*Scarred* Sh!tless

See the thing is, I have scars. (In real life, they are slightly more noticeable than in this pic.)

I have these visible lines proving that something was different at some other point. The source of these scars – the reasons behind them – may not be recognizable at first. It's doubtful that a stranger's immediate thought would be: "That dude used to have breasts! Crazy!" Egh, proally not.

But none the less, I feel a little insecure to be in situations where someone who might not know my history may see my scars. Enter: the spa anecdote...

The other day I took a friend of mine to a spa as her belated birthday present. We were there a month ago as well, and booked another visit for 'touch up' treatments. Since the last time I was there, I have become somewhat friendly with one of the estheticians there. So much so, that when she saw me in the glass enclosed waiting room she came over and gave me a big hug, and started chatting me up as we walked back to the treatment room. It was a nice reception, as usually I feel like some schlubby, smudged 12 year old boy, looking like I'm waiting for my mom, or my inappropriately attractive nanny. Instead, I was there with my good gal pal. So, did people assume that we were together, and she was dragging me to a spa to whip me into shape? Or did they think that she was the hag to my fag(ness), and we were synchronizing spa-ations?

Regardless, I realized something that day: The only thing more awkward than taking my shirt off in front of a total stranger, is taking my shirt off in front of someone that I sort of know now. It was kind of okay the first time I was there, as just a nameless, faceless customer that would probably never be seen again. (Or when I recently got some more tattoos, and my scars made my usual wussy-ass seem tough for a change, as I strutted around the ink parlour sans weathered tee.) But this last time at the spa, I was a 'somebody' – and I was nervous.

There's nothing like being stripped down to your skivvies (under a loose blanket or not) to make you feel a little vulnerable... I fidgeted too much, quietly trying to conceal my scars whenever possible, and found some solace when enveloped by the large white draping sheet. Being able to hide my lateral chest scars (not to mention my 'freaky' intersexed tattoo arm bands) allowed me to finally relax, and settle in to joking around with my new esthetician-friend. We laughed endlessly, and covered every imaginable topic of conversation while she applied streams of fragrant masques, cleansing toners, and aromatherapy oils to the mix.

Honestly, it was the most fun I've had in a really long time, having not laughed that hard in years. (Or at least in the last month, when I was last there...) It was great, and really put me at ease to find someone so exuberant, and able to keep up with my mindless banter. Everything was perfect. Until...

There is a part of the treatment where they massage your scalp, your feet and hands, and even your shoulders. It wasn't until this last part when I began to feel my anxiety creeping back in on me. And I realized how much I didn't want my scars to derail the perfectly hilarious, witty vollies back and forth. She opened the the top of the sheet that had been covering my shoulders, and told me to move my arms down by my side, as I intentionally clasped my hands over my chest while I laid there motionless during the session. It was the big reveal. Would she freak out once she saw my clearly altered chest?

I could have imagined it, but there seemed to be a slight pause in the previously flowing conversation. I was pretty nervous, and coincidentally was talking about a horrible bike accident I was in when I was younger when these unrelated scars were revealed. No questions were asked, but I wondered what she thought.

Since my surgery nearly 2 years ago I can count on one hand the number of people (that I wasn't dating) that have seen me without a shirt. I haven't had the courage to meander around aimlessly in the locker room at my gym, go swimming in a public arena, or pick up some stranger to test the waters and see how people react as it unfolds before me. Yikes! So, all I've had are these spa trips to practice being brave. (Well, that and getting tattooed.) I swear, it's not all fun and games despite what you might think. I've been scared (and scarred) sh!tless... (and shirtless...)

The Parent Trap

My parents have been together since they were about 15 years old. As I mentioned in one of my older posts, my mom asked my dad to a Sadie Hawkins' Dance, and they've been together ever since. There is a part of witnessing that kind of relationship that has ironically had an adverse affect on me. I don't know when to end a relationship because I saw my parents always tough it out. Of course I've seen them fight, and get huffy with one another, but they never once threatened to end it.

There is a youthfulness to their relationship that I don't envy, as at times I wish for everyone's sake that they were better at negotiating the little things. But overall, I am impressed that they have made it work, and never strayed. And for the most part, they still really love one another, and above all – they have a lot of fun together. It's kind of crazy, and sweet to see as they are in their mid sixties now. When I was little, 60 seemed old. Now that my dad retired and my mom is considering retiring within the next few years, they seem even more spirited than ever, as my dad is getting his pilot's license, and my mom is planning smaller trips for them, and the like.

It has been great to be around parents that love each other so much, but also a bit unrealistic as a model. With every relationship that failed I wondered what I did wrong to not last the test of time, like my parents have. There were tons of relationships that weren't the best for me, but I was willing to stick it out because leaving just didn't seem like an option. Many times I made a mess of things by staying too long, so don't mistake my admission as one of perfection or nobility. Nope, I was sloppy and young, just like the rest of us. But I wish I had better models in my life for how this dating thing is supposed to go.

Even my older brother got hitched at a young age. Well, they started dating around 19 or 20 years old, and then didn't get married until many years later, but still... He only had a few serious girlfriends before that. Same with my cousin who is chronologically in between my brother and me.

I know many people my age are still dating, but it forces me to ask: What the hell did my parents know at 15, or my brother and his wife know at 19 that could make it stick? I don't want to see my dating history as a string of failures, but it does make me seem like the promiscuous sheep in the family... Arg!

Why couldn't I be the product of a broken marriage like the rest of America? Then maybe I'd have a better clue at how this dating thing is supposed to go...

Wisdumb

I am hoping that wisdom is accumulative. (Is it? Anyone know?) I am hoping that I will make better romantic choices as I age and become more 'refined.' (Think I can pull that off?) I mean, I don't think I'm making worse choices, it's just that now being in my mid-thirties and starting all over again – it can feel a bit daunting at times.

In my last relationship, we both joked that we were 'raising the bar' for the other. That no matter what, even if it didn't work out between us, that everything to follow was going to be better than what we had before... And in many ways, it was true. It was tough because that woman encapsulated nearly everything that I wanted in a partner. I guess I forgot to add "wants to stay with me indefinitely" to the list. Whoopsie Daisy! Figures.

But I see that I hadn't really allowed myself to start from scratch in that relationship. We had formed that friendship before my transition, but it didn't 'blossom' into a romantic relationship until a few years after my transition. There was this inherent 'hold over' built into it – where I hadn't fully embraced the newer version of myself, and maybe stuck to my now expired self-image. Bully...

I have changed so much since that break up, really understanding who I am at this point in my life. Well, even as much as it is muddled, I think I've finally caught up to speed.

They say that adversity builds character – that wisdom is the product of problems and one's thoughtful resolutions. (Again, is that true? Anyone know fer sure?) And I see how my own trips down adversity lane have forged this newer, emerging resilience, and a sense of fortitude that hasn't been there before. I'm not one of those people who wants challenges so badly that I create them just cuz...

But I do believe that everything is an opportunity to learn, and grow and become the person we'd rather be. And the incredible part is that it's limitless. It's not like once we become that person we can just coast, and ride that plateau into the sunset. Well, at least in my mind, I am kind of excited about the prospect of evolution and ever-refining myself to really become someone worth knowing. Not that I'm not now, but I still struggle with the insecurities of being human, the more base emotions. I look forward to learning more about myself, and settling in a bit more, as I slowly approach the Middle Ages. Heh.

I guess we'll see what this wis-dumb thing is all about, huh?

Secret Shopper

One of my closest friends in DC owns her own boutique, and also moonlights at another retail shoppe a few blocks away. She and I had a 'spa day' yesterday, followed by lunch. The two of us having been trying to catch up weekly, as I give her updates about my dating life, and the related epiphanies that flood my consciousness daily.

Over lunch I was telling her some of the latest news from my life, and it got both of us laughing. She immediately jumped in with some tales from her own life. Even though she is getting married in a few weeks, men relentlessly hit on her at the various stores, and she wanted to share some of her insights. It was like some off the cuff sociological study about the dating rituals of heterosexual urban males with a hankering for vintage clothes and fine foods. Fascinating.

Danni told me story after story of these brazen men who assumed her eye contact and offers of assistance meant that she was interested in them. Slyly, she would allude to her fiance if the guys continued with their pursuit. But it was interesting... Despite her thinking that many of these guys were douchebags, she admitted that there was something about their confidence, their direct candor, that was attractive. She would never accept any of these offers, even if she wasn't engaged, but gladly shared her advice about which techniques I should start employing.

Suggestions ranged from: be more confident, act more self assured, make more eye contact, ask a lot of questions, ask for help with things, smile more, be direct – to the bold selections like ask when you can see her again, ask what she's doing after work, ask what she's doing after that, ask if you can take her out this weekend, etc. Danni also told me to "start practicing asking everyone out." Our waitress came back to refill our beverages and suddenly I was prodded into thinking I was being resistant cuz I had no interest in asking out literally the first person who crossed my path. Don't get me wrong, our waitress was perfectly nice, but my interests lie elsewhere. And trying to take a little time to absorb these new modes of approach.

Hmmm. So, now that I've added these tips to my amorous arsenal, watch out – I just might be the 'secret shopper' at a store near you.

shhhhhh...

Um, well... There is a bunch of stuff running through my mind right now, and I'm feeling a little too distracted to try to focus completely. I'm just warning you: this posting is going to suck!

Okay, the truth is – I think I kinda like someone. I guess more to the point – I think I kinda like who I am around a certain someone. Have you ever felt that way? Where you are totally psyched to be around a new person, and you just have so much fun with them that there isn't even time to be insecure, or doubt yourself? Ya, I'm kind of in that zone right now.

I may not have a shot, but damn, it sure is fun to flirt and have someone make you feel like you are the only person in the world who can make them laugh like that. It's kind of an addictive feeling. And it sure beats this crap ass pity party that I've been throwing for myself these past few months.

It's been sort of amazing to remember that I am even capable of flirting. It's been so long, I thought I forgot. I think I am beginning to see that old spark that I used to have... The one that has apparently been dormant since I transitioned. Sad, but true.

I haven't laughed that much or that heartily in a long time. And I haven't felt like I rocked someone's world in an even longer time. Man, it feels pretty fucking good! I think this is how it's supposed to feel. Well, I mean in the early stages where no one has to admit anything, so no one has to feel nervous or potentially rejected. Still the fun part where you feel like a rock star. I used to be a charmer, but I think my fire went out for a while.

Slowly I think I may even be beginning to root for myself. Not even with this one particular woman, but just in general. I guess that's how it starts, right? We can only find what we want when we know we want it. (Right?)

I think I want to be someone worth rooting for... I think I'm almost ready to be someone worth knowing, and worth wanting to know better. And maybe, just maybe, this will all slowly evolve into becoming someone worth dating, and maybe (dream the impossible dream) becoming someone worth staying with...

(So, please pardon my extreme grammatical errors, dangling participles and the like, as I forewarned you that this was not going to be well written... But who doesn't love their participles dangling? Wait, that came out wrong-)

I guess you could call this hope... Man, how I've missed it.

Just One of the Guys

Did you ever see "Just One of the Guys" when it played incessantly on cable in the 80s? I was obsessed with this movie. (Totally makes sense, huh? Foreshadowing, anyone?)

The funny part is that I just Googled images for this flick, and found like a million blogs with postings on this gem. Screen grabs, video links, play by play commentaries. Holy shit, man ~ this thing has a cult following. (emphasis on 'cult' – and I don't mean me...)

The scary part is that apparently the star, Joyce Hyser, (featured above) was nearly 30 years old when she played the lead role as Terri/Terry Griffith. Makes sense that a 30 year old woman would end up looking like an 18 year old boy after the old switch-a-roo. (eh-hem.) This film was like a DIY manual: just throw on a vest with a coordinating skinny tie, a dab of pomade, and the ladies will be eating out of your hand. (Well, maybe not the vest anymore.) With the exception of the blonde boyfriend's and the villain's 'feathered hair,' everyone else looks shockingly current, with the 80s recycling going on now.

The sad part is I think my own sense of style is most aligned with the cross-dresser's love interest, Rick Morehouse – the James Brown-loving dud in the vintage clothes from the 1960s and 70s. That is BEFORE he had his pompadour swooping, 3/4 sleeve waistcoat, collar popping makeover. Uh, no thanks!

This film does hit on all of the big sticking points when you change genders: what to do when you enter a men's room for the first few dozen times, how to 'pass' in the men's locker room at the gym, how to dress fashionably well as this new, hott dude to turn all the girls' heads, and how to fall in love with your best friend, and have to convince him/her that you're not really gay.

Guess I didn't need to write this stoopid blog after all – it's all been covered before. Damn it all!

Guilt by Disociation

I want to talk about something delicate, that I fear may come out wrong... Please be patient as I try to fumble my way through this explanation.

While talking to a friend, I tried to explain some of the feelings of guilt that I have when I like someone. I guess it's loosely related to a sense of internalized homophobia, or internalized transphobia, but I'll try to explain in more detail what I mean.

In short, I knew since I was a very young child that I had crushes on girls. I grew up feeling like I was meant to be a boy – like there had been some medical mistake that we were still waiting to catch. My crushes on female classmates were organically emerging as young as 4 years old. (There was one girl in my kindergarten class that I liked so much, that when we made plans to hang out at each others' houses, I'd fake a stomach ache out of nerves because I was too anxious for her to come over and play.) Above and beyond this predisposition I seem to have towards anxiety, I also knew inherently that how I felt about girls was different than how I felt about boys. I liked boys a great deal, but it was more about trying to emulate them, or things that I thought were cool, but not butterfly-inducing.

Around fifth grade I started writing what I thought would be masterful screenplays about a young female lead who developed crushes on slightly older classmates. Huh, you don't say... But it wasn't until junior high when I started meeting girls my own age that I felt were crush-worthy. I knew instantly that it was going to be chaotic. This was not your mother's middle school crush. Nuh-ugh...

I felt conflicted, feeling like I wanted to celebrate all of the amazing traits I found in these befriended classmates, yet knowing that doing so would sever those friendships and make me a target of ridicule and sneers. In school, I had always been well liked, and friendly with many different social circles, even the popular, wealthy 'preps,' despite my middle class, rough edges, and lack of social graces. I always felt like a visitor, though, in whatever setting I was inhabiting at the time. Even though I had a lot of friends, I never felt like I truly fit in anywhere. I never wanted to rock the boat, and threaten those ties I had to so many different friendships. This was in part from co-dependence, and in part, being a normal teenager...

But I felt guilty about liking people, like it was too complicated, or incriminating. Not flattering or sexy, as if the popular, jocky guy had liked them. And so it went for most of my life, feel embarrassed that I liked someone, and like I wanted to apologize for it. That being said, I have rarely been single since I first started dating women when I was 15, so I guess that guilt wasn't too much of a hurdle.

I raise this issue now, as I see it interfering with my approach to dating these days. There is this residual feeling of incrimination that I find surfacing when I have a crush on someone. I feel almost guilty that they have to decide how to handle it, and sort through their feelings and histories. This is coming from another friend's recent confession that she had a crush on me in college, and how that crush had sort of shuttled her into a spin of questioning her own sexuality and identity. That's happened a lot, and as much as I don't think it's the worst thing in the world to 'ignite' someone's self-exploration, I do feel a bit guilty that it has sometimes been very challenging for folks, especially if we had tried to be together as a couple.

Not to sound pathetic or ungrateful, but there is a part of me that still resents the fact that in order to date someone (as a transguy) that it's implied that I'd have to find someone "really open minded," and "secure with their sexuality." Like we are all saying under our breath: "If they could have found anyone better, they would clearly be with someone else..."

Ugh.

So many of my truly incredible friends have been telling me how great I am, and how they can't believe someone as good as me is still single. Or that they think that I'm the ideal man. It's sweet of them to say, but I can't help but feel reactionary, and defensive, like if I was so wonderful, than why am I still alone?

Man, I guess it's a 'case of the Mondays'... Blech.

See Saw Seen

I am a methodical list maker. Always have been. An ex called me years back after she saw High Fidelity, telling me that it was my story. I didn't think so. I never even met Lisa Bonet. But I could see what she meant: a person unsure about what they wanted, and only wanting to fight for it after it was lost. Maybe. He made endless lists, categorizing, classifying everything. Yet it seemed that despite his attempts to label everything, it brought him no closer to *understanding* much of anything of substance. I think that's what my ex was trying to tell me back then.

While in college, I went to see the school psychologist a few times for a tune up. It was there that she told me that she thought I was "ambivalent" about my sexuality. Her theory was that I didn't know where I fit within the gender spectrum because of my body dysmorphic/gender dysmorphic issues, and therefore, I frequently dated straight women as a subtle sabotage to prevent myself from ever finding a resolved, stable relationship. Wow, what a way to reduce my life down to a few nuts and bolts.

My father often chided me by saying that I was infamous for "paralysis by analysis, " and he didn't mean psychotherapy. That qualifies him as another name to add to my list of people who think I'm ambivalent.

Sure, it's sad but true – I am and maybe have been unsure about certain elements of my life. I guess I'm confused as to why that singles me out, exactly. Is everyone else walking around with confirmations and resolutions to all of their life's mysteries? Am I the only one here? I mean, c'mon.

The truth is, I don't want to be ambivalent. I took this huge leap of faith to end that waffling (mmmm, waffles) about my gender and sexuality. I'm not saying it's all 'fixed' now, but I don't have any regrets, and I know that this is the life I am 'meant' to be living, as a transguy. I want to have this billowing sense of confidence, this allure, that will draw the right people to me at the right time. I want to date people that know they want to date me. But I guess the problem with that concept is that we only know once we are in it. So, do I need a prerequisite then for dating me? That they would have had to have dated another transguy before me to ensure that if the problem is me, it's one of my many other tragic flaws, and not simply my trans status? That seems a but tough to require these days.

My last relationship left me with some questions, but don't they all? Yes, I was scared that I wouldn't be enough, and that I wouldn't be 'the one' for that woman. And maybe those fears ended up making that a reality. It sucks. As much as I would love to take all the blame for those woes in an inadvertent plea to then right all of the wrongs I may have inflicted romantically, I don't think I am the only ambivalent one. And I don't think my trans status is necessarily a provocation for everyone else's ambivalence, either.

What if it can just be accepted? What if it slowly becomes a non-issue – then can I be liberated enough to just move on to the real marrow of the encounter?

Now that I have seen this see-saw of my own arrested development, can we move on, and migrate to another fixture on this playscape of love?

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Several friends have been chatting with me about the contents of this blog. It's been fascinating hearing people's reflections, and seeing what resonates with some of the readership. I hung out with a few friends yesterday, where we caught up and dissected some of the theories of approach, and reproach surrounding heterosexual dating. It was a hoot, as we referenced homo-eroticism of contemporary men's magazines juxtaposed against their 'how to' guides for straight men. Kind of fun to explore these conflicting themes.

No wonder why there is such sexual confusion and a greater divide between the sexes – all of these mixed messages and blurred lines of attraction in main stream advertising. Do I want to be that sexy, half naked man, or be with him? I feel funny... (Just kidding, for me – it's both, so it makes it easier to deduce.)

The emergence of metrosexuals years back, the clear product of this kind of cross-pollenation, lost in this muddled, messy world. Women couldn't decide if it was a change for the better, or not. Sure, a bit more 'manscaping' and we all benefit, but what about everything else?

I guess I should thank my lucky stars that these confusing blurs have been added to the mix, so that maybe I won't seem like such an anomoly. Metro, hetero, homo, bi, queer, trans – I'm in there somewhere. But then again, aren't we all?

Post dated

Somewhat coincidentally a bunch of women that I've dated in the past have suddenly come back to reconnect with me. It's been interesting, to say the least. Some have husbands, some have children, some have both – pretty intense. They all are doing really well, and I'm happy for them. Genuinely.

I recently caught that horrible film "Good Luck Chuck," and frankly, it feels a little like that. Now, I'm not saying that I was some good luck charm that launched these women into these domestic bliss. I wouldn't dare be so arrogant. But it's been a wake up call to see everyone else hitting these big strides, while I feel like I am still walking in circles. I know it's never good to compare ourselves in that sense, but they all seemed to have marched into adult-hood, taking on big responsibilities. It makes me wonder... Like some class reunion when you fear that you haven't progressed as much as your peers, or worry that they all got hotter while you grew tired and older looking, in the wrong way.

It feels good to know that these wonderful people still think fondly of me, and that they care enough to catch up. I have put so much energy into these relationships over the years, I appreciate that those connections are still nourishing me in certain ways, even as friendships.

Just promise me that they aren't all sitting around feeling sorry for me. I know I joke about pity parties, but I really *don't* want one. I swear!

Reconnecting with these folks reminds me that I have been very loved, and been inspired by some pretty amazing people. Even if our romances didn't last into eternity, they weren't in vain. But for now, trying not to feel 'post dated.'

Quit the Chit Chat

I think I need to quit the chit chat and just beginning again. Start over from scratch, shut the eff up, and just put myself out there. What's the worst that can happen? No, seriously!

I have taken huge leaps in the past, made myself vulnerable to fight for people that I thought were worth it, and even if it didn't work out – I survived. And I will continue to...

Right? Okay, who's with me?

It's time to make a launch. I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be... And away we go.

(Don't worry, I'll be sure to keep you posted on my progress, or humorous antics of the lack there of...)

3.... 2.... 1....

Night off the town

Last night I tried to go to a friend's birthday dinner in the U St area of DC. It's an urban hot spot in this city, chock full of trendy restaurants, bars and the like. I dropped the birthday girl off, as I foolishly tried to find parking. As I kept circling the area, observing all of the adoring couples out for a night on the town, or groups of friends happily socializing my heart kind of sank.

I used to live over there, in that more urban locale, and found myself mourning elements of my old life. I was remembering the feeling I had when I thought I had found the love of my life, and the jaunts over to this place or that for a late dinner, or drinks at a sidewalk cafe. So much has changed since then. It was tough feeling like in some ways I felt farther away from what I thought I wanted.

Overall, I'm really content with my life. I truly enjoy my job, and how much freedom it grants me to be creative, writing so much and submitting articles here and there. My circles of friends are incredible, and add such a depth and richness to my life that I hope to never lose. I love my home, my animals, and my supportive family. Mostly, it's all good. But after having a long term relationship with someone I thought was 'The One,' it's tough to just go back to casually dating. I'm not that great at it. I prefer quality over quantity, and don't need anymore notches on a metaphorical bed post. (My actual headboard is antique carved mahogany, so notches, nicks and scratches are to be prevented at all costs! heh...)

I miss sharing a life with someone, coming home to them, cooking dinners together, going on excursions to distant lands. As I write this now, I am realizing that I want to bypass the survey stages of getting to know someone, and just jump in to the middleness of a relationship. It doesn't seem to work like that. Damn it all!

So, maybe I need to be one of the socially inventive people, and have more nights on the town to find some potential beginnings that may someday turn into those majestic, amourous middles that I like so much. Maybe?

"Penguin Love Bubble"

"You know what I realized? We're just animals. We don't know anything about love... He might not be my gay penguin, but he might be yours." – Leslie Knope



Man, it's like Leslie Knope/Amy Poehler read my mind. (Or my Facebook note about love. Or this here blog... Well.)

I've already gotten some amazing responses to my questions about love and relationships. It's been kind of incredible reading about the connections people have, and what makes them feel so unique. As universal as love is, (or at least appears to be), it's internalized in such a personal and profound way that can still escape cliches and rhetorical pandering. I am in awe.

Reading these amorous narratives was like being on the front lines of love itself. I could *feel* each author's conviction and regard for their partners and loved ones. Each story was different, of how these pairs met, and how they knew they had found something truly reverent, but each possessed consist threads... (I'll write more about these later, but want to read more before I summarize.)

Hearing so many friends' accounts helped me reflect on my own experiences and beliefs. I think I've always been one of those people 'in love with love,' even when I'm single. With so many excerpts to explore from friends and loved ones, I couldn't help but fall a little more in love with love. I know, that's the gayest thing I've ever said. Maybe I'm just looking for my gay penguin, after all...

What about love?

(You know, like that awful rock ballad by Heart ~ seems oddly appropriate, no?)

So, I started this new blog about swooning, crushes, romantic dalliances, and just all out awkwardness related love and affection (among other things). I've been thinking about branching out... About a month ago I sent out a short piece I wrote retelling some of the bumbling moments I've had trying to ask people out, and the like. I jokingly ended the piece by posing a question, asking for dating advice from women everywhere – and I got lots of replies chock full of incredible insight. I thought it might be fun and informative to create a series of questions asking folks their thoughts on love, romance, and the whole gamut in between.

I'd love for people to participate, and email me or even leave a comment on the blog itself. I want to try to write a few posts based on some of the responses I get, where I'd ensure everyone's anonymity to be safe.

Okay, so what I'm wondering:

1. Do you believe in the concept of "The One" or soul mates? If so - how do you define them? If not - why not?

2. If you do believe in "The One" or soul mates - have you found yours? How did you know?

3. Would you currently say that you are "in love?" How does that feel?

4. If you are involved with someone, what was it that drew you to them?

5. What do you consider the most desirable qualities in someone else?

6. What do you consider to be the sexiest qualities in someone else?

7. What do you consider to be your most attractive qualities?

8. What do you consider to be the qualities you're most embarrassed about?

9. What has made you feel most loved?

10. What was the best present you've ever received from a significant other?

11. What's been the best gift you've given a significant other?

12. What is the longest relationship you've ever had? How long was it?

13. What advice do you have for keeping "the fire alive" in relationships?

14. What advice do you have for those of us starting again from scratch?

15. What has been your happiest moment while being in love?



Is that enough to start? So, if you are interested in responding to any or all of these questions, email me and let me know what you think! It would be great to hear your thoughts!

Hoping this finds you well! As always - all the best! ~Will

selfmadewill@gmail.com

SWM

I'm in the process of finding a new house mate, and it's a kind of funny endeavor. Putting ads online to try to attract worthy candidates... Hoping that I can say just enough to draw the right demographic without sounding self-aggrandizing or just down right lame. What things do I include, and which details do I gloss over? It's a bit like online dating – or so I would imagine, having not tried that method yet myself.

It's somewhat intense being trans, and wondering how I will appear to these strangers entering my house for an interview. In the ad I said we were looking for someone who is GLBTQI friendly, but without directly outing myself as a transguy. The whole process is exhausting enough on any level, but to then add feeling vulnerable because of my trans status, wondering if I will be outed, and if they'd even care – I just want to fast forward to the conclusion already.

This is why I haven't set up an online dating profile – how the fuck do I even begin to explain? Arg... And away we go ~

Letters to a Young-ish Poet

I received an amazing email today from an old college friend, Tory, who stumbled upon my blogs. She was looking me up for another reason, and then found a note with this blog address, and checked it out. After some thought, she wrote me a very poignant message about growing up in The Bronx, where the gender divide seemed very concrete and unwaivering. It was fascinating to hear her personal experiences of what qualified as masculinity in her social circles as a young adult. I'd like to share some of Tory's words directly:

I was raised in a culture - both at home and in the neighborhood - where manhood was defined with a certain amount of machismo that I had no taste for. However, I entered college thinking a man/boy should be able to fight, to defend himself and to defend me, if that was ever necessary. ... There was a prevalent mentality that you had to fight for everything of value - you even had to fight for who you were and weren't going to be. I suppose we were trying to assert a certain sense of courage and character, but it was often mistranslated and myself and other young people were hurt in senseless ways. In thinking about it now, I guess part of what I saw in you back then was a kind of courage, a sort of fight to be who you were/are, simply, without explanation. In essence, you were the ideal guy, with no desire to prove your "manhood" by causing anyone else harm.

Her statement: There was a prevalent mentality that you had to fight for everything of value - you even had to fight for who you were and weren't going to be. It really kicked my ass. I grew up in the milk-toast suburbs of Connecticut, drastically different from the inner city living of The Bronx, yet I still grew up feeling like I had to fight for every ounce of my being. Tory explained how violent the culture was in her urban setting, and how (sadly) she became conditioned to that consistency of her neighborhood, even though her family life was not violent. My experiences were the opposite – something that I don't often bring up in casual conversation.

I lived in the ridiculously boring suburbs, yet had a very conflicted and violent relationship with my father. Anyone who's ever met him thinks he's the funniest guy they know. And many people think I can be pretty funny, most of the time, too. But when our two fiery personalities clashed (he's a Leo, and I'm a Sag...) all metaphorical hell would break loose. He's literally never laid a hand on any other single human being in his life, and so imagining the two of us fighting might be tough for those of whom have met us both.

The thing was – I never backed down from him. I never backed down from his threats, his disrespectful chatter, or his snide disposition when it came to my life. Ever since I was a toddler I remember feeling like I could never appease this man. As I grew older, and developed a stronger sense of self, the more intense the conflict became, as he wanted me to submit to his omni-potent authority as a father. But the problem was, as I kid, I knew he didn't respect me, and never really seemed that interested in who I was as an individual, and therefore I didn't respect him. It was one thing to have a parent be neglectful or disinterested, and another to have them forcibly try to get you to conform to their ideas of what you should be doing. In retrospect, that aggressive dynamic with my father seems more consistent with stereotypical father/son dissonance. The 'stuff' of Greek myths, even...

It was provocative to hear my friend talk about the violence she witnessed in her cultural surroundings, and be able to relate so distinctly with what she described. My suburbs might not have been on the news every night for any type of violent crime, but I am not immune to the side effects violence has on our personal development.

Yes, I did have to *fight* to be who I was, to become who I *am.* I can relate to her words, and identify with that loss of innocence when the 'natural' trajectory of our character becomes derailed, and a new fearless temperament has to step up to defend that fractured sense of self still lingering around. I can't say that witnessing or experiencing one type of violence over another is better or worse. They all change you in ways that become so deeply ingrained, as if you never existed without them, or their effects.

I used to talk candidly about my codependent tendencies, and it is easy to see their source in this context. That desire to simply want to be loved and accepted as we are – however we are... It is a rare thing. There is so much talk about unconditional love, but I am not sure it actually exists. Everything *feels* conditional to me. Maybe that is just my history talking, I'm not sure.

I know I use this blog to joke around a lot, or to ramble aimlessly about this worry or that one, but tonight, it has to be different. I hope that it's not too somber or sobering to try to delve into the depths of these kinds of themes. (I promise I'll be back to some funny rant about Liberace's ass-less chaps tomorrow, or something of that ilk...) Tonight, I need to be here – right where I am.

What I want... I don't want to be the type of man who perpetuates those acts of violence. I don't want to make people feel as disrespected as I have felt. I don't want people to experience the pain and confusion that I have experienced, and the sense of alienation that comes when those who are supposed to protect us end up turning against us.

I want to be an ally. I want to approach the world through compassion and empathy as much as I can possibly muster. I want to be the type of man/transman/human being that never forgets my fractured roots, so I can intentionally induce my own healing. And from that point of understanding, of regenerating what we lost, I want to connect with others in these trenches of humanity.

I don't want to fight to have to be myself anymore. I just want to be... In the dazzling words of my favorite literary character: "I yam whud I yam, and dat's all that I yam..." (Popeye) Oh, wait, he's my favorite literary set of forearms...

Here is a quote from the Rainer Maria Rilke book (Letters to a Young Poet) Tory 'lent' me in college, that I didn't try to return until like 8 years later, where she then she 'gifted' it to me.

You are so young, so before all beginnings, and I want to beg of you, as much as I can, dear sir, to be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer. Perhaps you do carry within yourself the possibility of shaping and forming as a particularly happy and pure way of living; train yourself to it––but take whatever comes with great trust, and if it only comes out of your own will, out of some need of your inmost being, take it upon yourself and hate nothing.

Months ago I had a difficult conversation with one of my best friends, who is in the midst of a horrific bout of depression. We spoke directly about our challenging lives, and how other people don't get it. Sometimes people tell us to "buck up" or the like, thinking we are just lazy or weak when the sadness surfaces. People who have lived through something get it. There is an inherent understanding of that source of courage and tenacity that resides so deep inside our core. Qualities that may be the by product of experiences we wouldn't choose for ourselves, but that have become ours all the same.

This is my life. It's the only one I know. I can't imagine it any other way, in both the good and the bad. It has been the foundation upon which I built myself. The foundation that granted me insight to choose this life over that one, these experiences over those. It's not a coincidence that the name I chose for this new life was "Will." Not William, not Bill – Will. It is what got me through the really fucking bad times – My sense of will power.

People have suggested that my melancholic friend and I are weak when we are sad. The truth is, we are the strongest people I know, for being able to LIVE THROUGH what we have... I used to be depressed, and feel like this life wasn't worth living, because it didn't feel like mine. It wasn't until I *felt* like I was worthy of a life that would make me content that I began living as Will. I love the fact that this name/characteristic represents -me- now. I think I have arrived...



I want to thank Tory for her incredible gift of words. Not only her letters to me, or books lent and later given... But to make her life's work one where she helps people in need find their own voice. Whether it be this modest blogger, a young woman incarcerated, or herself.

Thank you, Tory, for your words, and for helping me find mine. Much love and gratitude, my dear friend.

Houston, we *don't* have a problem...

Have you been catching any of the Whitney Houston interviews on Oprah? I've never been a huge fan of hers, but couldn't help but watch "Being Bobby Brown" on cable years back. It was such a train wreck, it was the best television I'd ever seen. (I even forgave them for the irrepressible conversation she and Bobby had when he described his attempts to 'assist' her when she was constipated. TMI, Ms. Houston. T M I !!! Do you to what I am referring?!?) But anywho~

She just sang this kind of incredible song about how she "didn't know (her) own strength," and that her Mama said she "was not built to break." Damn... It was so moving and inspirational to hear this truly grounded woman speaking so candidly about recovery from severe drug addiction and an abusive marriage. Oprah was somewhat masterful in her line of questions, almost feeding Whitney answers that may have been too difficult to admit 'on her own,' but in a way that was still sincere and from Whitney's own heart. You could tell that Oprah was really empathizing with this woman who had a pretty rough life.

Much of what she described gave me chills, and would have made me cry, if only I could... Sigh~

I went from not being a much Whitney Houston fan growing up, to watching "Being Bobby Brown" and thinking she was a whacked out (formerly constipated) crack head, to now having a mild crush on this woman of steel. It helps to hear about other people's bouts of 'bad love' and heartbreak to know that we can not only get over it, but we can even have a 'comeback' on the Oprah Show. Hott damn! Watch out ladies!

I never wanted a theme song before, but the lyrics she belted out in her truest Whitney style made me crave a melodic backdrop on this dang blog... If she can get through the toughest times and come out alright, maybe I'll be okay then, too.

And hell, she's single now –– maybe she needs an adoring pool boy!

Roots

(No, this blog isn't a 1970s small screen mini-series following the lineage of dozens of Africans brought to American, and depicting their trials and tribulations. But I can see you you could get confused...)

This entry will be about an email that I received from a male friend of mine the other day. (I will give him an anonymous name, so you can follow the story. Let's call him Joe Q. Public. (((not funny?!?))) He's not to be confused with Joe the Plumber, John C. Flood- the original, or Ice Cube.)

Joe had written me telling me that he had been following my blog, and how certain themes were easily identifiable to people that weren't trans at all. Not even a little... Like the insecurity many of us feel where dating is concerned, and how we all wish we were a little bit more 'this or that' to surmount those nerves.

The one image from his message that is still swirling around in my head was a phrase that he used:

...your audience is ready to fully believe you, and understand where you're going, and root for you.

It's kind of a smack in the face to hear that people are rooting for me. Especially considering how sometimes I forget to root for myself. Another friend used that same exact phrasing a few years ago when I first transitioned and started to write anecdotally about the my experiences.

It's good to know that we can all have pep rally when we least expect it. Thanks for being my cheerleaders! (Next time, bring the pompoms...)

Nest Egg

I think I may have mentioned that I am in my mid thirties, right? I'm coming to understand that certain *feelings* sometimes surface when we hit these chronological milestones. Maybe developmental psychologist are on to something...

One of the things that I am *feeling* in my mid thirties is this deeply rooted desire to nest. Okay, in reality, it's been there all along, but only now it eclipses most everything else. (My friend Melanie calculated my astrological chart years ago, where she found that I am a Sagittarius with a Cancer rising. Evidently, this explains my domestic predisposition with the drive to always want to host Bacchanalian feasts, or movie nights at my house. Cosmic mumbo jumbo aside –)

I have to admit: I am scared. When I think of how much I dated in my teens and twenties, it makes sense. I went to a large, relatively open minded, public high school in Connecticut, and a super progressive, tiny liberal arts college in Vermont. Both were practically hot beds of romantic and sexual explorations. (Why did I say "hot beds?" Egh.) What I mean is, it makes sense that my peers indulged in the personal freedoms granted in those kinds of permissive climates. We all the got to reap the benefits of socially experimenting with other like minded folks, to find out more about ourselves. Great!

But now, I'm in that stage where we are expected to have the big things ironed out already. We're supposed to use that knowledge from those youthful explorations to settle down, focus, and further perfect our intended track. Uh-oh.

It's not so much beating myself up here (as I perhaps I've been doing far too much in this blog). No, this time I mean something else. I fear that the pool of candidates interested in being someone's 'other half' at this stage in the game might be adverse to 'testing the waters' with someone like me now that we are older, and maybe past the experimental phases of adolescence. It's not like I think I am the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but realistically speaking, my life and trans status would impact a partner in many ways. If she would want to have kids, it would be something that would need to be negotiated, as I couldn't be a biological part of that process. The fact that my body is a bit different might take some getting used to... And so on.

It was easier to get away with these differences when we were all young and crazy, but now that people are toning it down as they age, I fear that I may eternally be an empty nester. I know that not everyone is going to see the trans card as a huge obstacle to have to overcome, and that some of that is just my projected fear to keep myself safe and preventing failure by not trying. But – I also can't lie to myself and say that everyone wants me, and all people who meet me instantly become 'tranny chasers.' Heh, and no...

How do I find those people that wouldn't hold my identity and physiology against me, and above and beyond that ~ would be a good match for the long haul?

Hmmm. I'll keep thinking.

Nested & vested. ~ Will

The *Everyman*

It's been interesting to hear that folks have been able to identify with some of what I've been discussing on this blog. Even though I'm trans, and many of my friends are not, they were still able to find sentiments that resonated with them, or traction within my thoughts. It's comforting to me, and well, maybe for them, too.

So many people have remarked how courageous I am to put so much out there in this format, but I really can't imagine it any other way. If I only talked about the 'easy' stuff, then no one would give a shit, and we'd all be back to searching the internet for some other sparkling attraction of the moment. I decided that if I was going to do this, that I had to do it right, and reveal even the less glamorous side (just kidding) of being trans, and all that may come with that in my life. I don't want to ever portray that I am speaking for all transgender people, all transguys, or all people who identify as queer. But it's funny that as much as I make those disclaimers that this is only *my* story, all of these people have jumped in to tell me how it is so close to their stories, too. Huh, go figure...

In my life where I've often felt like the 'only one,' it appears that I may have inadvertently become the *everyman.* Oh, the irony...

The Boy Next Door

Years ago a dear friend of mine came to visit me in DC, and we got to talking. (This was before I transitioned – before I even spoke openly about wanting to... ) My friend knew me well enough to ask the right questions to get me to open up, but she wasn't prepared for what I might say, and what did end up saying.

What I remembered most about my confession that she found shocking was not that I wanted to transition, but more specifically that I wanted to transition to become the boy next door. She was flabbergasted. "Why would anyone want to be the boy next door???" she shrieked.

For me, I had always drawn a little too much attention to myself by living too close to the center of gender ambiguity. Strangers couldn't always deduce which sex I was, and they sometimes reacted quite aggressively to let me know about their disdain for my androgynous ways. They thought nothing of embarrassing me in public with their loud comments, or emphatic sneers. I never quite understood how my choices to have shorter hair and to wear jeans could come across as some personal affront to these people I'd had never met before. Why were they angry enough to want to humiliate me, as if they wanted to shame me back into one side of the spectrum of the other? What about my seemingly benign, if not outright boring, life stood as a direct provocation to them?

Sure, I get it – humans crave classifications. It's in our brain structure to want to divide things up, and put them into categories in order to better understand things. It's what separates us from lesser developed animals. But, why did they react in anger when they couldn't categorize me? I understand that evolutionarily speaking, things that deviate from what we'd consider normal and healthy scare us, as a way to prevent us from propagating with someone who might not be our best investment for carrying our genetic materials into a hypothetical future. Yada yada yada. I get it... Whatever.

But all of this has just made me want to hide. I want to slink away from the spotlight that has too often been focused on this body of mine. One which already made me feel awkward and alienated enough in my own mind, let alone culturally... A body that first made me feel victimized by not appearing like the boyish image I have *always* internalized in my head, then further becoming one that made me feel victimized by the countless strangers who wished to abuse and mock me in some public fashion. It is easy to imagine that I'd want all of that to change.

Somehow admitting to my good friend that I simply wanted to be like the boy next door made her cringe in disbelief. She had worked her whole life to escape the confines of her small southern hometown, and the related dogma that went with it. As she rose above her projected social station, having gotten into a great undergraduate program, and then an Ivy League medical school, she was stumped that I seemingly wanted to regress. But I didn't see this boy next door image as stepping backwards.

For those of you who might know me closely, I think it kind of fits. My heartfelt attempts to be cordial and pleasant, with (hopefully) refined manners. My small town rearing used to feel like a handicap, and now I guess I embrace it. I pretend that it's my charm...

But it's funny that I was assumed to be some militant lesbian when people thought I was a woman, but now that they think I'm a guy, I am told constantly how "gentlemanly" I am. I pretty much wear the same exact clothes, have roughly the same hair styles, and the same demeanor. It's just the context that has changed ~ which has changed everything. I went from people scowling and berating me to now smiling and graciously thanking me for holding the door open for them in the same way I did before. It's crazy-making...

I didn't want to 'become a man' to escape the social pressures of looking like a mannish woman. I wanted to transition because it is what felt organic to the sense of self I've always imagined since I was a kid. This is why I identify as a transman, and not just a man – because I don't want to dismiss or deny the foundation of my female body, and the experiences that lead me here. But how much do I love that I get to see both sides so blatantly, and illuminate these gross inequities, as if I was some covert gender spy reporting for some high brow, informative article? Or like a contemporary version of Virginia Woolf's Orlando, but going in opposite directions.

Now that I am perceived to be a guy I am asked directions a lot more, strangers will ask me for help or make random chit chat that they never did before. I am addressed frequently as "Chief, Buddy, Captain," and the like, which is hilarious to me. More than that, I love the feeling of being a 'nice young man' when meeting the family of a prospective girlfriend. I've had far too many run ins with fathers who thought I corrupted their precious babies, and now, I get to be the charming guy that brings a gift to dinner, and tells them how wonderful their daughter is without seeming insanely creepy.

The truth is, I want to be the boy next door. Maybe I'm not aiming very high, but there it is... I don't think that negates any possibility of success and aspirations that might male me notable. But I do, I want to be that guy... The sweet, funny one, with the perfect comedic timing, and fortitude to fix problems before they devolve. And I guess I want to find my girl next door. Again, not that she can't propel herself to stardom or recognizable fame, but I think I want someone with those roots, that set of instincts.

It must sound so pedestrian and insipid, but that's the kind of life I dream about in secret when on one's around. Finding this incredibly sweet, but fiery, feisty, brilliant, talented, sexy, attentive woman to make me feel like I have met my match. I had found some good contenders before, but it hasn't quite worked out yet for the long haul. There's still time, right?

Love – all

I was walking in DC this morning, and happened to pass by a tennis court. There were two middle aged men grunting away, swaddling this fluorescent fuzzy ball back and forth. Ya, I'm not so much of a sports fan. I like working out, but the idea of all of these rules and fixtures confound me. Maybe it's true what an ex said, and I'm not really a team player after all. Jk~

But watching these two guys try to lob the ball within certain specific painted quadrants on the court kinda made me laugh. I just don't care. I've never been good with coloring within the lines, I guess. Which made me laugh at myself even more. Maybe that's just it...

Thinking about all of these pass times we have invented for our leisure. We've created these systems of painted lines, score zones, out of bound areas, etc. to obsess over. One team versus the other, battling it out within these dusted chalk marks, trying to score a goal, get a point, make a basket, etc. It's kind of funny when you think about it, how seriously the players and the fans get over these glorified mutations of hopscotch, basically.

I never got into sports because I never cared enough to want to learn about the rules and structures for each game. I never wanted to bother learning what this line means over that one, and that I needed to stay on this box versus the one over there. Figures then that I might have had some trouble conceptualizing the 'rules' of gender, huh? No wonder I've always thought outside the 'box'... (triple entendre intended...)

If Beyonce was a Boy... (clickable video link)

Have you ever really listened to the lyrics to Beyonce's song "If I were a Boy?" Apparently I'm not the only one who's confused about what they'd do if they suddenly became a boy. She talks about the luxury of just getting to roll out of bed and get dressed without thinking about it. Or how 'Boy-Beyonce' could hit on a plethora of girls and the guys would just back 'him' up while they all guzzled beer.

But then there is a shift to a more sensitive 'Boy-Beyonce,' where s/he sings about truly understanding women by knowing that pain of lost love, and wanting to be a better man because of that intuition and insight. The crooner talks about not taking her for granted, knowing how it felt to have things get destroyed.

Yet, then again, 'Boy-Beyonce' shifts back to that insensitive asshole from the first few stanzas, and returns to the narcissistic implications of masculinity in the lines about putting 'himself' first, and making her wait for him to come home, as she undoubtedly would... The song closes by summarizing that "you're just a boy," who wouldn't understand his girlfriend, who's taking her for granted, who's not listening to her, and who doesn't care how much you are hurting her.

Jeez, now I'm more confused as ever... Which side am I on again?

A.D.D.

(((It's fun to feel prolific when you have blog and have ADD. Every random thought I have to then be splayed out, and hopefully connect some the dots. Maybe not... Egh? But, I think being this candid is my way of trying to find my voice as 'Will,' and inviting people to meet me here. I can imagine that some of it may seem too intimate and compromising, while other parts seem too disconnected and distracted. I hope you'll stick with me, and even share your thoughts and reflections with me to understand more about where we all are, where we've been, and how to make this better. I just wanted to say a quick thanks to everyone who has chimed in with their responses thus far. Thanks for the support, and for checking this out! Follow me! All the best ~ Will)))

"Be the Paul, Be the Paul"

Not to bastardize dumb sports psychology, but... I was talking to my dear friend from high school about our dating woes. She was feeling insecure about what it is that she has to offer anyone these days. Two guys were interested in her at the same time, which seemed like a great sign, but she still felt nervous.

I tried to give her some arm chair advice. In short, it was a take off of "be the ball" thesis from all of those bad football films I always avoided watching. I've never been much of a motivational speaker, as it's tough to trust someone who prefers to stay home on a Friday night to watch an old Paul Newman flick rather than brave the local dive bars for the latest influx of hotties. Nope, not my scene.

So, I tried to use what I know. Paul Newman... (If you don't already know this about me, I'm a bit fanatical about the guy. He's pretty damn dreamy. I mean, the sexiest mofo to walk the earth, a damn fine dramatic actor, an excellent race car drive -if I cared about sports-, and created one of most generous foundations that I can name off the top of my head. In a word: D r e a m y. . . )

When trying to relate to my friend, I thought about it for a second. I asked her what it is that made these two guys attractive to her. She listed off a few quick attributes, like one was confident, self assured, while the other was witty and used his masters degree from Harvard to work with inner city 'at risk' youth. I then asked her if there were people that were her role models, and to describe their characteristics. She went on... I tried to get her to see that even her role models were human, and that they had made choices to accentuate some of the better qualities within themselves, but I guaranteed that they still struggle like we all do. How many movie stars do we see fall from grace because of one scandal or another. Is it because of the pressure, of simply because they are human like us? I can't even begin to imagine the constant burden of being watched all the time, as I know living anonymously, as I do, can be tough enough...

I told her how much I stumble, and get swallowed up in my own self doubt and insecurities sometimes, and how I try to paddle out of it. Remembering the qualities of those I admire seems to help quell my impending fears. Knowing that Paul Newman was working in his family's sporting goods shop in Ohio when the acting bug bit him, and that he up and left everything to give it a go, reminds me that he wasn't always the persona we saw before us. He started from somewhere, and worked hard to create the life for which he'll be remembered. Knowing that he was married and had kids with his first wife when he met Joanne Woodward, (with whom he spent the rest of his life) was helpful to realize that we don't always have love figured out, even if we thought we did...

Even as much as he slowly garnered respect for the acting roles he chose and crafted impeccably, he still yearned for a richer life. He fell in love with car racing after a role in a film forced him to take driving lessons. In middle age, he founded 'The Hole in the Wall Gang' charity to help young kids with disabilities. Lacking a culinary background didn't impede on his success when he created the 'Newman's Own' organic line of food products, and then donated 100% of the proceeds to charity. These proceeds now total over $250 million since its inception.

And I think about my modest little life, and I think: "What the fuck do I have to worry about? This guy had like 18 irons in the fire, and excelled at all of them. I only have a couple, so I better do them damn well!"

I would love to embody his sense of self-deprecating wit, and infinite charisma. He oozes sexiness and sensuality with impetuous reactivity, balanced with mindful humanitarianism. Fighting the good fight, but fighting none the less. There was a cockiness that escaped self-inflation, as he really was all that. He knew he was a good looker, but he wanted to be a good actor, and therefore refined his craft, not his appearance.

When I think about who I am and who I'd like to be, I long to create a legacy like this man has left behind. I aspire to be the confident, self-assured, noble spokesman, consummate artist, and generous philanthropist like he was. Not that it was an act, but it was a character that he developed. There were choices he made to become that person, even in spite of wrenching personal challenges. To me, that is more admirable, than the person just 'born' into greatness.

It's good to remind myself that I, too, can develop those characteristic, and jokingly tell myself to just "Be the Paul..."

"I bet you think this song is about you"

Years ago I dated a woman who constantly debated with me about the person referenced in that famous song. Neither of us were particularly fond of the song itself, but had an affection for fighting with one another. I wasn't a huge fan of her brand of independent, peppy, lyric-heavy musical genre, as it was too tedious and 'poppy' for me. Yet, after incessant car trips, and late night hang outs, it slowly began to grow on me. (Or fester?)

In an ironic twist, as our relationship was breaking up, this music (of hers) became my crutch, my salvation, my consolation – that someone else out there had a heart as broken as mine. I studied the verses, obsessed over each album, and made them my own. Slowly I felt better in the alone-ness of my seemingly vacant apartment. I guess you could call it healing. Identifying with this one guy's varied approaches to telling the same pathetic story over and over again about the woman he loved and lost. There was someone else as pitiful and regretful as I was...

This complete stranger, whom I now felt like I knew so intimately, seemed to love as deeply as I did, and felt just as lost without his dearest by his side, too. He became my demigod, being able to craft such intricate poetry that flowed effortlessly, yet intentionally, as if we were simply chatting over a latte, or microbrew. These love songs, or 'love-lost' songs, became the antidote to my despair. Through finding him, I felt like I had been found, as if someone else knew my inner most thoughts and feelings. I had only hoped that I could one day transform my own pain and upset to create something so gorgeous and accessible to be of use to some other poor sod out there in the world. Dare to dream.

But then the most unthinkable thing happened by complete accident: I met and loosely befriended the woman who was the subject of the multitude of albums and thousands of lyrics that I charted and graphed during my own recovery. Through meeting her, a strange thing occurred in me – rather than emphatically pleading that she go back to the writer of the most eloquent songs I have ever heard, I simply listened... Not only to her, but to our friend in common, who illuminated her side of the tragedy.

It hit me... Finally, I could comprehend the biggest tragedy of all: this master writer who could tell all the world how much he adored and still faltered, could make everyone else fall in love with him because of his craft – everyone but his beloved. He never gave her a reason to stay. And suddenly, all of these 'love-lost' songs that felt like my own anthems, they turned on me, and lost the passionate threads through which I connected. Instead, he became a man, just like any other: fallible, deficient, and unsure. This martyr in my mind, who could do no wrong, sharply appeared as a mediocre boyfriend that perhaps was destined to be left by this pretty incredible woman. Dozens of albums dedicated after her departure didn't seem to be enough to lure her back. And so it went...

It's been many years since I first heard those songs that have such a different meaning to me. As much as I would love to be a writer as poignant and prolific as he is, I'd rather be a boyfriend worth keeping... After my last 'love letter' trying to woo a nearly perfect woman (and failing), I see that all of the words in the world couldn't compete with a *feeling* that I just couldn't give her.

Despite being so verbose and rambly, words fail me. And once again, I realize that I am not alone.