What would it be like to be homeless?

I was stopped yesterday and asked to spare some change for food. What struck me about this encounter was that until the young man spoke to me, I had no inkling that he might have been in such need. It got me thinking.

Its relatively easy to separate myself from the homeless that look…well, homeless. Either from acute desperation or from mental illness, their appearance belies a lack of care and a state of poverty that I have difficulty imagining for myself.

But what if I fell on hard times? I probably wouldn’t let it get to the point where I was out on the street before I sought help. And I’m lucky to have family that would step in if necessary. But what if neither of those things were in place? What if, through some turn of circumstance, I found myself without a place to stay, and without family or friends to call on? What would I do?

What if this was me?

I know some people decline to help panhandlers and such because there are services available that provide assistance. But if I were to suddenly find myself on the street, I would have no idea how to find those resources. I might stop in at a police station and ask – but I’m sure there are fears that prevent many from doing so. Perhaps a library? I don’t know if librarians have that information. Even so, the sheer number of resources I would have to access seems overwhelming. I’d need a safe place to sleep at night (shelters?), food to eat (can people access soup kitchens every day? more than once a day?), a place to bathe and the basic utensils to groom myself with, clothes and a way to clean them, access to computers and printers for putting together job search materials (I understand accessing libraries is tricky without an address), and so on.

I can’t imagine how I would cope. I understand why many turn to drugs or alcohol to make it all go away. Would I end up asking for a few coins from strangers on the street? Or a bus ticket to wherever my family might be? Would I be desperately wishing for someone who would set aside the stereotypes and assumptions to help me out or at least point me in the right direction?

I want to have compassion and understanding. I want to help when my help would not turn into enablement. But how and when? I have no answers. Only questions.

A meeting of butches

So a few weeks ago I went to a gathering called “Butch Voices”. Apparently there’s a conference for butches down in the States but not everyone can get to it. So the organizers encouraged people to hold their own smaller gatherings in various cities. They could converse about whatever issues surrounding being butch and butch identity were relevant to them in their context and forward their discussion notes to be included in the larger conversation that will happen later this year.

I thought this sounded pretty cool and wanted to meet other butch women. So I went. I should have blogged about it right away so I didn’t forget anything, but I’m going to try and comment on a few abstracted impressions anyways.

It was a small group – approximately 10 people. As it was open to anyone who identified as butch or trans or masculine of centre, there was a mix.

The main topic of conversation was the divide between the butch and trans communities.

There is a claim that butch women are a dying breed, their ranks shrunk by those who are transitioning from female to male as a result of improved access to gender reassignment therapies. In reaction, some butch denounce FTMs as having never been butch in the first place or as taking the easy way out (as if going through gender reassignment is ‘easy’…not). I think perhaps its because, as the concept of being transgender becomes more widely known and accepted, butch women feel pressured to transition themselves. Now that a complete change to male is possible, why would they stay in a place of gender non-conformity, a place inbetween that makes others uncomfortable. To think thus is to misunderstand the very nature of what it means to be butch. Those who identify as butch are not denying their womanhood, but rather embracing their masculinity while in a woman’s body. While some present as butch along the way to FTM, others view butch as their final destination. But in our society which prefers a gender binary and which dislikes to be confused in this respect, presenting as butch can be a hard and lonely road to take. Completing the transition to male is tempting; the internal (they’d like to be more accepted) and external pressure (others want to clearly categorize them) is potent. I think some butches reject FTMs to create a dividing line, to make sure there is no confusion for others, and also perhaps to protect against their own mental angst.

Some FTMs are so determined to pass as male, so eager to embrace who they’ve always felt they’ve been and to have society accept them as such with no ambiguity, that they reject the queer community. Even if they previously identified as butch, they turn their back on that label and anything that might cause them to continue to be identified as a woman. The line between butch and FTM in terms of physical appearance can be blurry. If they hang out with folks who aren’t trying to hide their womanhood but who dress and act similar, then observers may be alerted to look for feminine attributes that they are trying to hide and be more likely to peg them as female as well.

In contrast, some butch woman embrace FTMs, recognizing the whole spectrum of masculine of centre folks. FTMs might be male but they understand the butch experience better than most. They make great buddies. Their choice to transition is a personal one and is respected for the courage and sacrifice it requires. Similarly, while some FTMs desire to pass, to purge any identification with their past as women, others want to remain queer, to remember where they came from and celebrate their differences. The latter grieve the loss of camaraderie that passing brings, that glint in the eye of a passerby that says “I see you. We are the same, you and I. We are queer.”

Beyond this division, there was also some discussion about how the community balks when butches want to hang out together without femmes. Huh? Why? In the hetero world, couples have separate girls nights and guys nights out. I sometimes hang out with my academic friends and sometimes with my queer friends, and sometimes the two groups overlap. So what. Each enriches me in a different way. If I had to always ensure a representative sampling of every group to whom I belong in every gathering I attend, not only would my socializing be greatly reduced, but it would also be boring. We experience different aspects of ourselves in different settings. We can be unified while also celebrating diversity.

I know there’s also a long history of fighting for queer rights and feminism and such that play into the current dynamic, but as a newbie, I am unfamiliar with much of this and can only speak from a present perspective. To me the fight isn’t (or shouldn’t be) about labels and divisions – it’s a fight to make sure everyone is free to be their most authentic self, to express that self in whatever way makes them happy (provided it doesn’t harm others – and I don’t see preventing others from being able to dichotomously categorize someone as harmful).

Variety is GOOD!

I want to hang out with trans guys. I don’t want to reject them or fear them in their difference. And I want to hang out with femmes, strut myself, and feel their appreciation. But I also want to hang out with other butch women sometimes. I want to learn from their struggles and triumphs, glean info about savvy tailors and effective binders, and rest in the full understanding and acceptance of the complexity that is me. As a baby butch, I want to connect with butch mentors and absorb their strength, follow their example (of course, I want to follow those who aren’t promoting the senseless divisions outlined earlier). Where are you?

My age in queer years

I’ve been struggling a bit with my style lately, trying to figure out how masculine I want to dress, how to look dressier while feeling comfortable as who I am. I feel like my style has been evolving a bit over the last couple years and I can see it evolving more as I lose weight and fit into clothes that are perhaps more what I would actually like to wear.

It all makes me feel a bit unsettled. I should know who I am right? Flipping back and forth or moving along a sliding scale makes me seem undecided, fickle. How can I feel confident in how I present if I keep adjusting slightly? How can I attract a person who will like me for who I am if I’m not even quite sure who that is myself?

But then I started to think about how short a time I’ve been this. I remember when I first came out, I felt like a fourteen year old, exploring issues of identity and sexuality for the first time. I had many of what I called ‘teenage’ moments.

So if we consider that I came out just under 3 years ago, and if we place my ‘queer age’ at coming out as 14…then I am only almost 17 now. And what 17 year old has it all figured out. Typically it takes until one’s mid-twenties before one starts to solidify certain aspects of one’s style and identity. I certainly don’t want to take that long, but I should probably give myself a bit more grace as I figure it all out.

The pants dilemma

“No jeans.”

Such a short, simple instruction and yet, following it proved to be anything but. I was going to speak at a conference and although it wasn’t dressy, my supervisor suggested I should look nice at least during my talk.

First, a look through the closet. Jeans, jeans…black jeans. Nope.

Ok, it seemed a shopping trip was in order.

My goal – a pair or two of dressier khakis that fit my plus size female figure while coordinating with my men’s button-up shirts and men’s black dress shoes.

Problem alert!

Women’s pants tend to have extra wide waist bands and flare around the hips or ankles to accentuate curves. They also tend to be made of a lighter fabric and slightly different colors than men’s pants making them difficult to pair with men’s shirts and shoes.

Men’s pants, however, are not designed to fit around hips. Pairs that fit around a woman’s waist tend to experience the dreaded ‘pocket gape’ due to tension in the wrong places. Also, because guys are typically straighter up and down, the width of their pant legs is proportionally wider meaning that a pair that fits my plus size waist ends up looking ridiculously large on the rest of me. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget to mention the baggy crotch issue if the pant doesn’t naturally sit slow enough.

I tried Value Village. Women’s selection – nada. All fancy prints and waistbands. Men’s section – nada. All wide legged and deep crotched. So much for economical.

Decided to upgrade to Sears and the Bay. The women’s section, again, bears no fruit. If its not a wide waistband, it’s a jeweled pocket detail, or a pastel color. The men’s dress pant section of these stores contains rack after rack of pants with style names and fit distinctions galore – a deep, dark forest guaranteed to intimidate the uninitiated. In the Bay I happened across Haggars which had nice colors and a slim fit option. Potential!

Optimistic, I took what I thought was my size and trekked across the store to the women’s change room. As I entered, a saleslady came running up behind me, loudly stating “You can’t go in there. This is a ladies change room.” Steeling myself, I turned and explained quietly that I was a woman. “Oh, okay.” She left and I closed myself inside the little stall, pausing for a moment to regain my composure. I tried on the pants and although they seemed like they might work, they were a size too small. Waiting until I couldn’t hear any voices in the hall, I slipped out and trekked back across the store to the men’s department. They had one pair in the larger size. I stood holding them in my hands, debating whether I wanted to face the possibility of humiliation again after yet another trek. I decided against it. I still had several weeks until I needed the pants. I’d just go to another Bay, maybe in Toronto where the gender thing would hopefully be less of an issue.

In the meantime, I checked out Mark’s, Walmart, another Value Village. I walked through two different malls. No luck. A week or so later, I hit up another Bay (a giant, giant Bay in Toronto which has more than one floor per department – I got lost). They had very, very few pants in my size in any style of Haggar. I should have tried on that pair I held in my hands. While I didn’t have any change room incidents, I also didn’t have any luck. Every pair gaped in the wrong places and made me look even larger than I was.

Panic started to set in.

My mom suggested Moore’s. Apparently my dad buys most of his clothes there which presumably would make them reasonable. Okey dokey. Off I went.

I stopped in first at the Pennington’s next door and tried on a pair of women’s black dress pants. They had a slightly wider waistband than I liked with some odd button accents that would have to be removed. But they fit well. Sigh. If worse came to worse, I’d get those and try to find an un-frilly women’s shirt to go with them to at least cover me for the day I was speaking.

On to Moore’s.

Such very nice salespeople. They didn’t blink at the fact that I was a woman in a men’s clothing store. They immediately set me up in a dressing room and started to bring me dress pants…actual dress pants, not khakis. That was okay with me. I figured I could use a good dress pant for potential interviews and such in addition to this conference. And the khakis clearly hadn’t worked out. First style – horrific. Second style – closer. Third style – bingo!

They weren’t too deep in the crotch. They sat in a nice place on my hips. The pockets didn’t gape too much. The legs were of an appropriate width. Wow!

I glanced at the price tag. Ouch!!!

But it was a two for one sale and I was stuck, so I took the plunge. I decided to go back to Value Village for shirts though and to the bargain basement of a store near my house for ties. I ended up with several really snazzy outfits and knew I’d look good all week.

Of course, I get to the so called ‘no jeans’ conference and at least 80% of the people were wearing jeans. Gah!

The language of dance

Okay, so I need some language lessons, stat! To me the language of dance is just as mystifying as a foreign language – perhaps even more so, because I’ve taken linguistics courses and understand the basic structure of spoken and written language in general.

First of all, there’s the basic moves. I love choreographed dances where there’s a routine for me to follow. But free-style...??? Other than a basic shuffle left and right, I don’t seem to even have a vocabulary to build from. And the words I do know – grapevine, rock, hitch, etc. – don’t seem to be used on this kind of dancefloor. The repetitive rhythm of the music that is typically played ends up feeling like the same word or phrase being repeated over and over again, and yet people seem to be able to translate it into a variety of movements.

But more than that, the language of the interaction between people baffles me. Sometimes they are communicating fun, sometimes friendship, sometimes drunkenness, sometimes attraction, and sometimes blatant sexuality. Not knowing what moves communicate what, I feel like I’m in a foreign country, afraid to try any words in that land’s language for fear that I’ll string them together wrong and say something stupid or offensive.

When learning a language, one generally looks for patterns, for the same groupings of sounds to repeated in some circumstances but not others. But on the dance floor, it all seems to get mixed up. Sometimes couples dance sexy together, but sometimes friends do to. Or sometimes, partners will dance sexy with people other than the person they are with. So when does sexy mean ‘not really sexy’ and when does it mean ‘sexy’. The last thing I want to do is have someone think I’m trying to come on to their girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever.

And of course, that’s on top of the nagging feeling from my past that dancing so provocatively is wrong in the first place. I was able to cross that line a little bit with my girlfriend because I knew it was welcome – I knew how the words would be translated. But when I’m out on the dance floor with others, I’m paralyzed into inaction by my lack of language proficiency. Sigh. Anybody got one of those ‘learn ___ in 30 days’ books for this situation?

Why is gender so vulnerable to threat?

Another camp inspired post...

On Wednesday, at Jamboree, several dozen men came traipsing down the hillside in drag, some realistic, some ridiculous. But all were unabashedly having fun. On Thursday they dressed in ladies pantsuits and on Saturday, many dressed up as some version of Barbie. And at various moments inbetween they played with gender expression and fashion.

More than that, they enthusiastically participated in dance workshops, made crafts, cooked and more. I found the experience of being among them absolutely delightful. And never did I question that they were men. In snippets of conversation I heard here and there, I discovered that most held regular and well-respected jobs as teachers and businessmen, etc.

Why did this surprise me? It comes down to my background, yet again. The men in the churches I was a part of would not have been caught dead in a dress. They’d stand by awkwardly while the women danced. And they’d do the heavy lifting while the women decorated or cooked. There were clear gender divides that were not crossed. It wasn’t as blatant as requiring women to wear skirts or restricting them to the role of homemaker, but it was there all the same. We were always scrambling for male volunteers and participants.

The thing is, I think this divide goes beyond the church. I think a great majority of straight men would find it debasing or at the very least, mildly embarrassing to cross the unspoken gender divide. They would feel threatened to wear a dress or dance in wild abandon. And I don’t understand why. Where is the threat? How does that make one any less a man? I understand that some cross-dressers are also transgender, but that is not always the case. And even so...who cares!

I then go on to puzzle about why gay men appear to have obtained a measure of freedom from such restrictions. Is it just because they already face stereotypes or discomfort caused by their sexuality and don’t care anymore? Or is it because they have a more strongly developed feminine side (I don’t know that I find this one sufficient to explain all cases)?

I’m sure there are those who have taken gender classes in university and could cite various theories that explain this phenomenon. I’m sure there are historical and perhaps even evolutionary explanations. I’d probably even be interested in some of them. But all I really want to do right now is say to all the men of the world “Get over yourselves and have some fun!”. Yay for all the brave and creative and amazing men I met at camp.

Is being naked inherently sexual?

I recently returned from an awesome week of camp with some genuinely delightful folks (if you have never heard of the Out and Out Club’s annual Jamboree, check it out here). I went with some apprehension, having been informed that the main dock was ‘clothing optional’. Due to my rather prudish upbringing, I feared I might find myself privy to blatant sexual activities or perpetually distracted by sexual imagery...or something.

I did indeed see more naked people than I have perhaps seen in the entirety of my life so far (excluding diaper changes). I saw naked men sunbathing, walking around, and gleefully slipping down a slide. I saw women sunbathing and swimming. (I did not manage to wake up early enough to observe, nor participate in, the daily group skinny dip).

But there was absolutely nothing sexual about it. It was natural and free – people simply enjoying the pleasure of their skin against air and sun and water without the barrier of fabric. After the first twinge or two of novelty wore off, there were times when I walked away from the dock realizing I hadn’t particularly noticed the nakedness at all.

As I ponder this, however, I wonder why it surprises me. After all, there are natural vs. sexual contrasts in other areas of life. One can dance in a friendly or a sexual way. Once can chat with another in a natural or a flirtatious way. It’s the attitude, not the clothing or lack thereof, that makes an action sexual. Of course that raises the fascinating question of what it is about our brains or physiology that can both recognize and produce such an attitude that can instantaneously change an innocent encounter into an arousing escapade. But that’s a bigger question than can be addressed here. There’s also the question of how conscious or unconscious such an attitude is - any times one party feels chemistry that the other is oblivious to. Fascinating mysteries.

I'm back

It’s been a long time. My apologies. I did the typical disappearing act following the establishment of a new relationship. It’s also been a stressful year and that can mess with my creativity. Unfortunately, my relationship ended (which I may talk about but only in the vaguest terms out of respect for the other person) and fortunately, I’ve recently had some creative inspiration. And thus, I am back with hopes to start regularly contributing to this blog again. No guarantees...but as always, you are welcome to join me on the journey.

Talking to children about LGBTQ issues

Was reading a book today (also a video), called "It's Elementary: Talking About Gay Issues in School" which explores how to address LGBTQ issues in classrooms, specifically how to talk about discrimination and bias against LGBTQ persons, making kids aware of phrases and actions that aren't welcoming to others (there's actually a lesson idea for teaching the definitions of welcome and unwelcome).

Anyways, what struck me was how they answered some of the common objections to covering such material with elementary school children. First, with regards to the concern that elementary school kids are too young, the book points out that name calling and anti-gay slurs start as early as kindergarten and thus, teachers aren't actually introducing anything new but helping children understand something that they are already experiencing. Second, the book argues that talking about LGBTQ issues is NOT sex education. Its talking about people and families, current events and civil rights and does not require talking about what happens in anyone's bedroom or the mechanics of reproduction.

Touché I say...good points!

Why are people so afraid of talking to kids about stuff like this?

Even when it comes to sex education, I think we are way too inhibited. When you think about it, sexuality is mostly about relationships anyways. The actual act of sex is just the culmination or at least it should be (okay, so there is a place for sex as a recreational activity too but in the context of a relationship, sex is very much about communication and trust and all sorts of other 'people' stuff beyond physiology). I got quite a kick out of this article that reported on the way a particular high school teacher taught about the communication and anticipation that comes prior to sex:

“So let’s think about pizza,” Vernacchio said to his students after they’d deconstructed baseball. The class for that day was just about over. “Why do you have pizza?”

“You’re hungry,” a cross-country runner said.

“Because you want to,” Vernacchio affirmed. “It starts with desire, an internal sense — not an external ‘I got a game today, I have to do it.’ And wouldn’t it be great if our sexual activity started with a real sense of wanting, whether your desire is for intimacy, pleasure or orgasms… And you can be hungry for pizza and still decide, No thanks, I’m dieting. It’s not the healthiest thing for me now.

“If you’re gonna have pizza with someone else, what do you have to do?” he continued. “You gotta talk about what you want. Even if you’re going to have the same pizza you always have, you say, ‘We getting the usual?’ Just a check in. And square, round, thick, thin, stuffed crust, pepperoni, stromboli, pineapple — none of those are wrong; variety in the pizza model doesn’t come with judgment,” Vernacchio hurried on. “So ideally when the pizza arrives, it smells good, looks good, it’s mouthwatering. Wouldn’t it be great if we had that kind of anticipation before sexual activity, if it stimulated all our senses, not just our genitals but this whole-body experience.” By this time, he was really moving fast; he’d had to cram his pizza metaphor into the last five minutes. “And what’s the goal of eating pizza? To be full, to be satisfied. That might be different for different people; it might be different for you on different occasions. Nobody’s like ‘You failed, you didn’t eat the whole pizza.’

What's wrong with teachers talking about stuff like this. Seriously!? Its not like they are giving demonstrations on specific sex positions or various fetishes (although one could argue there's a need for such detailed education as well). They are just trying to help students navigate the confusing world of romantic relationships which, given who we are as a species, involves sex. I say we give them a bit more latitude.

Lesbian 'Meet the Parents' Drama

So I wrote awhile back about coming out to my parents and how positively it went. Well, just a few days ago, I introduced my girlfriend to them for the first time. Woo hoo!

There was a lot of stress leading up to the meet. They weren't comfortable inviting us to their home yet, a restaurant was too formal, a coffee shop too intimate, dinner at my brother's too overwhelming. Everyone had a different opinion. But we finally worked it out, and met in a food court. For those who are considering a 'meet the parents' get together in the future, I highly recommend this as an ideal solution ('twas my mom's brilliant idea). It doesn't have the formality or the time investment required by meeting in a restaurant, its neutral territory, it has lots of food choices to satisfy every palate, and there are enough distractions around that the focus on each other doesn't feel too intense.

Again, it went really well. My parents really liked her as I knew they would. Conversation flowed. We had come prepared with some interesting things to talk about that I knew would catch their interest. And it culminated in an invite for her to join my family for our Christmas celebrations. You can't get much better than that.

I think my mom is starting to come around. Our conversations about things are getting easier. We'd had one a few days before the meet where she was again trying to figure out what made my relationship with my girlfriend different from just a friendship. Anybody out there got a good explanation for why we have chemistry with some people and not others??? She was also asking me what made my girlfriend and I compatible. I tried explaining, but then there were things that came up during our get together that made it quite obvious and my mom and I laughed about it afterwards.

My dad is still quite formal. He hasn't really talked to me about this stuff at all since I came out although he's followed along via my mom's reports of our conversations. I did directly ask him afterwards what he thought of my girlfriend. He was very positive about her as a person but rather formal about how he referred to her belying remaining awkwardness about her status.

But all in all, it was a positive experience and I think my parents are doing great for the amount of time they've had to adjust.

I wish I had some brilliant advice to pass along for those of you who might be facing a similar situation, but things have gone so well that I'm not sure I really do. A couple of points that might be valuable:

1. My parents have valued the fact that I've communicated with them even though they are uncomfortable. They appreciate the fact that I haven't backed off just because their body language and odd questions sometimes betray their still adjusting opinion. Since their main priority is making sure I know I am still loved despite my choices (yeah, the 'despite' still rankles a bit), they are happy when my words and actions assure them that I am indeed hearing that message despite their struggles.
2. The choice of a neutral place to meet that made things as comfortable as possible for all parties was important. I think keeping it short was also a good idea. My parents were left wanting to know more which naturally led to feeling positive about getting together again.
3. I made sure my girlfriend knew that she was my priority in all of this. If there were requirements for the meet that conflicted, her requests took precedence. I love my parents and will do all I can to respect them, but I am moving forward with building a relationship with this person and keeping that solid is most important. 
4. We planned a fun evening after the meet to de-stress and laugh. Don't just go home and stew. Do something that reminds you why the person you are with makes you happy.

My first tie clip

Props to my sister-in-law. I've been looking for a tie-clip for awhile now but haven't had much luck. I don't want to spend a bunch of money on one unless its perfect. But I'd be happy to pick up some flea market varieties in the meantime...only I haven't been able to find any. Then the other day my sister-in-law hands me this little gem that she found at a local thrift shop.

I now own a tie clip. I haven't actually worn it yet, but somehow just knowing I have it makes me feel dandy.

I kind of feel about my tie clip like this blogger feels about her wool tie. She states:

Dear Wool Tie, 
I know we just met last week, but I want to tell you how I'm feeling about you.  It was good being around each other all day today, wasn't it?  I mean, your slightly-heavy-but-oh-so-soft fabric just feels right, especially for fall.  Simultaneously intellectual and badass, just like my platonic conception of myself.  See, we complete each other, Wool Tie.  Deep down in your plaid, woolen little heart, you know it.  

People think we look good together, Wool Tie.  They all said so.  You could see it in their eyes, Wool Tie.  They know that you and I are meant to be together.  I might even have some of your friends over.  Wouldn't that be fun, Wool Tie?  You know you'd love it.

The bottom line, Wool Tie, is this: I don't know how my wardrobe and I survived without you, and I hope we'll never have to again.
Fondly,BW

Doesn't that just make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Do NOT Rest in Peace, Hitchens

So Christopher Hitchens died. He was one of the most prominent atheists of our time, known for disarming arguments for religion with logic and dry wit. I didn't read a lot of his stuff, but what I did read (or listen to) I found encouraging. I was especially intrigued by some of his thoughts on facing death and how it did not make him reconsider his opinions on the existence of an afterlife.

I have to admit that I've thought a bit about death since leaving Christianity. I still possess a slight ingrained fear that I might end up in some awful place called hell. But hell always seems so illogical to me that it never really coalesced into a solid image. I was able to picture heaven a bit more clearly, but the idea of worshipping God forever never inspired a huge amount of excitement - I enjoyed church, but 24-7 for an eternity seemed a bit much. So all in all, the idea that there might not be an afterlife isn't too disconcerting.

But living without the goal of eventually achieving some sort of reward in the hereafter - now, that gets my heart pumping and my brain twisting. Seriously. If this life is all there is, then what am I doing with it? Am I doing anything of value...but then, just what can be considered valuable anyways? Is it most valuable to pursue as much pleasure as I can or to build a legacy that will be remembered or to serve humanity in some obscure but impactful way? If this life is all I've got, then I should be taking care of myself better so as to extend it as long as possible.

Such thoughts then extend to quality of life and the ethics of euthanasia issues which I am not going to focus on in this post.

But, going back to Hitchens death. The media is of course full of obituaries. The irony is that many of the articles and posts include the phrase 'Rest in Peace'.  Hello!?  While this is a common phrase addressed to those who have passed on, to me, its use in this case is more insulting than respectful, given the person to whom it is addressed. To Hitchens, there was no life after death. There is no entity which can experience rest. He is dead. He is a collection of biological material decaying in the earth. As crass at that may sound, that is presumably what he believed.

So skip the 'Rest in Peace'. Say goodbye. Say he'll be missed. Say his ideas will live on. Anything but 'Rest in Peace'. And don't address anything to him - he's gone.

So for me, I'll speak to the world instead and say "We've lost a good man. A man who made us think. So, in respect for his legacy, take some time today to truly consider what you believe and why and act accordingly."

Hypocrisy bothers me

I have experienced a lot of hypocrisy within my lifetime. And my logical brain really struggles to understand how people's claimed beliefs and their actions can be so disparate in such cases. How can a church who holds marriage as sacred and who celebrates Jesus' ministry to the downtrodden, require a minister to choose between the church and his wife because she isn't strong enough physically and mentally to devote hours of volunteer service (true story experienced by my parents)? How can people juxtapose prayers for God to help them find a parking space with the realities of poverty in third world nations? How can religious teachers claim that their faith can withstand any intellectual assault and then turn around and accuse those who ask sincere questions of not trusting enough? These are just a few in a long litany of contradictions that perplex me.

But then I read about a contradiction that totally amused me. I'm sure you've heard of Westboro Baptist Church - they are the folks who are known for organizing very hateful protests, especially of anything to do with homosexuality. And you've likely also heard of Glee, one of the most gay-supportive TV series currently showing. So, what is this Westboro protester doing wearing a Glee t-shirt? Ridiculous!

I'm not the most naive person out there

Okay, this post seriously tickled my funny bone. I often bemoan how ignorant I am having come from a very sheltered religious background, but I'm also research-minded and have of course, explored a lot since coming out and can actually comprehend what this is. Of course, I still am a bit boggled by its existence and the fact that people would actually use a device...but I KNOW WHAT IT IS!  Okay, so maybe that's not particularly something to brag about, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

I came out to my parents

I finally did it. I came out to my parents. It actually happened about three weeks ago, but I haven’t had a chance to update this blog until now.

I emailed them on a Saturday afternoon, simply saying there was something I wanted to discuss with them. They called me the next day to invite me over that evening. I was ridiculously nervous. I immediately contacted a few people and posted on Facebook. I had an overwhelming amount of support. Despite all that, I actually felt sick to my stomach as I drove to their house.

When I got there, I had to wait for my mom’s typical routine of going to the bathroom, making herself a cup of tea, and putting on chapstick before they finally settled down. When they did, my mom’s very first question was "Who is he?" because she guessed I was there to tell them I was seeing someone. Apparently they’d been trying to guess what I wanted to talk to them about before I got there.

After an awkward chuckle, I went into my speal about how I had been censoring many of the things I'd been telling them about my life and didn't want to do that anymore as I valued the openness I'd always had with them. And then I simply stated that the reason for this was that I was gay.

They didn't react much at all initially. They just kind of sat there looking at me. So I kept talking. I explained a bit of my journey, how this realization made so many things in my life make more sense, how much more comfortable I was feeling with myself, etc. And then they still didn't really react so I stopped and asked if they had anything to say.

My dad said he had guessed because the Holy Spirit told him (I have since found out that he might have seen some pictures of me in a tie on Facebook which clued him in). My mom had been clueless. Even when my dad suggested it prior to my coming over, to prepare her for the possibility, she thought it was ridiculous. My dad did most of the talking, in Pastor mode, assuring me that they would still love me and would still be a part of my life. He compared it to when my brother moved in with his girlfriend before they were married. My parents didn't approve of that but still interacted with both of them and maintained relationship.

My dad was pleased to find out that I hadn’t waited to tell them until I was so involved with someone that I absolutely had to. He felt it indicated a level of trust and was appreciative of that. He also agreed to read a book I lent him on 'Jesus, the Bible and Homosexuality' (He returned it a week ago without comment and my mom later indicated that he’d only skimmed it as he felt he had read most of the material before...sigh). His one somewhat disconcerting comment was that he didn’t want us to talk about this all the time. He wanted me to still just be me. I understand his point, but combine that with the fact that he hasn’t brought it up at all since, and it feels a little funny.

My mom asked me if my being gay was a secret and I explained that it wasn't for me but that I hadn't told anyone in their church community out of respect for them. They were very strong in their statement that if anyone had issues with them as Pastors who have a gay daughter, that was those people's problem. They’ve been burned by church folks before who judged Pastors and their families with different standards and weren’t going to fall into that trap again. That was kind of nice to hear and was probably the highlight for me. My mom actually went out with a friend a few days later and told her and that friend was supportive. I was really glad to hear that.

My mom was calm through most of it but did cry a bit at the end about how her dream bubble with me eventually marrying a tall handsome man had popped. She did ask me a bit about who I'd dated and the difference between the terms gay and lesbian...that kind of thing. My initial impression was that she would deal with it better than my dad. She has talked to me a bit since, asking a few more questions especially about dating, but she’s very awkward about it. And in our last conversation, she specifically brought up the fact that this is an area where we’ll have to agree to disagree – that they’ll never be comfortable with it. That’s a pretty strong statement for my mom to make as she doesn’t usually take as much of an opinionated stance on things as my dad. It hurt a bit to hear. They’ve also apparently bought several books on how to love your gay kid. Apparently these books are helping them think through questions like whether or not they’ll be comfortable with me showing affection to a girlfriend in their home. These books are, without a doubt, Christian authored, so I have no idea what they will walk away with from them.

I know it will take time for them to process the news and that we have many awkward moments to come. But, in general, I was pretty pleased with how things went. I had anticipated a bit more emotion – crying or anger. I’m sure there has been some when I haven’t been around, but they’ve been fairly calm and collected when actually interacting with me. I had anticipated having to sit through some arguments about why homosexuality is wrong and perhaps being asked to justify my ‘choice’, but there hasn’t been any of that. My dad did send me an out of the blue email saying he was praying for me and for God’s blessing on my life. He hasn’t done this in a very long time so its timing is suspect. That and ‘blessing’ is a kind of euphemism for God’s best for you, which is clearly not being gay. So it was a bit disturbing. But I know he loves me.

There is a certain amount of freedom now that I’m out. I don’t have to be as careful. I don’t have to clear away anything remotely related to this part of who I am whenever they come over. My sister-in-law and I don’t have to coordinate stories about certain events I go to. I don’t have to keep track of what I have and haven’t told them about various people in my life. But there’s still a level of artificiality. For example, they aren’t necessarily ready to hear that I’ve kissed a girl so my descriptions of my dates have been edited. I spent an evening playing pool with my dad last week and we spent the night talking about TV shows. It was kind of sad (and interesting to think about why media is so important in people’s lives and how that relates to dysfunctional families). But it’s still progress. And I’m very happy I did it.

Bathroom Dilemmas

So, it’s happened. I have joined the ranks of those who have a ‘you’re in the wrong bathroom’ story to share. I experienced a few such incidents as a teenager, but then I feminized myself and the problem went away. But now it’s back.

I had kind of mentally prepared myself for it happening. I’d read about the anxiety some more butch appearing folks experience when using a public washroom and intellectually realized that would probably happen to me as I took on a more masculine appearance. But the reality of it doesn’t actually hit you until it is happening.

The first incident was just over a week ago. I was heading down the stairs at a McDonald’s. A gentleman was following me. At the bottom, we split off, him towards the men’s washroom and me towards the women’s. He piped up, saying “Umm…wrong room.” This was immediately reiterated by a woman who was just exiting the ladies room. I assured them I was heading into the right place but I’m not sure they were convinced.

Then, just a couple days ago, I wash washing my hands in another public restroom when a woman entered. She immediately froze in her tracks upon seeing me, looking puzzled and asked “Am I in the right place?” After a brief moment she corrected herself and apologized.

I had somehow thought that even if this happened to me, I wouldn’t let it bother me. But that was a naïve assumption. I’ve actually found myself feeling anxious when entering a public restroom, hoping no one else is there. Even tonight, I could hear someone in the next stall finishing up and I rushed washing my hands so I could exit the room before they came out and saw me.

I don’t think there’s an easy solution. I sympathize with those who are disconcerted by my presence. Honestly, I would be too if I saw another person as masculine looking as myself in the washroom. I think I’m aware of the issue enough that I’d more quickly correct myself and I certainly wouldn’t say anything, but I’m culturally conditioned enough that I think there would be an initial startled reaction.

What puzzles me is why we care so much that someone of a different gender is in ‘our’ bathroom? In women’s washrooms, everybody goes into a separate stall to do their business so even if a guy walked in, they wouldn’t see anything anyways. Why should a woman care if a man sees her washing her hands? I suppose it might be different if a woman walked into a guy’s washroom where there are urinals, but I haven’t experienced that (I understand it can be an even bigger issue for transgender folks who aren’t sure which restroom to use). The way I figure it, if you see someone in a public restroom that you think doesn’t belong, the likelihood that they are deliberately being perverted is very small and if they’ve accidentally chosen the wrong room, pointing it out will only embarrass them. So why not just give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they are in the right place. I guess I vote for unisex washrooms with stalls for everybody. Besides, wouldn’t mixing the long women’s lines and short men’s lines together make everything more efficient?

I feel spiffy wearing a tie

So I wore a tie tonight. Yup. I wanted to show respect by dressing up for the event I was attending, and right now, for me, dressing up means a tie. I’ve worn a tie before but only at home or at my brother’s house – not out in public. So this was kind of a big deal.

I took a shower. Spiked my freshly cut hair. Put on my Value Village starched collar white shirt. And tied my tie…and well, undid it and tied it again…and, umm, undid it and tied it again. It’s darn tricky to get those things just the right length.

But I succeeded. Took a look at myself in the mirror and felt pretty darn spiffy.

I’ve had a slew of people tell me, even just this week, that I seem much more comfortable with myself lately. Even my hairstylist says my demeanor has changed dramatically since she first met me and chopped off my long hair a little over four months ago. I think I’ve mentioned before that I sometimes fear people will think I’m caving to some sort of lesbian stereotype by styling my hair and dressing as I do, but comments about how well this look suits me help allay those fears. This is me…finally unburied. And for the first time in my life, I quite like me. As I said…I feel spiffy.

Coming out to my parents update

Nope. Hasn’t happened yet. Sigh.

I came really, really close two weeks ago. I was having dinner at my parents place and almost blurted it out. But then I realized that my dad was going away for a week and my mom would be left alone to process the news. And given my mom’s current state of health, I didn’t think that was a good idea. So I waited.

And then, I decided when my dad got home from his conference, I’d ask him for a time when we could talk. But as I was chatting with him on the phone, he shared how one of the workshops at this conference was given by a woman who works for Desert Stream Ministries and who taught on ‘wholeness’. That was his word and it triggered my memory for what this ministry does.

Yep. You guessed it. It’s all about helping people overcome homosexuality. The website couches its ministry in broader terms saying that its “particularly relevant to those struggling with homosexuality, sexual promiscuity, the effects of sexual abuse, codependency, self-hatred, or the inability to love others well.” But in essence, it believes these are all linked together. Brokenness in one of these other areas is what leads a person to succumb to the temptation of homosexuality and choose a gay lifestyle.

There are several things I’ve always found incongruous about these types of ministries. First, they claim that homosexuality arises because of woundedness. People are attracted to their same sex because of something that was missing or messed up in their relationship with one of their parents. The problem is that if that’s the case, far more than a steady 10% of the population should be gay. There’s a heck of a lot of people with mommy and daddy issues out there.

Second, a lot of their testimonies highlight people who were miserable being gay and who were leading very messed up lives of promiscuity and substance abuse. The implication is that the gay lifestyle is a very unhappy one that people want to escape from. But it’s not about being gay. There are heterosexuals who are miserable in the same ways. I also think the lack of acceptance and the guilt associated with being gay are a major impetus for people to hide their pain in these unhealthy ways. But if they believed they were okay as who they were, then they wouldn’t be in such a miserable spot in the first place. There are numerous very healthy, very happy gay men and woman who do not feel the need to be rescued or healed.

Third, if you read the stories of so-called recovered homosexuals, they are not in fact recovered. They have just become very good and living in denial and have set up amazingly intricate safeguards to prevent them from giving into what they think of as temptation. For example, the main article author on the Desert Stream site talks about how whenever he travels away from home, he has at least two or three people he has to call daily and strict rules about who he can room with. This is not normal. This is not healthy nor is it the way a person who has truly been transformed into a heterosexual would need to behave.

And so, I think this whole ‘healing the gay’ thing is bunch of hooey. I’m sure there are others who have articulated it better than me, complete with scientific evidence for the differences between gays and straights and the influence of biology, etc…but this is just a tiny rant for the purpose of showing why I have not yet come out to my parents. They (or at least my dad) believe this stuff. He believes that being gay is due to some sort of sexual and relational brokenness. So my telling him I am gay would not only mean for him that his daughter is deeply hurting in some way, but would also imply that he and my mom did something wrong in raising me that allowed me to be broken in such a way. And that means he’ll grieve for me and for his own sense of responsibility. Nothing could be further from the truth - Aargh. I’m still planning on coming out. It’s just this latest news about him attending this workshop derailed me for a bit. Gotta build up my reserves again. I’m thankful for the many people who have been encouraging me and supporting me as I prepare for this event and who will be there for me no matter what the outcome is.

Envious of childlike excitement

This doesn't have a whole lot to do with the theme of this blog, but I wanted to write about it anyways. And since its my blog, I have that perogative : )

I have to admit to envy. Isn't that one of the seven deadly sins? But what about envy that inspires you and makes you a better person? Anyways, as the title of this post reveals, I'm envious of the pure, unaffected joy and excitement that children feel. The simplest things can make their faces light up with uncomplicated happiness. Us adults rarely experience that. We have so many 'buts' and 'ifs' and other rationalizations about things...or we are just too busy to slow down and enjoy a single moment in time.

The incident that triggered this post happened this weekend. I went to a pumpkin farm with my family. Basically that involved five adults traipsing around after my two year old nephew as he explored the tractors, animals, hay bales, tunnels, etc. He was having a lot of fun. But there was this one particular moment when he turned around and saw the sandbox. This was a pretty awesome sandbox. It was probably the size of my apartment and was full of every kind of Tonka truck imaginable - bulldozers, dumptrucks, diggers, and more. My nephew loves trucks. In that instant when he caught sight of this kids wonderland, his eyes grew big, his jaw dropped, and his little arms started flapping. I'm not even sure he managed to emit his typical 'wow' - the amazement had stolen his speech. He was literally shaking with excitement.

Note: This picture isn't of the day we went. I got it from Google Images. 

But it does give a bit of a sense of what the sandbox was like.

My description doesn't do the moment justice. It was really special and us adults all agreed that that single moment made our admission price worth it. But on the way home I began to think about when the last time I got that excited was. I honestly can't remember. I try to embrace my childlike side on occasion - I like to swing in the park or make something with lego or simply stop to look at shapes in the clouds. But I tend to guard myself against excitement. Excitement and hope go hand in hand. Excitement is an expectation of something's awesomeness. And I have too much experience with disappointment. I think all adults do and it tends to make us cautious. Which is sad...because we miss out on the pleasure of anticipation. I sometimes wish I could let all that fall away for a day and just experience the world through the trusting, everything-is-new, delight of a child.

The value of religion as tradition

Despite my questioning of faith, I am not dogmatically opposed to religion of any kind. Because of my background, religion and its potential for abuse make me nervous, but I don’t believe that it, by definition, absolutely has to be that way.

I have some friends who are very devoted believers but who remain open and accepting and have actually been a great support to me. I have other friends who believe in some sort of spirituality that makes them feel more connected to the world but does not involve a specific religious tradition. I have one friend who has embraced ancient Egyptology because somehow she finds meaning in it, not necessarily because she believes it’s true. And yet another friend appreciates the mythology of Christianity and Judaism without necessarily holding to all the tenets of those faiths. Thus, not everyone I know takes religion to the extreme in which it becomes an us versus them battle with eternal consequences that leads to significant hurt both psychologically and emotionally even here in the present (okay…wow, that was quite a sentence that clearly reveals that I’ve had some bad experiences with faith…phew).

Right now for me, participating in faith based activities is dangerous because it evokes the rigid, guilt-based mentalities that I’ve grown up with. But, recent discussions have caused me to think about what values there may be in the traditions of the church.

For example, one of the things that drew me to Judaism, even while I was a Christian was the rich traditions that make proponents feel connected to a long history. I felt that by rejecting the so-called pomp and circumstance of denominations such as the Anglicans and Catholics, my particular church had lost something. In fact, there is a movement among the youth in evangelical churches to return to what they call the ancient paths, a movement which embraces monastic traditions and new styles of liturgy, specifically because they too feel that lack.

I have felt in the past that even the Western world in general is missing a deeper connection with history. Our culture is very much about the now. We don’t emphasize traditional celebrations or recounting of the past in the same way that many other cultures around the world do. Sometimes I feel like our culture is, in fact, a lack of culture.

So is it possible that religion could be embraced solely for its ability to bring that kind of meaning? There is much to be learned from history. There is much to be learned from stories, even if they are fictional. As my one friend says, there is something to the mythology of the church that has value. Can religion help shape values and community and culture without taking a defensive position that it, and it alone, has access to truth?

I don’t know. I believe there are people who participate in religion who most definitely can. They gain what they need or want and live their lives with openness and integrity. But can religion as an organized phenomenon take such a position? Religion by its very nature has great potential to be used to control others. But it also has the potential to be used for great good. Unfortunately, I’ve seen more evidence for the former than the latter.

With all of this on my mind, I really enjoyed this article asking the question “Can religion tell us more than science?” What I found most interesting was the perspective that in the past, religion was about how to live, not about beliefs. The article actually directly references myths, saying,

“Myths aren't relics of childish thinking that humanity leaves behind as it marches towards a more grown-up view of things. They're stories that tell us something about ourselves that can't be captured in scientific theories.”

And then later,

“Human beings don't live by argumentation, and it's only religious fundamentalists and ignorant rationalists who think the myths we live by are literal truths.”

Of course, Christians will argue that we can’t know how we should live without some sort of objective standard like the Bible (ignoring of course all the difficulties with viewing that book as objective). But I don’t think it’s so much about how we SHOULD live as simply how we want to live, what values we as a community share, what resonates with our experiences as humans in this world. Its why even in this modern age, social media is returning us to an emphasis on story and our participation in the story. We just aren’t persuaded by bullet point benefits (or bullet points beliefs).

I think the thing I miss most about being part of the Christian community is those odd glimpses I’d catch of a connection to something bigger than myself. The moments that felt the most profound were when a song or a skit or a play or a story captured my attention, drew me into the story, and gave me a sense of wonder and amazement. In those moments, I would feel inspired to do my part, to be a better person, to have hope. And then, the moment would die as whatever was portrayed was picked apart in an attempt to decide what was true or what was distorted and thus might deceive.

I’m not entirely sure how to end this post except to say that I’d be more open to a religion that could provide that sense of continuity, of connection, without requiring the gymnastics needed to avoid the cognitive dissonance that arises from contradictory, unsubstantiated beliefs. Can any religious studies majors chime in with whether such a religion would actually be defined as a religion in that case?