I’m teetering on the edge of giving it all up and just rolling along with what I’ve got right now. I don’t want to be complacent, though. I don’t want to let go of my dreams.

Just yesterday afternoon, while walking back from the store, I spotted a Jeep Wrangler rolling out of the west end of Portland, and I paused. Behind the wheel was a guy, a little older than me. He had on dark sunglasses, and a subtle, smug look on his face – from what I could briefly see. He cruised on down the hill, and across the intersection, and off into the evening.

He had my jeep. He had something I’ve wanted for a very long time. Thing is, I don’t think it’s the jeep that I’m looking for, necessarily. It’s the lifestyle and attitude that can come from owning one. For me, a jeep is a symbol of freedom, of a certain respect and outlook towards the outdoors. It’s a vehicle to get you away from the pavement and sidewalks, and off into the mountains, the hidden meadows, the fishing holes, or wherever humanity has made the least impact. It, as well as a motorcycle, represent a way out of the bricks and concrete that surround me every day. That’s why I want a jeep. I want a way out.

I need to keep my goals in mind. A place of my own is on the event horizon. I love my roommates to pieces, but I’m also a mid-thirties guy. I need a place where I can really let my hair down, and take full responsibility for my housekeeping. After I get the motorcycle, this is my next step: Getting my own home.

In fact, this is my list:

1. Motorcycle
2. My own apartment
3. A teaching position
4. Saving money for my own house/plot of land
5. Settling down

Perhaps the biggest thing is the last one on my list. I really want to settle into life. For a while, at least. I want a place that is home, that isn’t transient, and that is where I’ll be for quite some time. This will only come with a job that I can count on to make some decent money. I know my time at Apple isn’t forever, but it’s a good place for me to be right now. I know I’m willing and able to do better.  I might even end up back in England.  I truly left my heart there, and right now, there is only a few things that really keep me here in the US.

It’s good to wake up and take stock of my life from time.  I need to do this more often.

It’s a new month, and a new show.  I’m talking a lot about my writing, and news from work.  Hope you enjoy the music too!

This show’s music:

• Turning Tables – Adele
• Sunshine (Go Away) – Johnathan  Edwards
• Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car – Iron & Wine
• Dragging the Line – Tommy James
• Change (featuring Wale) – Daniel Merriweather
• Home – Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros
• Take it All – Adele
• Who Knew – P!nk
• We R Who We R – Ke$ha

I’m working a lot at the store, plus trying to keep up on my school work, and stay on top of things in town, and really, all of this combined has me run ragged.  I’m not sure how I’m going to keep up this pace, but one thing is for certain, I can’t do it forever.  I have a feeling that it’s going to be the social life that falls off the map.

And really, it’s okay if this happens, as far as I can tell.  I love the friends I’ve made in Portland, and I really do like the city.  At the end of the day, though, I know it’ll be there when I’m done with this semester.  I know it’ll be here when I need to divert my attention, get out of my own head, and take a break.

Right now, though, that’s not an option.

Right now, I need to get back to work.  Such is my life.

-Thom

PS. I am very, VERY thankful to have a full-time job this day and age.  And with that comes benefits, too.  Also, very thankful for those too.

When all else fails, reach for the chocolate

I’ve been working quite a bit lately.  More than I thought I was going to be when I took the position.  Honestly, though, my days fly by there, and I’m not complaining about the extra hours.  I’ve got a great group of co-workers and love what I do.  What this time spent at my bill-paying job does, though, is add extra pressure to keep up the other end of things with regards to school and the writing whenever I have a moment off.  No longer do I have the time to simply spend two or three days in a row just working on school.  I have to parse my days down to the hour, and really, for someone as gregarious and social as I am, this has been the struggle of this semester.

I have met some amazing guys over the last few months (and gals!), but I know this has taken away from time I should be focused on the work I’m doing for school.  I’m NOT the anti-social writer locked away in some attic or basement somewhere.  I don’t squirrel away notes and thoughts as I wander aimlessly through my days.  I’m alive, I’m out there, I’m interacting with people all the time.  There has to be a way, though, to find balance between the quite solitude of writing and the noisy raucous fun of going out with new-found friends and shaking off the stresses of the day.

Currently, this is my struggle.

Today is a day off for me, and I managed to finish up one book and draft an annotation about what it was I read.  Becoming a Man: Half a Life Story by Paul Monette was a great book.  He goes back into his own past, and explores what his life was like prior to coming out of the closet.  Honestly, there were a LOT of passages in the book where I related to him and his situation.  The self-deprication, the constant struggle to keep the inner self from being exposed, the guarded defensiveness when people got close.  I highly recommend the book, especially to someone who is either struggling with their identity, or who is currently trying to figure out how they became the person they are today.  Going over the past, as I mention in my annotation, can answer a lot of questions, but more often than not, it raises more questions along the way.  Sometimes, these are the things that need our full attention, and we don’t know it until we are aware.

• Right as Rain – Adele
• Belly of June – Horsefeathers
• Love Rain Down feat. Fisher – ATB
• F_kin’ Perfect – P!nk
• Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car – Iron & Wine
• Infinity feat. Rough Duchess – ATB
• Trouble – Ray Lamontagne

(image from “The Big Picture” at the Boston Globe – click for the link)

I got to bed last night early – around ten minutes of nine.  Really, it had been a very long time since I had been able to get to bed that early, and hopefully reset my internal clock.  I’m normally an early riser, so it felt good this morning to come back to consciousness at 4:30, to be up before the sun rose, and to start my day before the majority of the eastern seaboard was up.  Really, the dawn is my time.

I have been closely watching the events overseas, particularly in Egypt and the rest of the Middle East, as have many, many people from all over the globe.  It’s been fascinating to watch an entire generation of people – most my age – rise up against their government, and demand changes that are necessary to move an entire country forward.  The images I’ve been able to see on the usual networks – Facebook, Twitter, blogs – have captivated me.  Men, women, and young people out demonstrating against an oppressive regime, demanding change, making their voices heard across the globe, all have been racing before my eyes.  Scenes on Al Jazeera English, BBC, CNN, and the like all show the passion, the desperation, the fury, and the energy that a collective movement can bring to the forefront.  I am hoping something good comes out of all of this for the Egyptian people.  They have a truly amazing culture, an impressive and long history, and being witness to something this monumental is powerful.

Today, though, I will need to pull my attention from the news in order to focus on my school work.  I have a lot of reading and writing to catch up on, and things I need to accomplish before heading to Washington, DC on Wednesday.  I’ve managed to land a really inexpensive bus ticket from Boston to DC, and will be joining fellow classmates from Goddard at the AWP conference there.  I’ll be manning the table for Goddard on each of the days that I’m there, and hopefully be able to get into some really interesting workshops and lectures about the craft of writing, and get to meet some interesting people.  I’ve never attended a conference for writers, so this ought to be interesting.

My morning thoughts today are stretching far and wide, but it all feels good.  I needed to do this – this early rising – and catch my breath for a bit.  I feel a good energy about today, and I want to see where it takes me.

I hope you all have a good day, too.  Yes, it’s Monday, but the start of the week (at least here in the West), can be full of potential and positive possibilities.  There’s always something good with beginnings.

-Thom

My first packet is due on February 14, 2011, and though that’s a few weeks away still, I’m already feeling pressure.  It’s all being applied on myself from myself, though, which is weird and different.  Over the course of the last few days, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m having a hard time overcoming the inertia I feel with regards to the writing I need to be doing.  Turns out, I’m down-right scared of the project I’ve taken on.

Writing from memory, writing about my past, and presenting the story I need to tell is about the most daunting thing I’ve done in a very long time.  It takes focus, it takes patience (with myself), and it takes will.  It also takes discipline.  I have the capability of all of these things.  I have the capacity to love the story, and myself, in a way that remains true, vital, and real.   I need to realize this capacity.  I need to begin the process of organizing and creation.

Really, my daily writing so far has been as a journal.  I have days and days and days of writing already done.  Each piece, titled by the date I wrote it, is a constant act of growth, like a snowball.  Each turn of the words adds another layer, another observation, another dimension to what it is I’m working on.  Stuck between the rants about my life, about the situations I find myself in, reside these little nuggets of something real that I can draw from.  I can always go back over these pieces for some guidance, but in the end, what I create must remain honest, focused, and accurate.  I need to strike the right tone and voice.  The more writing I do, the more aware I’m becoming of the actual craft that is putting words on a page.  I’m learning more of the artistry with how and where words are positioned, and sentences are strung up.

For now, getting caught up in all those minutia is a bit of an excuse not to do the writing.  For now, I really need to put my energy into getting the words down.

There may not be many posts on here, on this site, as I need to focus on the work for school.  Know I’m still here, though, and I will try to post from time to time about what it is I’m up to.  This blog has become a really good repository for my feelings and thoughts on things, and as a therapeutic device, and a platform to speak from, I really enjoy it.  Thank you a ton for reading my blather!

Yours In the Snow,

Thom

I’ve just returned from a week in the mountains of Vermont.  As you all know, this is part of my education, these week-long retreats into the hinterland.  They serve as a way to re-invigorate the writers group I belong to.  We meet, we discuss our work, we drink copious amounts of wine, we attend workshops, we laugh, and sometimes we have breakthroughs in our work.  This time around, I had one of those.

Going forward, I’ll be working on a piece that incorporates a lot of personal narrative.  I have a story I need to tell as a way to make peace with my distant past.  It’s also going to deal with a larger conversation about being at this place in this time.  Without getting into specifics here, it’s going to be a therapeutic bridge between then and now, and hopefully help me to be a better, stronger man, who’s able to be fully present and aware of his life and his relationships in the future.  Really, that’s what my writing is for.

I’m going to write from a place of love.  This revelation, this statement, this affirmation  came to me by going away to the snowy place on the hill.  If I promise myself to write from this emotion, it enables me to tell the truth.  Pure and simple.

For years I have hated aspects of myself, and this self-loathing has affected how I interact with people, and how I present myself to the world.  Starting with myself, and accepting my faults and foibles as part of a complete version of me, I’m at a point where I’m ready to begin healing.  Finally.  I only hope I can translate this into the pieces I create, and the stories I tell.  If I trust in the process (and believe me, this is nothing short of an act of faith), I will get there.  The voice I use will be completely mine.

I’m excited to see where this semester takes me.  My reading list is long, and my head is full of ideas and thoughts already.  Mixing the two will be an act of alchemy.  I wonder if I’ll turn these bits of coal into gold?  Perhaps.  I will do my best.

PS: If you are in a writing program, or even attend Goddard, the above writing might make sense to you.  For anyone else who thinks I’ve completely lost my mind and am talking in complete gibberish, I totally understand.  Believe me, this is the effect that Goddard has on people.

This episode’s music:

• In The Dirt: S. Carey
• Awake My Soul: Mumford & Sons
• Cosmic Love: Florence + The Machine
• Silvia: Miike Snow
• Walking On a Dream: Empire of the Sun
• Ordinary Miracle: Sarah McLachlan
• Tori Amos: Winter
• My Song: Brandi Carlile

You were a crazy, manic, loopy year.  To be honest, I’m not quite sure how I got through to the end of it with you.  I know, I know – there are still a few more tricks up your sleeve, and it’s still three days out till you pass into the annals of history, but man-o-man, you were an evil dance partner. For sure.

I started off the year with you, living in the tiny space in Boston’s North End.  Things weren’t well between him and I, but you also brought a few people into my life that still mean a great deal to me.  One in particular helped me to go forward with my creativity, one who inspired me to do better, one who just appreciated the me that I am, not the me I should or need to become.

You kept the wind at my back when I went out running – pushing myself further and faster, but with less monster-at-my-heels and more in-it-for-the-long-term.  Winter faded to Spring, and my acceptance into grad school changed things.  Big time.

You took me overseas, to experience a teeny, tiny amount of time in a land far away from anything I’ve ever seen before.  It taught me humility.  It was scary.  It made me feel human, at my most raw.  I saw that life is possible without the creature comforts I had taken for granted.

Then you sent me to the hills of Vermont.  You sent me to a magical place.  Instead of the daily grind, my creativity, my imagination, my dreams were all on center stage.  I could follow thoughts to their logical or illogical endings.  You helped me figure out where I’m starting with all of this writing, this thinking, this placement of self in the wider world.  Really, things started to come to a head during that week in the crucible of school.

Upon return, the life I knew came crashing down around me. You stood back, arms crossed over your chest, and watched as I navigated my way through the wreckage. Things between him and I were never going to get better.  He took a stand, I came to terms, and for a month and a half, we did an ugly tango of avoidance and argument till the time came to move on.  You taught me to trust my guts, move with purpose, and speak from a place of integrity and honesty.

I landed, on my feet, here in Portland.  I didn’t have a pot to piss in.  I didn’t have so many things that my life had become accustomed to before I moved.  Those first few nights were awful.  I was alone.  For the first time in nearly a decade.  There were lots of deep breaths and voluminous sighs, blinking at the street light filtering through the plastic blinds.

I’m not sure if you knew, dear Year, how much adjustment I would need to make with this new direction in my life, but I’m sure you were laughing at me.  Here I was, getting what I deserved.  I hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been able to look up from my feet and towards a distant horizon.  You were going to teach me how to be on my own.

The strange thing is, Old 2010, that I have learned.  I have been able to lift my eyes up higher, see further, and come to accept the pieces of me that were missing or shoved into the deepest corners of my self.  I have come to a subtle peace within myself, and accept the rural side of me.  I embrace my love of nature, of solitude, of the simple, more than I have ever before.  It’s not a forced affection either.  It’s not a matter of accepting my lot in life, as it was when I was a boy.  Now, I’m making conscious decisions to live a life that suits me better.  You, 2010, taught me this was possible.

I won’t miss you.  I look forward to the New in 2011 with excitement and wide-open possibilities.  I want this next year to be better, in many ways, than you were to me. Still, thank you for being such a taskmaster.  In many ways, you helped me start to grow into my adult form.  Finally.

With memories both ill and fond,

Thomas

I did want to put out a notice, though, going into next year.  As I’ll be back in school after January 6, I won’t be able to really post much here.  I want to take all of my writing energy and focus it on school work.  It promises to be a really challenging semester for me, personally and professionally, so I need to make sure I’m channeling my energy in the right directions.  I’ll still podcast, I’ll still take part in group shows when I can, but I can’t say for certain there will be much writing.

Of course, that is all subject to change, and if you know me, I am really into sharing what I’m up to, so it’ll be an act of restraint to keep me from putting down words here.  Besides, this is as much a sounding board for my ideas as it is anything else.  Here, though, I can get feedback.  Feedback is important. Especially to me.

It’s Christmas 2010 today.  I had a really quiet day after a very festive evening last night at my mom’s house.  I was able to catch up with my cousins from her side of the family – people I haven’t seen in almost a decade.  There were so many kids I’ve never met – second cousins all of them.  My aunts and uncles all looked good, if not a bit older around the edges.  My mom was in the middle of it all, celebrating with her family as she has always enjoyed doing for years now.

I walked into a room full of familiar strangers, put on my best face, and soon found myself in conversations that should have happened over the years.  Catching up with life plans, events, health, all of it.  It was a matter of a few short hours before people filtered out and left me filled with more questions and curiosities about their lives.  My mom and I both reached for a beverage of adult quality, and sat reflecting upon the evening until the early hours of Christmas morning.  Around 1:30, after a couple of beverages, we retired for the night.  Sleep wasn’t very deep, but it was certainly welcomed.

The morning was spent hanging around the house, but eventually my mom and her husband left to go over to his family’s place for the day.  That left me at her house, with the two dogs, and nothing to do and nowhere to be.  Really, it was perfect.  Not quite what I had planned on, but somehow better.

I had a chance to take a drive and snap some pics around my hometown.  I got some good writing done by the light of the Christmas tree and the sunlight filtering through the soft, grey clouds.  I realized how much I wanted my own dog.  I realized how much I wanted to get moving on the plans I’ve laid for myself.  I realized how much I miss teaching, how much I want to be the person I was intended to be, and not the guy I am now.  There’s still so much about me I need to change, so much I need to work on.  The afternoon, scratching the head of one pooch and the chin of the other, and thinking about the way things in my life are headed, was very good for me.  Very, very good.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday.  I’m glad it’s come – and now it’s gone.  I’m ready to move onto 2011, and I’m looking forward to a good new year.  Here’s to the future!

Vladstudio

Here’s an example of some of the artwork available on the site:

Click to Visit!

It’s a site, whose creator has some beautiful desktop art and fun widgets that you can download right to your computer.  If you really like it, make a donation, and become a registered user.  I have, and it’s opened up a plethora of artwork that I can now use on my computer (along with a fun desktop clock!).  Check it out.  Give it some love.  And, as always, make today a beautiful one, in some way.

-Thom

thompalmer@teachingthomas.net
or leave a rating on iTunes

This Week’s Music:

• River – Joni Mitchell
• Sway – Bic Runga
• Gabriel – Lamb
• Song for a Winter’s Night – Sarah Maclachlan
• Here’s Where the Story Ends – The Sundays
• Awake My Soul – Mumford and Sons
• Both Hands – Ani DiFranco
• Welcome Home – Radical Face

But, it’s very generative for my writing.

I’ve been stuck in a little space in my head for a few days now. I’m not able to pull myself out of the work-mind I’m in. I’m struggling to keep up with my reading, and my writing has been strictly journaling. That said, things are still moving forward, albeit slowly.

I’ve been able to stay on top of my bills. I’ll be caught up and ready to start saving money by the end if the year. I’m geared up for school in January (a few weeks away). I’m also feeling okay with being alone. I’m getting used to wrapping myself up at night in my blankets and being able to sleep peacefully. I really didn’t think that was ever going to happen.

Time DOES heal. Amazingly, really.

I’m constantly seeking a balance in my life. I can say as the year draws to a close I’m more balanced now than I thought possible a few months ago.

It’s a personal equilibrium.

Enjoy your Saturday night. I’m doing the same.

Winter Solstice, or Yule, is fast approaching.  The weather here in Portland has turned bitter cold.  Today, the air temperature was around 30F, but with the windchill, it was in the low twenties.  By the end of the week, we’re going to be looking at teens/single-digit temps overnight.  This, by definition, is bone-chilling cold, and heralds the arrival of winter.  The ground is frozen solid, and any snow that will fall from here on through till March will remain.  It’s the final stage of nature’s preparation for a deep, cold blanket of ice.

It’s also the season of Yule.  The darkest night of the year, the most that the sun remains hidden from sight. After December 21st, we actually gain daylight every day.  Every day, minute by minute, the winter light grows, until eventually spring comes again.

For me, this time of year has transitioned from a time of chaos and crazy holiday shopping and stressing over where I’ll be and how I’ll get there and who gets presents and who I can’t afford to shop for, to a season of simplicity.  This year, unlike any other in my recent past, will be easy.  It will be peaceful.  It will be unchallenging.  I want it to be more reflective and introspective.  Just as it should be.

I don’t want to spend my time reaching to recreate an experience I had as a child, when this time of year was full of wonder and surprise.  I want to create a new tradition.  I want to create my own tradition.   This year, Yule will be special for me, and I’m looking forward to it.

So, tomorrow is World HIV/AIDS Day 2010.  December 1st, every year, is set aside as a day to remember those who are currently living with HIV, and to remember those who have died from the disease since it’s inception in the late 1970s, early 1980s.

The first reported case in the US was in 1981 – and I was four years old.  My life, so long as I can recall, has been marked by this disease as a real and present danger.  Since I can remember, it’s been a health issue that seems to have no end, and no cure.  For nearly 30 years, the virus has been a line of demarcation between two people who are intimate.  Thirty years of awareness, of testing, of being conscious of our bodies, our behaviors, and how we approach and handle bodily fluids.  For me personally, it has had a lasting impression on how I interact with other gay men, even subconsciously.  I don’t know a time without it.

Do yourself a favor.  Get tested, especially if you think you’ve done something that might have put you at risk.  Do it with a friend, do it with two.  There are plenty of places around to get a free, anonymous test done.  Today’s testing is rapid – usually in a matter of hours, or a few days.  It only takes a drop of blood.  It only takes a little bit of time to know your status, and to take responsibility for yourself.  Get involved in a local vigil, volunteer at a center that services people living with HIV/AIDS.  Be equipped with knowledge about the disease, the risk factors that increase your chance of exposure, and how to best protect yourself and those you love.

I will be getting a test as well.  Join me in learning more about yourself.

For more information:

• http://www.thebody.com
• http://unaids.org
• http://aids.gov

Finally got around to doing another show!  This one’s very down-tempo, but not in a bad way.  Plenty of thoughts to share, and updates on where I am in my head and in this crazy little town on the coast.

Music (all available on iTunes – Buy Your Music!)

1. Stars Come Out – ATB
2. Have You Ever – Brandy Carlisle
3. Other Side of the World – KT Tunstall
4. You’ll See – Madonna
5. Talking to My Angel – Melissa Etheridge
6. Happiness – The Fray

So, once a year, I make a list of resolutions.  Typically, though, most people do it on New Year’s Eve (or thereabouts).  I, however, do it differently.  I try to do it around my own New Year – my birthday.  This year, though, with all the chaos and curiosity of settling into a new life in a new home, I didn’t take the time to come up with this list for my next year going forward.  This morning, though, I’ve had a chance to mull it over, and have a list I’d like to share.  Your thoughts and input are greatly appreciated, so please, comment away!

• I want to take myself to Paris for my 34th birthday.  It will require a lot of saving, planning, and arranging my life to accommodate this, but it’s a goal.  And if I don’t achieve it, it won’t break my heart, but will at least be something to reach for.  Oh, and I’m thinking a week.  Why not aim big, huh?
• I want to have my writing published.  I need to begin seeking out journals and making submissions.  For now, I have some short stories, some ideas for larger projects, but really, it would be awesome to see myself in glossy print.  Who doesn’t like glossy print, eh?
• I want to get a real bed.  My futon is fine, and serves me well for now, but I do miss the grace and beauty of a full-size bed, high off the floor and covered in soft sheets, fluffy comforters, and a half-dozen pillows.  It’s a symbol of home for me.  And is a significant symbol of permanence.
• I want to register and race in three 10k races.  One in the spring, one in the summer, and one in the fall.  And I want to raise money for charity by doing so.  This form of exercise is my greatest physical ability (thank you Mr. Clark for getting me into this way back in 2008), and I truly do enjoy the feeling of the world moving fast beneath my feet.  It’s the closest I’ll come to flying under my own power.
• I want to find a way back into a classroom.  As much as I am focusing on my schoolwork, and taking a long-view approach to the direction of my career, spending time in an educational setting is where my heart longs to be.  This can be in the form of volunteering or tutoring.  It can be at the high school, college, or even graduate level.  It can be a public or private setting.  I just want to lead a learning experience again.  I want to facilitate mental growth and development in a student.

This is my list.  It’s only five points long, which is manageable.  And, it’s something I can turn to when I’ve lost my direction, or focus.  Especially point number two.  Getting my writing out there, putting my name to a piece that others can read and respond to, and getting feedback is huge for me.  It’s not the remuneration I’m looking for – it’s the discourse.

Oh, and Paris? Who couldn’t want a trip there? Really, now.  Especially in October!

The first semester of my graduate program has ended.  Already, though, my thoughts are turning towards the next one.  Things have changed for me – my focus, my direction – and with that, I’ve got to sort out where I’m going to go from here.

When I started, I was a scared man.  I wasn’t sure if I had a valid voice, if I even had enough talent to apply to such a program.  I sweated over the details.  I worried what others thought of me.  I was in a tough spot personally, too.  My life had taken on this whirl of chaos emotionally, fiscally, and geographically.  I was caught in a place I didn’t want to be, in a life that I felt swept up in rather than actively decided to have, and was very unsure about where it was all taking me.  I didn’t feel alive, or engaged, or like I was doing what I should be doing.

Now, as I have taken on a new life, in a new home, with both hands on the wheel, the path I started off on – safe, soothing, just challenging enough – seems like just a basic stepping stone.  I’m here now, and I’m really ready to take a higher step, to climb up, to push upward and outward.  I’m ready to challenge myself harder, with more determination, requiring more from myself in terms of focus, commitment, drive.  I need to shake things up.  I need to be bold, be brave, be honest – more honest with myself, especially.  I need to go on guts, go on instinct.  I need to put out there in words what I truly know, what I truly see, how I truly feel.

I think I’m ready.  I won’t know until I start, but for now, it’s all I’m thinking about.

In February, I’m going to a large writer’s conference in Washington, DC.  This, I’m hoping, will be an extension of the program I’m in, and will give me a great opportunity to network with other new writers out there in today.  I’ll be volunteering at my school’s booth, but also attending some of the workshops and visiting other programs while I’m there.  I will be seeking out a place to crash while I’m in DC, so if any of you have any suggestions or ideas, I’m all ears!

I’m ready for this.  By taking this step into the writing program, I am finally taking myself and my craft seriously.  I’ve been doing this quietly as I started the program, but I’ve reached a point where now I tell people “I’m a writer” on a frequent basis.  Self-identifying is rather key for me, and it really pushes me to be what I say I am.  This time, at least, I want to live up to the label.  Doing this, though, does require me to take a new, more true-to-self direction.  The challenge for me now is to DO IT.

I haven’t been back to the Seacoast in a while, and it will be good to visit some old stomping grounds.  I’m meeting up with a Facebook friend for coffee, and spending the night with friends in Dover, NH on both Monday and Tuesday night.  I’ve got my camera, so hopefully I can snap some pics of the area, and have a chance to get out for a bit around lunch time.  It’s going to be 9-6 training sessions each day, so I’m not counting on getting out too much.  Still, it’ll be a nice visit and I’m looking forward to it.

From here on out, it’s going to be me, working in a mall, trying to keep my sanity.  I think I’ll manage, given who I’m working for.  Also, there’s an entrance to the mall not far from the store, so I can always slip out for fresh air and a reality check.  Always good to keep my feet on the ground.

Anyway, it’s time to put on a movie and relax until bed time.  Hope you all had a great weekend, and look for updates from the Portsmouth/Dover area!

Visit the NOH8 campaign here.

Music, as always, can be found on iTunes.  If you want a tracklist, please let me know in the comments, and I will be more than happy to share.

Thanks again!

-Thom