Monthly Archives: September 2012

The Nights

It’s midnight here in the Emerald City and I find myself not able to sleep. These nights have become less frequent, as the days go on and I get used to my newly-found singleness. The waves of loneliness have become like the tide – some days pounding the shore and others an afterthought, but lurking in the background.

I spend most of my evenings alone. There’s nothing wrong with solitude, far from it. However, my particular work is so isolating that I find myself craving human contact. A hello, a chat, anything to help pass the time and remind me I’m still here.

This wasn’t the life I imagined.

Retrospect provides opportunity i suppose, and allows me to stop looking for answers and simply recognize I am better off without him.

Still, I miss his silliness, his certain way that only he could be. Grieving, reliving, and longing to be close, my hand on his, my leg touching his, a kiss goodbye in the morning, a kiss hello in the evening.

Words cannot describe it, so I’m left with only these images of happier times that run through my head like a never ending film…one in which has had all the bad times excised.

I see the opportunities that are opening before Me, things I wouldn’t have considered if we were still together. And I know – I am sure that I am much better off. But the nights are hardest.

Do we wish upon the same moon? Are we both longing for the better parts of our years together? Do we both look at couples with only the faintest hint of jealousy and envy, yearning for that closeness, thinking we may never find it, and wondering where to even start?

This isn’t the life I imagined, but this is the life I have.

All I can do is put one foot in front of the other and just keep walking on.

I’m not the first person to suffer heartache nor will I be the last. Ironic that while I feel so completely isolated and alone, there are probably millions of people going through similar emotions at the same time.

Isn’t life funny?

The nights are hardest but the moon is my faithful companion, and I look to her for solace. Thank you for embracing me, and holding me close.



Standing Up

Today, I received a message from a friend of mine about another acquaintance of ours, who shall remain nameless.  And this friend started in about how horrible this acquaintance was.  For simplicity sake (since already, two sentences in, *I’m* confused, I’ll refer to the friend as Dana and the acquaintance as Zelda.)

Dana started in by saying how Zelda had turned zealot and was pushing her propaganda on her children.  She continued another ten sentences, basically repeating the same thing, but using different words.

And when I could get a word in edgewise, I simply told her that while I didn’t care for Zelda, I was not going to invite her or her distorted views into my day.  That I simply didn’t have room in my mind for her negative speech.

Dana was quiet for a bit, then started in again.  I simply reiterated my point, and added that I haven’t thought about Zelda since the last time I saw her.  I wished her well, her kids well, and that was basically the end of that.

Dana then started in again.  Clearly, she has it out for this woman.  A woman she has only met maybe a handful of times, but spends an inordinate amount of energy thinking about.

I said, “I have spent more than enough time talking about Zelda today.  So, unless you want to speak about something else, then I suppose we’re finished for the day.”

Dana was quiet, then started in about how she wasn’t feeling well and needed to get back to bed.

I wonder.  Was this Dana’s complete objective?  To get me to say negative things about Zelda?  To partake in her reindeer games?  I don’t know.  And frankly, don’t care.

I have been working daily to be kind, to be understanding, to be generous to people.  But on the same token, to not stand idly by while either my thoughts or wishes are stepped upon.  And I felt very proud of myself by taking this opportunity to simply just dismiss the whole notion that Dana was presenting…that misery loves company.  And while that may be true, she is not going to find it with me.

In any case…this is such an insignificant part of my day, but something that needed to be processed, and now I can move on.  They always say directly through whatever it is you’re working on is often the most difficult.  But better than having unresolved feelings…like what’s going on between Dana and Zelda.

I hope, dear readers, you don’t think I’m preaching.  I know I can get a little self-righteous.  And please forgive me if it comes across that way.  I’m simply trying to be gracious, but also not feed into any sort of negativity.  There’s simply too much of it around us, and truly, my happiness or lack thereof is my choice.  And I choose to be happy.

There are a lot of things that have gone on over the last few months…heck, the last few years, that I suppose could leave me in a very negative, unhappy state.  But that’s not who I am fundamentally to my core.  And perhaps my next blog posting will talk about the dying at 35…and what it seems to now represent since I’ve had some perspective 7 months into this 35th year.

Wherever you are, Dana, feel better soon.  And Zelda, I truly do wish you the best.

If you’d like, dear readers, I’d love to hear about a time when you stood up for yourself.  What you thought as you were doing it, the repercussions, if any, and finally, the insight you may have about the entire incident.

Be kind to yourself.


On the WaterFront

I hesitated writing this blog, dear readers, because I wasn’t quite sure how to begin it.  This happened yesterday, so one could conceivably assume that I simply didn’t have enough time to sit down at my computer and write it…though, you would be mistaken.

To be honest, the experience as a whole has left me somewhat shocked, shaken, and surprised.

I apologize in advance at the graphic language that may or may not appear in this blog posting.  I’m not sure what will come out as I tell you my experience.

I was meeting a friend for lunch yesterday at noon, downtown Seattle.  I arrived early, as is my custom, found parking, and decided to take advantage of the day by going and sitting on this little alcove area that overlooked the water and the new Ferris wheel on 1st and Union.  I had some lines to highlight in a script, and found a spot next to a lovely fountain where I sat, with an unobstructed view of the Sound, the water rushing behind my back in the fountain, the sun bouncing off the water in front of me.

I was lost in my own world, simply enjoying my surroundings.  Water is a place of rejuvenation for me, a place where I go to remind myself that there are things, forces bigger than myself, and in a completely woo-woo sense, to wash away whatever is troubling me, and let me continue on with my day-to-day activities, struggles or triumphs.

This day couldn’t have been more perfect.  It was the last bastion of summer, before we head into the Seattle drizzle, and I was loving every moment of it, excited at the prospect that I was to be working as a guest artist in a play, and looking forward to meeting my new friends for sushi and wine.

Suddenly, I heard a voice from above, “What’s that?”  I looked up, and there is this woman, about 30-ish, wearing a plaid shirt, yellow hoodie, her hair in pigtails, the rest hidden by a hat, her eyes behind sunglasses.

“It’s a script–” and that was all I was able to get out.

“You fucking faggot.  You motherfucking faggot, with your pink highlighter, and your fucking attitude.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“You fucking faggot, you deserve to die.”

“Ma’am, I don’t understand.”

“Why are you calling me ma’am?”

“Because I don’t know you.”

“You don’t understand huh?”

“I’m positive I don’t understand.”

“I bet you are.  I bet you’re positive, and you take your fucking medication so you can go and spread your disease around to all your faggot friends.  You deserve to rot in hell.”

“Ma’am, I’m not going to engage with you.”

“You’re not going to engage with me, huh?  Why not?”

“Because you’re not saying anything nice and this isn’t constructive.”

“Fuck you, you dirty fucking faggot.  You’re dripping with disease, and you’re a scourge on the earth, and you should be killed.”

I went silent.  I wasn’t going to engage anymore.  But I was visibly shaken.  I didn’t know if she would lash out at me, hit me with her purse, what was in her purse, or what I should even do.  I was trying to remain calm and cool throughout this entire process.  She continued to berate me.  Soon it became noise.  And then she stopped.  She then wandered away and then came back and said:

“Nice ring.”

“Thank you,”

“No it’s not.  It’s ugly.  You’re fucking ugly.  Your face is ugly.  You deserve to fucking rot in hell.  You’re disgusting.”

I remained as calm as I could under the circumstances, and let her continue her rant.  Eventually she got tired of berating me, and wandered over to a nice elderly couple, also taking in the view.  “You fucking kykes,” she screamed.  “You should’ve died in Germany.”

The couple quickly moved away.  Then a woman with her two young children entered the circle.  They were carrying flowers.  Sensing another victim, this woman went over to them, and said, “Nice flowers.”  “Thank you.  I just got them at the mark–” “You stupid chink.  No one cares where you got your fucking flowers.  You’re probably going to grind ’em up with a cat and eat them, anyway.  What are you teaching your children?  You should get out of this country.”

Her vitriol was acidic, her tongue, using the F-word much more than I’ve written in this blog posting.  I stood up, as this woman’s attention was currently diverted, and went to find a police officer.

As I stated in the beginning, I was shocked.  Appalled.  Seattle is a pretty liberal place.  And I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary.  Yes, I’m a gay man.  But was I actively promoting my gay lifestyle?  No.  I was someone who sat down to enjoy the view of the water, while waiting for a friend.  And this woman — no, this monster — was completely and utterly baseless, offensive to anyone and everyone she could encounter.  Harassing people on the street.  Not for money, not for work, not even trying to promote a religious view.  Whatever demons were in her head were causing her to spew such violent, complete and utter filth towards anyone who came near her.

In that split second while she was berating me, I thought of a few things.  1) How do I react?  2)  What if she hits me?  Then what? 3) What if I wasn’t who I am — a proud gay man, but a kid with no sense of himself, questioning his sexuality, questioning where his life was going?  And this woman then went on the attack, bullying him with what she perceived to be a weakness, and causing this hypothetical kid to question even more to the point that he made a very rash decision, thinking things were never going to get better, and ended up killing himself?

I hope — and pray — that whatever demons this woman is facing, that she finds some inner peace and comes to terms with her hatred, her pure evilness, and has some sort of reconciliation at some point down the road.  Her hate is not needed in this world.  I am proud of who I am, and proud of who I love, and the choices I make.

I felt completely tested in this moment, tested in the sense that I had a decision to make.  I could have screamed and yelled at her, reacted just as angrily, said something negative.  What I really wanted to do was push her off the overlook into the traffic below and let her meet her demise there.  But I remained cool.  I remained calm, and tried to keep the situation from escalating any further than it already had.  It was tough, but I managed to do so.

After I walked away, I realized I had a very important choice to make.  Do I allow this woman to completely ruin the rest of my day?  Or do I simply shake it off?

I chose the latter.  This woman, her hate, her views are completely misguided.  She knows nothing about me as a person, and her control over how I feel about myself is nonexistent.  In fact, once this blog posting is complete, I will consider the matter resolved, as I have processed the entire situation, and move forward, on, and up.

I wish her the best.  Whatever she is facing, it must be pretty horrible to have to take it out on people unsuspecting, people going about their lives, people simply being in this world.

And yet, I’m grateful for the experience.  Not because I like being yelled at.  No.  Because I was able to show my mettle under pressure, and allow myself to be gracious, and practice patience.  And above all else, forgiveness for her shortcomings.

I posted on Facebook, and was overwhelmed with the love I received back from family and friends, people who were behind me 100 percent.  Though I didn’t post to make people feel sorry for me.  That wasn’t the intention at all.  The intent was to let people know that there are other people out there who are vicious, and who are cruel and will make judgments based on absolutely no fact whatsoever, except for what they choose to see.  Those are the people I pity the most.  Because like it or not, they are everywhere.

My friends and family:  Thank you.  Thank you for your words, thank you for your kindness and thank you for having my back.  You are amazing, and I feel completely and totally blessed to know you.

And to this woman who approached me on the street.  I forgive you.

And with that, I consider the matter closed.

Finishing Last

I am a nice person.

After failed relationships, and seeing what I’ve been processing over the last few months…no, really the last year…it has become acutely apparent that I am a good, nice person.  I will take care of someone.  And I will love unconditionally.

Yet, why do I go for the people who don’t seem to value me?

That’s a question for a therapist, I’m sure.  Who knows.

But if positive thinking is supposed to work (isn’t that what The Secret is based entirely around) then this is what I am putting out in the universe:

I want someone who wants me for me.
I want someone who loves me for me.
I want someone who makes me laugh.
I want someone who knows that even after we have a misunderstanding, that it doesn’t mean I hate them.
I want someone who appreciates my sense of humor.
I want someone who is happy to see me in the morning when we wake up, and is grateful to kiss me goodnight before we go to sleep.
I want someone who doesn’t mind if I ask a question or two, to understand a situation before making any sort of judgment call on it.
I want someone who can get along in a social setting.
I want someone who wants to spend time with me as much as I want to spend time with them.
I want someone who has dreams, and is working to achieve them, but understands that sometimes life gets in the way.
I want someone who is not afraid to be daring.
I want someone who will communicate.
I want someone who can see that I would do anything on this earth for them because I love them.
This is the beginning of a very detailed list.  I don’t know.  Maybe this is the stuff of fairy tales and romantic movies.  Or maybe this could be my life.

But I have a lot to offer someone…and someday, someone will see that.  And if not, well, I suppose I can be a crazy cat lady.  Though that requires gender reassignment surgery.  And a heck of a lot more cats.

I am a nice guy.  And it’s true.  We do finish last.  It’s always this last leg of the race that is the hardest.  And yet, I keep slogging on.