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:
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.
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.
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.
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