in a funk (or is this what relaxing looks like?)

since the new year ticked midnight, i’ve done absolutely nothing.

i visited my mother a couple times. made some food. i think i showered.
watched a couple movies. couple bowl games.
swept the floors. did some laundry.
oh and i updated the graphics and changed the theme of my blog.

but yeah, basically nothing. haven’t even social networked much.

(no, wait. i haven’t showered.)

tomorrow starts the new work week and there’s a game tomorrow night. so there’s that.

i gotta get out of this funk.

(and i gotta take a shower.)

previous blog: it has to get better

belonging

I believe most of us want to belong.

at least i always have wanted to–desperately. to belong to something greater than my self. an inclusive environment where I matter and contribute. (in that order.)

ergo, I’ve tried–often in vain–to belong to a myriad of entities.

as a child, I tried to belong to the group of kids who dictated what we did at recess. that Never worked out.

I tried to belong to teams that didn’t want my enthusiasm on the field because it came with no apparent physical talent.

I was adopted into a family where I largely still do not belong–despite one longsuffering matriarch’s efforts.

I married into families that did not want me.

I joined a religious body as a child because and stayed with it almost 4 decades because I was told it would accept me.

in fact, most of my life I’ve been struggling to belong…to find inclusion and acceptance, always interpreting my exclusion as rejection.

as I reflect on this past week’s immersion in family–the one place where I belong unequivocally–it’s struck me that perhaps I have been trying too hard to belong in places where maybe I’m not meant to belong. And–perhaps most crucially–I may not perceive the acceptance of others because I have not always accepted myself.

hmmm

I’ll admit: ever since I was a child, I’ve not been easy to accept. A traumatic early life (where I was scared and confused and God-knows what happened to me) and a severe case of ADHD caused me to be quite a handful. Sure, I read the most books in 1st grade but I also got the most spankings. I would go on to try and kiss my grade-school crush despite her resistance. (We’re great friends now). I ripped off my 2nd grade teacher’s toenail running to her in flight from some of my classmates who I’d no doubt been irritating on the playground. I broke my 5th grade teacher’s arm at the skating rink class party, probably for the same reason. I was pummeled mercilessly on the football field as a 6th grader and ridiculed by my brother (my legal adopted father) when I tried to play junior high football. I was ridiculed by the coaches when I tried to play basketball the next year. (it wasn’t a pretty sight.) And this doesn’t even count all the things I did to try and fit into a culture and a family with whom I had NOTHING in common–struggles too numerous for this blog.

I would go on to marry–3 times–to find acceptance. Though each marriage ended in divorce, one produced my sons and another yielded two more sons and a lifelong friend and partner.

I now realize I went into these relationships for the wrong reasons. The first time, her acceptance felt so good, so validating. The second I believed could save me. And the third promised me the love of a man I’d so greatly desired all my life.

but in all of these relationships–including the ones with my sons–I failed to really accept ME. I would go on to learn that I would be unable to accept any others’ acceptance without my own.

SO the day came when I decided to shed my mask and accept who I was born to be–every last bit of it, to my very core.

doing this was very costly.

it could have cost me my family, but it didn’t. (In fact, it only made it stronger.)

I voluntarily left the religious group I’d been a part of my entire life, as I watched the faux acceptance i’d grown comfortable with wane–not just for me but my family as well.

I lost many, many relationships. yet as they faded, I tapped more deeply into the inner strength I’d always encouraged the boys to find within themselves. In the process, I discovered that the price of “belonging” was not always worth what little benefits it promised and not all that desirous but that the value of accepting my Self was inestimable.

in retrospect, I must admit that I do find a great sense of belonging–from a few of those old grade school friends, within my career, with friends who did not let religion and judgment sever our relationship, within in my community, across the twitter-sphere, with my Creator, and within a large and vibrant family to which I gladly–and gratefully–belong.

I believe this is in large part because I simply chose–and willfully continue to CHOOSE–to accept myself. I do not do this perfectly by any means; yet I am resuming the pursuit of self-improvement and tapping into my potential to make the most of the days that lie ahead.

as I contemplate my desire to belong, I realize a fact that I’ve allowed to elude me for a long time: I already have an abundance of acceptance. this realization allows me to forgive others and let myself off the hook now and then.

once I’m “ok” with who Todd is created to be and IS, the more I can cultivate genuine acceptance, find true belonging, and accept my place and role in the Universe.

So: who wants to join my club?

simply put 021711

modern-day pharisees

instead of my usual blog, i’m going to indirectly let one of my best friends and “sister by choice” Julie co-blog today.

Julie is salt-of-the-earth people and does not lie or even embelleish. what i’m posting below is a true story that happened to her this week. it takes place in the small texas county i’ve lived in my entire life and in the city where I live since 1988 and have raised my children their whole lives. the names have been changed to protect the guilty and the name of the church omitted but only because Julie asked me; otherwise, i’d include the URL and phone number of the church.

i am not going to issue my opinion on the story because all of you who know me already know exactly what i think. i will let you all draw your own conclusions–which I hope you will take time to post as a comment.

disclaimers: 1) this is not my old church. 2) I know not all Christians are like this, thank goodness. 3) this kind of mindset is not limited to small towns or small churches.

enjoy.

I was totally appalled today.

I went to the hospital to sit with a Friend and the preacher of smalltownchurch was there with Friend’s parents.

We started with surface chat, polite enough. I could tell this was a person that I would not normally give two seconds of my time in different circumstances – but hey, even I can be polite, I’m even trainable…

The main thing that bugged me about him was his desire to SPEAK constantly, and to cut off anyone that tried to speak. Oh, yeah, he has a MAJOR bump on himself, a big festering disgusting bump…

The Elton John adoption came on the news. He stopped mid-sentence, pinned his eyes on the TV, issued a line of expletives, and then proceeded to tell the entire waiting room that he would buy the bullets if someone would just round up all the little faggots.

The preacher
of a local church
the preacher who likes to be heard
the preacher who has a captive audience at least two times a week

I was mortified. Friend and I exchanged nervous glances—I didn’t know what she would say or do, and she knew I was packing my new concealed carry pet in my bag… and she knows how murderous this shit makes me. (I didn’t draw on him altho there is no ignorance that lead poisoning can’t cure…)

I just leaned over and touched his knee to get his attention and said “Brother Jeb, all of my real brothers are gay, and I would appreciate you keeping your opinion of my family to yourself, or at least take it to your little pulpit where you get a paying audience for your side show.”

And that, my friends, drawled out in a nice sweet southern accent, is what Val calls “the bubbly backhand”… so sweet, you think you want another dose even tho it stung like hell

brother Jeb shut up
clammed up
you could literally hear his jaws clamp
and then the teeth ground a bit

He stood up, cleared his throat like he just threw up in his mouth a little, and left the room.

when he came back about 30 minutes later, he sat on the opposite side of the room and would not even make eye contact.

So at the end of the day when Friend’s mom was pronounced very, very well, brother Jeb decided to conduct a pharisaical prayer, beckoning all his flock (there were a bunch of people in attendance to support the family)…

oh, yeah, I did it… I jumped up and wiggled my way in just next to him and grabbed his paw… bubbly backhand #2: hold my hand and pray to your god and publicly be proud of your intense hatred, you jerk…. I didn’t say it.

I didn’t have to.

So as the day closed and I started to leave, I went directly to brother Jeb to tell him how nice it was to meet him, and how much I truly appreciated his honoring of my request… and then with a big grin I said “I betcha I know what your Sunday sermon will be… have fun as you slaughter me and all my brothers… they are bigger men than you will ever be. What do you think the Lord of light, patience and love would say if he was sitting in your flock? bye bye now!!”

Todd, don’t go NEAR smalltownchurch!!! You may the used as an example!!! and the rest of my real brothers, raise a glass to the fact that you know who you are and can sleep well at night!

so y’all know what?
excluding funerals, i have been to church one time since i came out in august 2006. i think it might just be time to go to church in the morning. and smalltownchurch might just be the place to go.

with my black boyfriend.
And my loyal friend Julie, of course.

Facebook or Twitter?

being up even when you’re down

• easier said than done.
• this too shall pass.
• at least I have my health.
• i am not alone.
• there is an abundance of love in my life.
• there’s basketball tonight.
• i have chocolate hidden in my desk for just such a time as this.
• it’s Friday.
• that which does not kill me makes me stronger.
• i am wearing cool shoes.
• it’s a beautiful morning.
• i have hair.
• REVISED: i have a sweet man in my life to talk to and encourage me. (via Robert)
• REVISED: i am alive (via Chard)
• REVISED: i am not Sarah Palin. (via Chard)
• REVISED: called “cute boy” by @bmonestiez (LOL!)

today's sunrise

it’s a struggle sometimes to maintain a positive attitude all the time. sometimes life makes that a true struggle. for me, the only way to circumvent the weight of tough times is to remind myself of what’s (and who’s) good and lovely and cause for gratitude in my life.

doing so doesn’t resolve the circumstantial challenges but it lessens their impact on my demeanor and attitude.

so the day will be ok. and life will go on. and I will be fine.

and I hope this tactic works for you when you’re having one of  ”those” days.

peace out.

can you see me?

our psyches crave transparency and authenticity.

years ago, i ran across a chart that illustrated the parts of our Self. (the Johari Window, i’ve since learned.)

via http://www.chimaeraconsulting.com/johari.htm

• Self others know (public self)
• Self we know but hide from others (private/hidden self)
• Self we don’t know (unknown self)
• Self we can’t see but others can (blind/unconscious self)

i remember back then, probably 15 years ago when i was still very deeply in denial about and shameful of my True Self, it was explained to me that i should increase the size of the window others know (my public self) by hiding less about myself and bringing my own self to greater awareness.

i’ll have to admit: that concept was pretty much all lost on me. in fact, i remember thinking “you’re kidding me, right?!” yet deep down, i knew exactly what it meant.

even years later, on the eve of my Coming Out, a best friend urged me, “just tell everyone. tell everyone what you are dealing with. it will be ok.” and even then, i was like “NO WAY.”

as i look back on my adult life, the proportion of my Hidden Self seemed to increase as i got older. the more eager i became to ignore my “blind spots” and the more reluctant i  became to exploring my Unconscious Self—and people can attest how very reluctant i was—the more imposing my Hidden Self became instead of its discovery and exposure bringing greater awareness to my True (Whole) Self.

almost four decades of this opacity had left my Self extremely lopsided. fear of the exposure of my Hidden Self thwarted any exploration into my unconscious self whatsoever.

and talk about blind spots! i turned my back on others like me and even voted as a part of the “Christian right” for years, “fighting” for values i now consider hollow, hateful, and unauthentic. today (ok, back on november 9 when i wrote this draft), a friend and i were discussing Ricky Martin’s Oprah interview and how he just seemed so happy and free. later, i was able to watch the interview and see his eyes, slightly teary but filled with an authentic joy as he said:

“i cried…because i felt free. i felt liberated. i felt that i could say that i love myself completely.”

Like him and many of us who have come out, we did it to save our lives. we did it for the benefit of those closest to us so they can finally love and accept us—or as many of us discovered, remind us they’ve loved us all along and will continue doing so. we did it to end the hypocrisy of telling our children they are “fearfully and wonderfully made” yet not believing it about ourselves.

and many of us did it in a move toward discovering that Hidden Self, which is frightening. well, it was to me. i was always scared of it. i had always felt isolated and alone, a state i perceived had something to do with my secret Hidden and Blind Selves.

i remember all those many years spent in church, so many of those people knowing “what” i was before i did and secretly hoping—daring to believ, even, that they didn’t. (and to their great credit as Christ-followers, they loved—and continue to love—me anyway.)

i remember vividly a recurring dream i had about a church event where all the men met in one room and the women in another (which we did from time to time). in the room with the men, everyone was dressed in black. but there i was: dressed in red, nothing like any of them, standing out, feeling awkward, isolated and alone.

truth is: i’ve  felt like that a lot of my life.

yet i shoved it down, deep down, making it a part of the Hidden Self i hoped no one would ever see. But that stuff can’t hide forever. and i’m not just talking about “flamboyant expressions,” the desires, or the parts God-given parts of me that were visible—the talents and interests that i had that lay outside the societally-accepted male traits.

i’m talking about the not-God/Universe given shame i—and many others like me—stuffed down inside that festered for decades (!) and produced little else but pain. eventually that hurt and ache and even bitterness will appear—you can bet on that. and the result is not often pretty. it often comes out in ways that hurt one’s self, hurts others, and damages relationships.

when i came out, it was very painful—to me and the people i loved most. i lost 95% of my support structure. (i certainly hope that everyone who does this has a Julie, a Bobby, a Kenny, two loving mothers, and strong sons to stand by their side…). i was still dressed in red but it was a thong and that ain’t pretty.

i was largely alone.

suddenly my hidden self was out in the open for everyone to see. (rather, i had been standing behind a see-through shower curtain all along thinking no one really could see me through it.) and then, over time, i couldn’t believe i’d waited so long to finally expose it! sure, some people at work treated me differently (tho, again, the news wasn’t so much a revelation as it was a confirmation). some people looked at me with sadness in their eyes, arousing that newly displaced but still lingering shame.

but i quickly began to care less: i was finally living an authentic life. i no longer had to hide, lie, pretend, or deny. i get to be all i want to be, all that i am, all that i am intended to be. and i can delve into the parts of my Self that i don’t know with much less fear than ever before…and maybe spend some time facing those blind spots, too.

i call the transformation and the very-much-work-in-progress “coming out Todd.” reducing the size of my Hidden Self has allowed me to explore my Unknown Self in a way that would not have been possible and is allowing me to finally grow beyond the stunted person i had become. in fact, i’m realizing that i have a craving to be authentic. to hide less. to discover more about me.

and to never wear a red thong again.

ever.

the winter hair poll

india.arie has a song called “i am not my hair” … this is the chorus:

I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations no no
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within.

ok yeah that’s great and all but, i kinda am my hair. it’s a way i express myself. and i get bored easily.

so i’d like your input on what to do this Saturday. (vote below.) i’ve been growing it out for a few months and i’m really stuck. like my son, i have a high hairline which is receding a bit. (just a bit!!) and these bangs just aren’t working.

current

Longish (that awkward in-between phase)

MID-length-ish

short sides / med top

pretty short all over

probably the shortest of 2010

short sides, med bangs

the mid-70s slick-back

the early 80s "pre-Caesar"

the mid-80s part down the middle

"The Ellen" (2005)

(those last 4 hot styles were just thrown in for perspective…so you can see from whence I came.)

Note: Robert’s vote counts twice and I have the right to disregard the results of this poll.

labels. really?

i don’t guess i’m all that surprised. we gays love our labels.

yes, that’s a stereotype! lots of straights like ‘em too—women and men—whether it’s clothes, rims, glasses, toilet paper, chain saws, you name it: we like labels!

anyway, tonight i participated in a twitter conversation about labels. specifically: labeling what kind of man and how masculine you are based on your sexual position/role. *augh* really? it’s 2011 and we’re still behaving like this?! that’s as ludicrous as the discussions about whether a stay-at-home mom is a better mother than a working mom or the one that occurs within the black community about skin color making someone a more desirable person. (though it’s still debated in circles of many colors,  we’re all beautiful, no matter our skin’s hue and any mom—whether she works outside the home or not—can be an excellent, loving, effective mother. i know several!)

that kind of thinking just hits me wrong. almost as much as describing gays by which “list” they’re on, a notion no-doubt coined by someone who perceives himself to be on the “A-list” [aka “douchebag”] or a person with a poor self-image, whose envy has gotten the best of himself.

and speaking of the notion of an “A-list”—a concept not original to the gays as both the hets and the homos have been keeping lists since, well, Adam, Eve, and, well, Steve—let’s talk about that ridiculous show “the A-list.” no wonder society perceives us they way they do with ill-conceived garbage like this, no doubt the brainchild of some snarky gay hoping to profit by exploiting the negative stereotypes of this particular group of people. that show represents no one i know in real life, only the stereotypes i rue and occasionally mock.

yes: i laugh at these men but not in a good way.  i can empathize with some of their situations but some of their behaviors leave me shaking my head. and trust me: I know many vapid, vacuous people; gays do not have the market cornered on these characteristics.

so back to labeling. yes, some of us are eccentric. many of us dress better than many of our hetero compadres (although this metrosexual thing is really catching on thank goodness). a lot of us express ourselves creatively and talk with our hands and love shoes and secretly love/hate/want to be Martha Stewart and love musicals and The Oscars and sports and believe in the importance of family and are productive members of society and make great neighbors and think of others generously by giving money and time to worthy causes and…

….wait…

i think i just made my point.

but in case i didn’t, let me conclude, in my usual “this is not really a conclusion, i’m still going” mode.

first: masculinity is not defined by sexual position. it is made up of many characteristics, most of which extend far outside the bedroom. [duh. but apparently it needs to be said. again.]

second: stop it with the stereotypes. society loves them and we gays sure love to label people (oops) but really—is it anyone’s business?! yes, i am hypersensitive to labels. i still remember when “Three’s Company” was on TV, becoming one of primetime TV’s earlier attempt to parody homosexuals. (“Soap” preceded it but came on after your local news; i was allowed to watch neither.) The very next day, kids started asking me if i was gay. That was fifth grade. and so it began…

Ok so what. Yeah. i knew then i was gay. (i actually knew much earlier.) But what i didn’t realize then, i finally realize today: i’m also creative. and smart(ish). And sometimes funny. And i love to talk and share and laugh and a million other things that many other humans like to do. my identity as a gay male is just one piece of who i am—not my entire identity. yes, stereotypes are fun to laugh at (although wow Modern Family’s Sofia Vergara and Jessey Tyler Ferguson push them so far that they’re more uncomfortable than funny.) but hey: it’s good for a laugh, right?

at the end of the day, we are not the sum of our labels. we’re all just equal human beings with basically the same DNA, except the precious few deviations that give us our own unique identities, personalities, and traits.

it’s just that some of us have better shoes.

i (too) have a dream

i too have a dream that one day, no one will ever hate anyone. that there will be no such thing as hate.

“I have decided to stick with love.
Hate is too great a burden to bear.”
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

that one day no one will care whether someone is white or heterosexual or young or handicap-free or wealthy. that everyone will respect everyone else simply as fellow members of the human race.

“People, I just want to say, you know, can we all just get along?”
~Rodney King

that one day people will abandon prejudice and choose kindness and respect.

“I think everyone should love everybody.”
~Andy Warhol

that one day, instead of condemning people or ignoring the poor, people will let their actions speak for their god.

Love others as well as you love yourself.
Jesus

it wasn’t that long ago that I realized in order for any of those dreams to ever have a hope of occurring, they first had to occur within me.

I had—actually, have—to abandon hate. yes, forgive, eventually. but hate no longer.

Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only  by love.
Buddha

meaning…

I could no longer hate the high school kids who surrounded me in the bathroom stall and harassed me when I was a kindergartner. nor could I hate the countless other bullies throughout my life, including the classmates who started calling me “gay” in 5^th grade, the 8^th grader who would pummel me over and over in football practice with a vengeance, or the grown men who to this day sneer “faggot” when they look at me. I couldn’t hate the man who I thought didn’t want to be my father after he found out I was conceived any more than I could hate the man who adopted me, dumped me off on his parents to raise, called me “sissy” as I grew up, and then resented me my entire life for having a better life than he had. I could bear no hate toward the minister who hurt me or the adults who let me be hurt. I couldn’t hate the woman who left our children when they were babies nor I could I hate the people who abandoned my family when I made the bravest decision of my life. and i cannot hate the man who led me along, hurt me, and abandoned me when things got tough.

and it also means I cannot hate myself for how I’ve hurt others, how I’ve let people down, how I’ve suffered major lapses in character and integrity, or because I think I am inferior or in any way less than a wonderful creation.

it means I have to purposefully work toward getting along with others, including stupid people (inside joke) and that I can never view anyone as inferior.

and it means that I too must be colorblind (I believe I’ve got this one down), free of prejudice, and nonjudgmental .

[for example, it’s far easier to just assume people are against you. as a good friend shared with me tonight: “you never know when someone you’ve judged to be against you has been secretly pulling for you the whole time.”]

I’ve come a long way in my life, overcoming the impairment I’ve allowed hate to inflict. in fact, it’s funny how most items on my “hate” list are no longer candidates–including, finally, the one I still bore a grudge against. I pause and consider that I may be becoming  fairly healthy in that I really do not hate all that much.

getting along with some people (particularly stupid people) and avoiding passing judgment, though, continue to take a bit more practice.

so on this day when we Americans commemorate the life and dream of a man who I believe stands for all oppressed peoples, I heartily register my “amen!” to letting go of hate and to being one step closer to seeing my dream fulfilled:

“Hatred paralizes life;
love releases it.
Hatred confuses life;
love harmonizes it.
Hatred darkens life;
love illuminates it.”
~Martin Luther King

indeed, it does.