...got lost in trans-lation

The Hopeful

2010-07-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

While looking for images to post today on my blog, I first had to ponder what the subject would be. Not an easy feat for someone like me, whose mind is chock full of random thoughts, and I am humbly out of practice with this writing thing. I came across this image below (that I believe is linked to someone's polyvore page, named zeph? I want to give her props, so check it out – the title above should be an active link to her stuff.)

Well, this isn't to say that I feel hopeless. To the contrary, actually. After our recent heatwaves passed (with temps of 90º – 105º last week, ugh!), something opened up in me. I had been feeling far too distracted, stunting virtually every project, not yet realized. Frustrating, indeed! But somehow, when the heat subsided, I experienced what seemed to be this emotional awakening in me, where I was gathering momentum and inspiration. Obviously, it was a huge relief to not feel so blocked creatively, while I slowly began to practice my crafts of writing, reading, communicating, and simply observing. I never realized how much stillness, and quiet are required for such undertakings. And I hadn't realized just how cluttered my life had become with the tedium of daily buzzings to and fro, phone calls needing to be made, dozens of tiny follow ups for work that never felt quite resolved, leaving me frazzled.

Writing (or reading) could have been a catharsis, but instead, I gave way to the void of the devoid. (Does that make sense?) My mind, my life, became flooded with refuse from requisite living, the inescapable 'have–to's' in my life, while the 'want–to's' went by the way side. The richness and luxury of the imaginative elements having been unfairly bullied by that damn analytical facet. (That ego-inflated, narcissistic, practical side! Who invited him?!?)

Yes, my life was like public school in the mire of a financial crisis, where music, the visual arts, and creative writing were the first to be cut. I felt bloated and malnourished on my regiment of inactive physical activities, and primitive professional squandering posing as false academia. Perhaps you can understand the mounting solace when such improprieties can be overridden, and more of a balance struck in this modest life of mine. It's laughable that I mistakenly think that these moments of equilibrium might be longer standing plateaus, as if I can now coast from here on out. And every time I find myself enjoying this fleeting symmetry, I think I need to further remind myself that while evenness is impermanent, it can be the goal. I can strive to maintain the balance that becomes self-sustaining. And truly enjoy the richness of that vibrant, worthwhile life when I grant myself the time to want beyond simply satisfying the necessities in life.

**I want–to write. So, I will…**

Wanna be startin' somethin'

2010-07-13T22:10:00.000-07:00

(Yes, I did just steal a line from an old Michael Jackson song...)

I have started many blog posts over the past few months, but none of them seemed worthy enough to publish in the end. Not that *this* one will either, but fingers crossed!

I got to thinking that perhaps I needed a bit of a refresher, so I overhauled the design of the blog (the background of books, since I am always obsessing about how much there is to learn from others' literary offerings, while I ramble away with my own...) And I am hoping that this will breathe some life into this ongoing project for me.

To recap briefly where I've been over the past few months:

I found a baby squirrel, and nursed it back to health (before I brought it to a neighboring state's wild animal rehabilitation center a week later. Sigh~ )
I started asking folks if I could interview them for my long-awaited documentary on Betty White, and everyone said yes!
That miraculously lead to a fellow documentary film maker in Washington, DC that *just happened* to have a spare ticket to the infamous May 8th episode of Saturday Night Live that Betty White was hosting –––– which HE GAVE TO ME!!!
I GOT TO SEE BETTY WHITE HOST SNL!!! (I don't know how it all worked out, but it did! And even got an interview in with the founder of the Facebook movement that made it all happen!)
Since then, I have confirmed many more interviews, and I'm in the fund-raising stage to make all of the travel and tech specs possible to bring it to fruition.
My good friend, Jules, and I are in the midst developing our own documentary series focusing on contemporary LGBTQIA issues, which feels really exciting to me.
Thankfully, my DC based supper–club, aptly named "BITE CLUB," has been going strong since January, and it feels great! We have monthly thematic dinner parties at my house, where a few dozen people get together, cook, drink, gossip, and remember what it feels like to just hang out. It's been my saving grace! In addition to the formal dinner parties, we've also been having low key grilling sessions, where we dust off the old turntable (or ipod...) and kick up some old favorites. My house has both a front and back porch, which I don't think have gotten this much traffic since I moved in over four years ago. Even with the heatwaves of late, it's been incredible to reconnect with everyone over a few beers while the crickets chirp in our back yard. Sigh~ Oh, summer... How we'll miss you when you are gone.
I was recently invited to help facilitate this wonderful art auction for the Whitman Walker Clinic, for whom I used to volunteer back in the mid 1990's. Then a few years ago, Whitman Walker asked me to be in their updated advertising campaign, so every Transgender Day of Remembrance, they've been re-running the ad with my dopey grin. Considering that they have one of the few Trans Health Clinics in the country, and was one of the first HIV/AIDS clinics in the US around the time when my (straight) uncle died of AIDS (related to being a heroin addict), I am more than happy to support this fine establishment! It has been a great experience, getting back into the role of organizer, especially when related to the arts and non-profits! It's been a strange feeling, almost like a home-coming for me. It feels good to feel good again, and feel like I've hit my stride. (So, be on the look out for my incessant invitations to join us at the auction in November!!!)
And I suppose the most interesting facet to me was that I fell for someone a few months back. Sure, it didn't quite work out, but this woman revived those deep seeded curiosities in me, that spark, that fire to want to better myself, crave knowledge for its own sake, and want to be the funniest damn person in the room at any given moment. Our hilarious "list of favorites" (or better yet, the "stuff everyone else likes, but we don't understand why" lists) back and forth reminded me of how fun and engaging it can be getting to know someone new. She was worth knowing, and still is. More than that, she made me want to be someone worth knowing, too. Even if I wish, retroactively, of course, I had been a little more suave and commanding, it was the most fun I've had in years. Believe it or not, back in college, I used to be quite the flirt. Yet sadly, since my transition, I've been stumbling around in my own shyness, unwilling to give in to that inner flirt on hiatus. I think I'm ready to get back to work! Flirt-wise, blog-wise, writing-wise, doc-wise, and the like.

The coy photo of me posted above was while I was waiting in NYC's subway, about to catch the train to go watch the live taping of Betty White hosting SNL, (for which she just received an Emmy nomination! Amazing!) She's 88 years old, and still going strong, working every day and at the top of her game. It is an inspiration to see when I'm 50+ years her junior, and hope to be half as productive at *my age now*! Jeez... I'm ready to start working at these elements again everyday, trying to build up my chops, and I hope you can tune in!

I'll leave on this parting thought:

“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never tasted victory or defeat.”

- Theodore Roosevelt

Here's to daring ourselves *back* into the arena! Let's "dare greatly!" All the best, Will

*

Buddy Love!

2010-05-10T20:20:00.000-07:00

Hello my dear friends!
It's been quite a while, hasn't it? I have been busier than I ever could have imagined, and have had such incredible adventures since I last posted a few months ago. Where do I begin???

First: I found a squirrel! His name is Buddy...

Here's a pic of him, (nicknamed "Buddy"), moments after I found him. Before I even noticed, a client's dog had picked him up from the middle of the street, where he perhaps had fallen from the nest. When I heard squeaking coming from the dog's mouth, (yes, they really *do* sound like squeaky toys ~ guh!), I quickly got the dog to drop the squirrel where she had picked him up. I was so overwhelmed with concern for the little guy, having heard that mothers often abandon their young if another animal touches it. I felt so conflicted, knowing that the dog had already swallowed him up in his mouth. Would my touch further combat any chance of a mother and child (squirrel) reunion?

I couldn't leave Buddy potentially suffering internal injuries and stumbling in the middle of the road. So, without much forethought, I scooped up the little guy, and pretty much had him tethered to me for the next week while I nursed him back to health. During that time, I called around to various rescue leagues in the DC metro area to find professionals that could intercede. Luckily, I found such a group called "Second Chances Wildlife," in the suburbs of Maryland.

It was the longest six days of my life, where I found this intense parenting instinct that I thought had long been dormant within me. I toted this little guy in a teeny military satchel a friend gifted me years ago, and fed him diluted kitten formula (should have been puppy formula), every few hours from a puppy-sized baby bottle. It was infinitely cute, and insane to witness firsthand.

This little boo was 4 weeks old when I found him, and still all bumbling and clutzy in the cutest of ways. His vision was still rough, as he most likely just opened his eyes, and developed fur covering his entire body. He was teeny! (My baby!) And oddly enough, neither my crazy pit bull, nor my still feral cat, seemed to notice him, or be bothered by his presence. It was crazy.

It was tough to say goodbye to this little Buddy, but the right thing to do for his sake. I missed him sleeping over my heart every chance he got, or his bursts of energy and mounting courage, as he bravely began to explore the world that surrounded him. It was incredible to help one sweet little being in the world, and find this enormous reserve of love and nurturing of which I never knew I was capable. Maybe I'm not such a mess after all!

I've called the rescue league several times since I dropped him off, and he was getting stronger and healthier every day. We're all crossing our fingers, and hoping that he gets the chance he nearly missed out on, and finds his way back to the wild and wilderness that's calling his name!

But it was amazing just how many people came out of the woodwork to cheer for the wee creature! I started a group page on Facebook for Buddy so folks could follow his updates, and within a few days over 80 people joined. Friends recommended other friends, who recommended other sites, blogs, articles, and personal stories. Not to sound ridiculous, (as I do so often), but I learned so much about myself, and ultimately about humanity, through this wonderful, intense experience. As concerned as I have been for this little guy's well being, and scared I was that he might not make it, I saw so many people rally around, well wishing for this wee fellow they had never even met themselves. So many strangers forged connections with me to offer their insights, their consolations, their *hope* above all.

Hope... It wasn't until I found it that I realized just how much of it was missing in my life. And despite not getting the luxury of having Buddy cuddle with me every day, or seeing his ridiculously cute face from dusk til dawn, he helped me find what I needed most. I miss the little guy, but I'm relieved at this new found sense of hope, and this faith in humanity, that even when things look bleak, we can try our damnedest to turn them around. Buddy's wobbly health has made a recovery, and this process has turned around my sense of cynicism and disbelief.

Maybe it can really work out in the end.

(If you want to see more pics & video of Buddy, the Wonder Squirrel, check out this other blog on him: __)

http://buddylovesquirrel.blogspot.com/

I hope you enjoy! All the best, Will

In search of...

2010-02-24T15:13:00.000-08:00

A dear friend helped me with a spontaneous project last night, and as a thank you I took her out to a swanky dinner at one of the best restaurants in DC. It was incredible, and revived my love for this city, and my interest in stepping outside my usual routine. I had one of the best cocktails I've ever had in my life. A ginger-pomegranate concoction with Hendrix gin. Amazing! It was equally matched with a heavenly series of Indian inspired small plates. The best... Seriously.

This friend of mine and I have known each other for years, and try to catch up every so often to compare notes of our ongoing projects, and the state of our love lives. Last night was no different. There is a shared sense of intimacy that greets us with every encounter, where we launch into subjects that even our closest of friends may not know about us. I am grateful for our times together, as I learn so much about myself, and how different my perspective might be from others' – a learning experience desperately needed.

One of the things that caught me off guard last night was my friend's admission that she is purposely trying to make room for love in her life. She boldly stated that she's a very strong woman, independent to a fault. Lately, she's been noticing that when she meets men, she either sees them as needy and therefore tedious, or she imagines that they are as independent and self sufficient as she is, and then wonders how two people like that would find a way to connect.

My friend is an artist and a writer, and luckily for her, her career is really taking off right now. The problem is that she is so busy being an artist that she hasn't made time (or space) to make herself available to love. This admitted work-a-holic is scheduling every free moment to be uber productive, but how to you schedule: "find love?"

Part of me can relate, as I have been working seven days a week for a long time now, managing a very busy company that an entrepreneur friend of mine owns. I work so much because the work needs to get done, I get compensated quite well for my time, I am good at it, and take pride in my efforts. But maybe I, too, work so many hours to distract myself from the absence of love in my life right now. Yet, unlike my friend, I have always put love first, and assume that I always will.

It's tough for me to comprehend any other course, honestly. To me, love trumps all. Always.

Yes, I want to be successful as a small business consultant, and launch a few businesses of my own. And yes, I want to take my writing more seriously, and submit some articles after sufficiently polishing them up a bit. Or even make a return to film production someday soon... But all of this pales in comparison to my hope – and pursuit of love.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my shortcomings in the field of romance. Most of my fumbles seem to revolve around my impatience with love. Okay, not necessarily with love itself, but rather the people that I choose to love. I tend to have a penchant for women who are slightly unavailable to me. There appears to be some sort of emotional wall that I like scaling while in love. Sometimes I successfully make it over this symbolic barrier, while other times, (and with other people) I get stuck en route, hung out to dry, flailing and wailing. I think I'm bad at this – this whole love thing. I'm never so graceful when I feel held at arms length.

The reality is, I must consider what I've been doing over the years to possibly instigate those kinds of reactions. Even at my best, I still get impatient with those whom I love when I feel strung along. I can't help but wonder how different my life might be if I were more skilled at resisting the temptation to launch into over reactions at the worst times, and consciously choose to be more compassionate (to myself and my beloved, at any given time).

Intimacy isn't something that just exists 'naturally.' No, it's something that participants have to work at – constantly decoding and refining their approaches, honing their abilities to achieve and sustain that euphoric sense of closeness. A few times in my life, I had struck that balance. There were extended periods where I had felt so 'in tune' with my partners that I could intuitively sense their emotional states, even if we were separated geographically, and such. I know, I sound like a total whack job now, but I stand by it.

And there were other people that 'seemed' like they would have been perfect for me, as they possessed all of the qualities that I sought out in a prospective partner, yet that deeper source of connectivity, of understanding, compassion, sympathy, seemed to be lacking. It makes me wonder what ultimately wins out in the struggle of practical compatibilities versus deeper, more symbolic gestures in a relationship. Sheesh~ I have no stinking clue...

Sadly, I think my longer standing battles with anxiety and depression thwarted much of the love that came my way. Perhaps the fears of being unlovable made it so. Am I insufferable when it comes to romance?

During my last amorous attempt, I think I was a mess, stumbling all over the place, trying avoid the emotional pitfalls I knew from my past, but unsure of the metaphorical footing that could make me more grounded. Wanting to change my sabotaging patterns, yet still walking right into them when in doubt. I'm not trying to blame myself for everything, but it's just a bummer to be culpable at all.

If I'm looking for romance, scheduling time to 'find love,' I just want to iron some more of this stuff out before I try again, and get sidetracked in the old, outdated, ineffective routines. If I've been "looking for love in all the wrong places," maybe looking at myself first this time would be a good start. Anyone got a mirror I can borrow?

Home Sweet Home

2010-02-21T11:08:00.000-08:00

I had a weird experience the other day – when I returned home from a long day of work, I was overwhelmed with this strange sensation of nostalgia and sentimentality. Years ago, I began renting this 3.5 bedroom house with my then live-in girlfriend. We worked together, but her work day usually finished up a few hours before mine did. Much of the time, I used to have this feeling of almost euphoric glee on my mad dash to get back home. I was often filled with hopeful excitement over being able to plan a sappy evening with my girlfriend. Whether we cooked a simple dinner, shared a great bottle of wine, and caught up about our days nestled at our dining room table, or hit the town – I looked forward to going home to her. I'd practically be skipping from my parked car, up our many steps to our front door. Even when she was in a bad mood, or even irked at me, my enthusiasm was ever-present.

Needless to say, things didn't work out between us. And as much as I know that it is for the best, meaning that we weren't *the best* fit for each other, I was flooded with that same urgent optimism a couple of days ago while I strutted towards my house. A small satchel filled with the delectable goodies I picked up at this adorable gourmet market by my client's house must have triggered olfactory memories of the days of old. What a strange feeling.

The residual effect has made me wonder if I will ever find that 'other half' most of us seem to crave. This house feels like a home, not an empty shell where she *used* to be, but I wonder how a life that feels so full in many ways may take different forms to make room for other people.

I spoke to a dear friend of mine yesterday who was saying that she has been really loving her friendships with men as of late. She's been learning so much from those connections, and understanding more about what she'd then want from a romantic relationship beyond those friendly affiliations. I can relate, since I have so many female friends, and so many amazing ones at that. I feel really lucky to have their presence in my life, and can't help but be curious about how those dynamics will help me be a better prospective partner down the line.

My friend admitted to wondering how much she would have to shift her life to have a partner in the picture. She is an artist and a freelance writer, and with such a full schedule, it seems like inking in more than just a few dates here and there would be quite a commitment. One that she is interested in making someday, but we all ponder when that person will be revealed to us when we are still single. Like we are – still single...

How should I be getting myself out of this 'home sweet home' more often in order to actually meet someone that might be a better fit? And how do we develop ourselves more completely in our 30s in a way that still leaves that door open for the right person to walk right on through? Like renovating for an open house... I gotta figure that part out.

Big Daddy

2010-02-20T21:01:00.000-08:00

I was bummed to read that Cesar Millan's best companion dog, "Daddy," passed away yesterday. For those of you who might not know me well, animals have always been a huge part of my life. In my childhood, I was a wreck for days after seeing films like Sounder, Bambi, Charlotte's Web, or reading books like Where the Red Fern Grows. I couldn't handle the thought of animals being neglected, abused, or killed. There are dozens of photographs of me as a young child embracing some random stray pet that had wandered through our suburban neighborhood. As I got a little bit older, I would envision my future life, living some solitary existence out in rural America with a farm full of animals that I would tend. I even dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, until my father burst that bubble by telling me (too early) that being a vet consisted of neutering and euthanizing animal, and not much else. (Yes, my dad was the male version of Debbie Downer...)

In college I spent a few years delving into animal social behavior, even having my primary professor tell me that I had a gift for working with animals, an insight that she could never possess. It was flattering, and I even toyed with spontaneously flying to Gombe to try to work with Jane Goodall. (A friend's brother went there to surf, and stumbled across their camp, offering to assist them in any way needed. He ended up landing a job with them, while thousands of worthy applicants never even got responses...) I hoped that I could have been as lucky as this surfer guy.

Instead, I opted to walk dogs after quitting my insane job as an account manager for one of the largest film and video editing houses in the country. I worked on my own films, helped produce a few friends films, and walked dogs to pay the bills. The next thing I knew, the owner of the company asked me to manage the business with him. I took him up on the offer, and overall, have had an amazing time. It's been six years, and despite the bouts of restlessness, self doubt, or the itch to experience other places or other possibilities, I really love my job. It suits me, for what it's worth.

In my life, I have personally rescued four animals – three dogs, and one cat. I currently have a rescued pit bull that was thought to be a 'bait dog' in the dog fighting circles of Richmond, VA, and a cat I rescued as a teeny kitten from the mean streets of NYC. They are both impossibly difficult personalities, fearful, if not aggressive around strangers. But this is the life I've chosen – these animals being a metaphor, hoping that I can help them through their distrust of the world, as they teach me more in the process.

It is here that I learned today of "Daddy's" death, the pit bull that was Cesar Millan's 'right hand man.' He was the calm, submissive dog that was the stunning example that eased anxious dogs and owners into their more balanced, new perspectives. He was pretty amazing, as far as dogs go – having known quite a few in my line of work. I was sad that this wonderful dog could no longer play the canine ambassador as he had for the past 16 years. Having owned two pit bulls in my life, I was happy to know that Daddy was projecting the very best of that breed, thankfully!

But after I read about Daddy's death, I read about the death of a friend's cat. I heard about this cat's passing yesterday, but then read this friend's blog to find out that one of her own dogs had terrorized, and ultimately killed her beloved cat while she was away from her home. It's so frightening and heartbreaking.

Okay, I know that this has nothing to do with dating or anything, but I guess hearing the news of these two animals seemed kind of like a big deal, for very different reasons. I promise I'll get back to something more relevant tomorrow.

(Here's Daddy, with his new pack mate "Junior." Very cute. How can you have a bad day around faces like those? Meanwhile, Bub le Bubs, my pit bull, is snoring away at my feet, dreaming soundly. Even though he's a huge pain in the butt a lot of the time, I feel lucky to have him, and to learn from working with him. If only he could get me the ladies... Rather than scaring them away when they wanna come over. Sigh~)

Free Will

2010-02-19T06:11:00.000-08:00

In my last post, I spoke about Hawksley Workman's quote that "Love is a decision." That statement really resonated with me, and I have been trying to uncover just why that is. I don't think I explored the concept enough in the previous submission, but have certainly been mulling it over offline.

While looking for images to complement "decisions," I ran across an article about precognitive activity in the frontal lobes of the brain, suggesting that much of decision making actually happens *before* we can actively think about it. The findings point to neurological transmissions in the front portions of the brain that cue actions and reactions, but these occur before the cognitive centers of the brain can step in to debate the most effective courses to take. This suggests that as much as we'd like to believe we are fully cognisant of every option presented before us, and thusly choose the wisest of the possibilities, perhaps the vast amount decision making happens before our thoughts can even jump in the game. (To read the article, click on the title of this post, and it will link you back to the study results.)

This is interesting for dopes like me who stutter emotionally on a subject for too long, paralyzed by doubts and fears that I may make the wrong choice. It correlates to Freud's notion that we unconsciously seek out carbon copies of our parental figures when we try to find romantic partners. Not that this study is confined to love, or decisions of the heart. But, in short, that there are more dimensions at work than simply thinking that a prospective suitor is 'pretty' or 'sweet.'

What I wanted to say was that I agree with Canadian songwriter Workman's thesis that "love is a decision." I believe he meant that too often we assume that love is an uncontrollable sensation, much like hunger or an itch, that seems to have its own volition, appearing out of nowhere, and instigating urges and delights within us. Similar to specific culinary cravings, that mostly seem to emerge unconsciously, many people would probably contend that love manifests in the same way. We don't know why we crave homemade mac & cheese, or mashed potatoes on cold winter nights, in the same fashion, we can't explain our penchant for bad boys who are a little too sassy for our liking.

But, to stick with the love = food metaphor, there are plenty of cravings we can acknowledge, identify, but those of which we do not need to actually satiate. Case in point: I have been craving ice cream as of late, lord knows why. As much as it seems to be an unconscious compulsion, I do not have to submit to those vacuous sugary yearnings. Unfortunately, many of us don't stop to question our cravings – romantically, dietarily, and so on... And when we just acquiesce to those pinings, we often find ourselves malnourished in some fashion. Either our literal or figurative hearts taking the toll of our indulgent appetites.

Workman was trying to say that when we simply chase one craving to the next, we find ourselves feeling empty and starved for true intimacy and closeness. And much like those sugar highs, or carb binges, we crash, and feel all the worse for our pandering. He (and I) believe(s) that love is more than just a fickle desire, fleeting as it ebbs and flows. Instead, he (and I) hope(s) that it would be a longitudinal commitment to reinvesting in the organic wholeness of the connection shared between two emerging souls. We'd probably even go so far to proclaim that those kinds of intensive, emotional ventures have much higher payoffs than the base level, carnal spinnings that come and go on a whim.

This singer/songwriter was waxing poetic about the fact that love is not just lust, or attraction – things we *feel,* and not *think.* Love (by his implied definition) should be a balance between the mindful choices we make to immerse ourselves within each others' lives, and the 'mind-less' gravitational pull we share with another from that place of seduction. (We can only seduce that which is out of reach. Once it comes within reach, does the seduction end???) That is where the acts of committing and investing in the continuity of love have the most resounding affects.

I agree that love is a decision, or at least it can (dare I say "should") be. It's a decision that I made – to love one person despite the ups and downs, the kicks in head, and the resistance. I decided to love a person that ultimately was going to teach me more about myself, and the function and revelations of love. Yet now, I am feeling stuck between the two poles of having *decided* to invest myself in the long haul, versus the reality that I need to 'undecide' that very choice. So, I am left understanding this scientific study of the underlying, unconscious roots to our cravings and related decisions, but then wrestling with the highly cognitive, and dominant belief that we can employ free will, and side step the less desirable options for ourselves.

Free will suggests that it is a voluntary decision, not determined by the physical or the divine. So, if my initial attraction to subject "A" was involuntary (unconscious), but my pursuit of her was voluntary (conscious), yet my involuntary reactions and old self defense mechanisms may have kicked in when I got scared (unconscious) – possibly contributing to the termination of the relationship, and now I feel 'stuck' still loving her (unconscious), but unsure of why I can't just talk myself out of it (consciously) – what does that make love??? Clearly it makes me a buffoon, still scrambling to understand, rather than just letting go... Sigh~

If free will exists, then why can I not free myself?

~ unFreed Will

The Finest Worksong

2010-02-15T17:46:00.000-08:00

(The title above is a clickable link to the full NPR interview, if you care to listen...)

Have you ever heard of Hawksley Workman? I'd never heard of him before, but then caught an interview with him on NPR's "All Things Considered" over the weekend. I was driving through Rock Creek Park, trying not to slide off the road, given the copious amounts of black ice everywhere, offering up foretelling imagery of me careening off the road, into a snow covered brook. Awesome! But somehow, I was able to listen so intently to the words that this Canadian singer/songwriter was chirping out in his thick, goofy accent. He was able to come up with some profound spinnings, despite that dopey inflection of his.

The host asked him about a specific passage in one of his songs: "The scars you get together are the scars you really covet." He responded with the following:

We are lead to believe that love is fleeting. I reckon, when you get a little older, and your boat gets batted around a bit, you realize that love is really more a decision. And, it's an opportunity to exist with somebody at their best, and at their worst. And, in doing so, the reflections that you get in one another become the scars that you covet, because those are those simple secrets that are yours alone. And those things are not celebrated in 'movie love.' That's the real stuff that we all fear, that I think is easy to walk away from... ...Their journeys come with their bumps and bruises. And, I think that if you are of a mind that will ultimately celebrate those bumps and bruises, even though they might be years in the making, they will be the things you celebrate, that you cherish, and will be the character of your relationship.

Huh. No shit. I am dumbfounded... I'm not quite sure what to say, which is odd, since I can usually ramble like nobody's business.

This interview arrived at a very interesting time of my life – one that is circling around a great deal of soul searching and introspection. I have had a few incredible heart to hearts with some dear friends over the past few days. One friend who dated a woman that may have Borderline Personality Disorder. It was hellish for him to deal with her constant tailspins and ever-present accusations. We commiserated about patterns of being people pleasers, just wanting everyone to be happy. Talking at length about the empty anger still lingering after having given ourselves away in relationships. There is no one to blame but ourselves, which we readily choose. But what exists beyond that veil of implication?

The truth is that I agree with Hawksley. I, too, believe that every relationship is going to have it's challenges, that they are inescapable. With that said, I think that the most important element might be how we negotiate those challenges as they arise. Our abilities to weather the storms, and find shelter with one another under a shared umbrella, rather than push the other one out in the torrential downpour when we feel vulnerable and pissed.

Upon closer reflection, I think I'm bad at sharing the umbrella. There have been times when I've gotten too pissed at people when they feel far away, like they are emotionally unavailable, or withholding from me. Maybe I have even gotten huffy, when I should have been more mindful, and calmly stated how my heart was breaking. God, wouldn't that have been nice? Wouldn't it be great if we could all be so smooth and calculated? I guess thus far, I haven't been so lucky. Sigh~

But I want to find it – that love to withstand being batted about by the winds of love and immersion. I want to find that partner who will want to hear about the ways in which I feel tender so that we can undo those unintentional wounds, and move on closer, and more connected. I want those affirmations of affection, and know whole heartedly that we have each others' backs. (And fronts, if we're lucky... heh.)

I keep finding people that shut down and run away, deflecting their responsibility for what may have inflicted pinches and punches. People who get caught up in the defenses of the immediate, rather than give way to the larger scope of growing together. As I say this, I am not trying to fully blame *everyone else but myself.* To be perfectly honest, I see it more as a probable issue in how I have been addressing people when my feelings have been hurt. That perhaps my provocations elicited the reactions I deserved... This is what I have been thinking for the past week.

So, to all of those I have loved (and possibly provoked), I'm sorry, and I think I understand more now about how you may have felt back then. And I wish us all better luck in the future.

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T18:39:00.000-08:00

I saw this on the Regretsy page on Facebook. Hilarious! I hope
wherever you are, you are having a wonderful Valentine's Day!

McQueen

2010-02-11T19:21:00.000-08:00

(The above title is a clickable link to the British article about the passing of fashion legend Alexander McQueen.)

(This post was begun on the day his death was revealed to the press, and finished several days later. Sorry for the delays.)

I was deeply saddened today when I heard about the news of (Lee) Alexander McQueen's suicide, just days after his beloved mother passed away. Despite not following his career closely, I got the impression that we was somewhat of a savant in the fashion world. He changed the scope of fashion design, and even the production value of the shows themselves. His immense talent catapulted him to the upper echelons of the design houses, as he formed his own brand, and even took over as head designer at Givency. Pretty remarkable for someone so young.

But McQueen's fashion shows depicted his often tumultuous moods, and a dark, sombre tone that overshadowed the buoyancy of some of his peers' exhibitions. He was *serious* – and serious about fashion.

I can't imagine being one of the best in the world for any particular field. Maybe it's my insecurities, or my more modest upbringing, but considering that he was only several years older than me, and world renowned by his late twenties, makes me think that I need to hustle.

(I have three vintage looking postcards displayed in my bedroom to remind me to work diligently at my crafts. What those crafts are, I'm still not sure... I guess I'd like to someday make some money off of telling silly stories, or drawing a chuckle out of passersby. But the three postcards are as follows: "Keep hustling to keep happy." "Plan your work, and then work your plan." "Anything worth doing at all is worth doing well." I am trying to keep myself in check.)

Despite an odd sense of sadness that fell over me when hearing the news of this stranger's passing, I can empathize with this man. I know what it feels like to be stuck in that well of despair, even though the rest of the world assumes that you are on top of your game. Surely, my 'game' and his were lightyears apart, but I know the sensation of that tailspin of loss and helplessness. I am sad for his sake that he couldn't find that hook to keep himself grounded as things began to turn for him. Wishing that he would have been able to find some sort of assistance and support for all that he clearly was experiencing. I can't imagine what it felt like to be him, but I know the feeling of grief all too well. And no matter how famous, wealthy, or successful any of us may become, it never shields us from the pain of losing what we love, whether that is a person, an object, a thought, or an emotion. Unfortunately, that is universal.

Even though Alexander McQueen was anything but ordinary, he still fell victim to the commonalities of humanity: the question of how we negotiate the pain as it surfaces.

I wish for his sake, he could have been exempt. And I wish for the world that they could still marvel at his limitless talent and vision. May this remind us all to appreciate the lightness as it surrounds us, and dredge through the fleeting darkness, until we find our way out...

Snoverkill!

2010-02-10T08:07:00.001-08:00

(This is a pic from the last snow storm we had, where people were leaving items in the street to save the parking spots they had just dug out. This was my favorite!)

Okay, I'm getting a little tired of being tired. This never ending snow storm is starting to exhaust me. Several days ago we got about 2' of snow – this after getting about 8" of snow the week before that, and apparently chewed through $2.4 million of DC's $2.6 million snow removal budget. So, the snow we got several days ago still remains packed on our streets, now the foundation of last night's additional 10" of snow. It's still going. Ugh! I have lost a few thousand dollars of missed income, since my business is somewhat dependent on weather, like when the government shuts down, and all of our clients are told not to leave their house. Umm...

Not only that, but I just purchased a Macbook Pro, and it's stuck in a FedEx truck circling the metro area, unable to deliver since the roads are so bad. AHHHHH! Kill me now! Why is this city so incompetent? I grew up in New England, even spent 7 years on and off in Vermont, where it snows like 9 months out of the year, and only once did I miss school/work because of the weather. (In my defense, I was driving my then girlfriend's rear wheel drive Ford Explorer, sans 4 wheel drive, and went careening into a ditch on campus when I hit a patch of ice. Awesome!)

AND, the ceiling in my bedroom is leaking in two places, (still – after recently being patched and sealed twice). I've been watching the news reports of all of these roofs collapsing around the Mid-Atlantic region. So, scary! (As I wrote that, my landlord called to check in about the leaks. Wow, impeccable timing!)

I've been trying to stay productive and positive. Trying to keep busy, writing like crazy, watching a ton of good films, a few books I am hoping to crack today, finish my taxes once and for all, and work out ~ which is long overdue. But first, I am going to go make some corn muffins, as I am running out of food in my house, and it's seriously a "white out" outside! Yikes!

Hoping this finds you well, safe, warm and dry! From the front lines of fighting cabin fever ~ Will (-work for food...)

Playa Hater

2010-02-08T20:16:00.000-08:00

So, without sounding like a jerk – I don't understand being a player. I mean, I understand when people need to not have strings attached, or when they want to go into something without projections of it having to be everything. Sure, that I understand. But...

A friend of a friend recently got dumped. From what I understand, the dumper sort of gave the dumpee's friends a heads up that he needed to get his shit together, or it wasn't going to work out. This after she (the dumper) repeatedly tried to talk some sense into him (the dumpee). With no avail, she needed to move forward, and cut the cord.

As I mentioned, these are not immediate friends of mine, so it was a relationship I knew nothing about directly. And without placing judgment, I simply don't understand. The guy who was dumped is already out scouting new prospects, while simultaneously rambling endlessly about his recent ex. I just don't get it. I'm in my mid 30's (turning 35 at the end of this year ~ holy fucking shit!!!), and maybe I'm too sentimental, but I can't imagine ending a super long term live in relationship, and even joking about going out to hook up with other chicks. (And yes, in my youth, I was not so great with fidelity, but now that I'm 'over the hill,' it just seems so exhausting.

Maybe this is why I'm taking a hiatus from dating. Is there like a pill form of 'No Doze' specifically for relationships? I think that's what I need now. I'm not a playa, I just crush a lot. (But maybe not as much as my heartbroken counterparts.)

The Id vs the Superego = Cognitive Dissonance

2010-02-07T11:35:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about that last post, reflecting on that struggle between pure, unfiltered desire, versus self-censoring critique, bordering on condemnation. The Id duking it out with the Superego, yet in the above image, I'm not sure which would which... (I simplistically assume the inflatable weeble punching bag would be the Id. Maybe it's cuz it has that goofy grin on its face, that makes you wanna punch it. Although in my case, I think the Superego mostly wins the battles.)

The Id can be described as the infantile, narcissistic pursuit we have to seek out constant gratification. This is the underlying drive we have for survival, things we crave, like affection, sex, nourishment, intoxicants, etc. It's also been called "the Pleasure Principle," like Janet Jackson sang about in the late 1980s. (I didn't realize how 'deep' she was back then, especially considering that I was in sixth grade when that song came out. I hadn't read Freud for myself yet. That didn't happened until I was in junior high school, and started paging through Freud, Jung, Goethe, Schopenhauer for extra curricular reading... God, I've always been such a dork, haven't I?!?)

In addition to the Id, Freud believed there was what he called "the Superego," which was basically what we'd deem 'the conscience,' or the moral code by which we judge things. It's that little voice inside our head that tells us what the 'right' thing to do is in a given situation. (Or that cartoon angel on our shoulder, while the Id would be the devil, tempting us to satiate all of our secret urges.)

The Superego's self-critic is almost always in direct opposition to those lustful, carnal cravings the Id desires. Freud went on to say that it is the job of "the Ego" to keep those two elements of self in check. The Ego is the rational facet of our psyches that tries to weigh the cost benefit analysis, and proceed with the more moderate decision.

When there is a conflict between what we crave and what we think we 'should' want or do, cognitive dissonance emerges. The tension itself increases depending on how important that subject is to an individual, how drastically different the 'wants' are from the 'should want instead,' and if we can't rationalize away the differences between the two. Often times, the greatest sense of dissonance arises when we are talking about one's own self image, when we have acted in a way that goes against how we generally see ourselves. If we've already made a decision, and are feeling regretful over the course we took, that dissonance tends to surface in the form of guilt, feeling foolish, or even immoral.

The ways in which we can reduce those tensions are to a) change our initial belief, b) change the related decision/action/behavior contrary to that initial belief, or c) rationalize away the difference between the belief and the resulting action. But if that internalized conflict is not resolved swiftly, a feeling of anxiety usually begins to set in. Freud categorized three basic types of anxiety: reality (based on real or possible event), neurotic (based on a fear that we have no control – or metaphorically, that our Id will take over), and morality (based on a fear that we've violated our moral code – which tends to bring up guilt or shame).

Theoretically it seems easy enough to make a shift in our thoughts or behaviors, but many times it can be a bigger task than we could imagine, or even feel absolutely excruciating. That uncomfortable emotional space of dissonance can often trigger our unconscious defense mechanisms. Freud believed that there were many ways that defense mechanisms could manifest (as cited by changingminds.org):

Denial: claiming/believing that what is true to be actually false.
Displacement: redirecting emotions to a substitute target.
Intellectualization: taking an objective viewpoint.
Projection: attributing uncomfortable feelings to others.
Rationalization: creating false but credible justifications.
Reaction Formation: overacting in the opposite way to the fear.
Regression: going back to acting as a child.
Repression: pushing uncomfortable thoughts into the subconscious.
Sublimation: redirecting 'wrong' urges into socially acceptable actions.

Huh, that's a lot of 'schtuff' to wade through... So, is there anything left that Freud didn't cover?!? I feel like this is just one big check list, like "Yep, I do that – ya, that one, too... Ooooh, and that one should probably be on my list, even though I wish it wasn't." Oooof! Some food for thought, egh?

When I look closely at this list, and the ideas mentioned above, I see that (based purely on a Freudian analysis of my current status) I've got some stuff to work out. (Of course there have been a zillion more theories and practitioners that have come and gone since then, so I'm not sure why I am fixating on Freud alone... Do I need to over-analyze my attraction to Freud right now? Some dumb ass meta-narrative?!? But anyway...)

It all comes down to this: Even when we recognize these patterns – when we can identify, quantify, and understand the roots of our issues – what does it take to change the direction of our lives? *Knowing* is not enough. There has to be a catalyst, an epiphany, that realization calling us to a higher plane of knowledge. Enlightenment seems too strong of a word here, but along those lines. A call to action, a motivation to engender this new refined understanding. But I feel stuck, not able to fully realize my greatest potential. There is a catch, but while trying to free myself from that snag, I have seemingly gotten myself further entangled, tripping on my own rip cord.

I had a Latin teacher in high school that used to say: "It's not freedom from, but rather, freedom to ___." I think I am finally understanding the gravity of that sentiment. Unfortunately, I still don't feel free quite yet. (sigh~)

Art of Manliness: Avoiding Learned Helplessness

2010-02-06T16:13:00.000-08:00

(Click on the title, and it will link you to the full article on The Art of Manliness website.)

The Art of Manliness recently posted an interesting article about: "Boosting Your Resiliency-Part 2: Avoiding Learned Helplessness and Changing Your Explanatory Style." It seemed like a good idea to revisit some of those passages now that I am homebound and restless in this blizzard.

In 1967, Dr. Martin Seligman began his social experiments focusing on learned helplessness. These experiments (unfortunately) began with three groups of canines, two of which would receive mild shocks to test their capacity for resilience, and their abilities to modify their behaviors in such a way that it would allow them to escape the shocks, while the third was the control group, receiving no shocks at all.

The first group of dogs were given electric shocks, but were able to press a panel with their nose to make the shocks stop. The second group of dogs were given the shocks as well, but had no recourse to make them stop. The third group was the control and received no shocks.
The dogs in the first and third group recovered well from the experiment. But the dogs in the second group, those that had been helpless to stop the pain, developed symptoms similar to clinical depression.

In the second part of the experiment, the dogs were placed in an enclosed box separated by a low barrier over which they could see. When the shocks were administered, all the dogs had the opportunity to easily escape the pain by jumping over the partition, and this is what the dogs in the first and third group did. But the dogs in the second group, those which had previously learned that there was nothing they could do to escape the shocks, simply lay there whimpering and took it. They had come to believe that nothing they did mattered; Dr. Seligman called this behavior “learned helplessness.”

The experiment was repeated with other animals, babies, and adult humans, and the results were the same. Once subjects had been exposed to a situation over which they had no control, they would continue to feel helpless, even in situations where they *did* have control.

Explaining Explanatory Style

Dr. Seligman discovered that the difference between those who were able to bounce back and those who were susceptible to learned helplessness was rooted in the different ways people explain the things that happen to them.

Seligman argues that our interpretation of events can be broken down into three categories:

Personalization (internal vs. external)
Pervasiveness (specific vs. universal)
Permanence: (temporary vs. permanent).

The authors of The Resilience Factor helpfully rename these categories in an easier to remember way and explain their meaning:

Me/Not Me
Always/Not Always
Everything/Not Everything:

“A ‘Me, Always, Everything’ person automatically, reflexively believes that he caused the problem (me), that it is lasting and unchangeable (always), and that it will undermine all aspects of his life (everything). When problems arise, a “Not Me, Not Always, Not Everything person believes that other people or circumstances caused the problem (not me), that it is fleeting and changeable (not always), and that it will not affect much of his life (not everything).”

For obvious reasons, studies have shown that those with a “Not Me, Not Always, Not Everything” explanatory style are the most optimistic, while those with a “Me, Always, Everything” explanatory style are prone to pessimism and depression. Once MAE’s fail at something, they are susceptible to experiencing “learned helplessness” for a long time and across many areas of their life.

The effect of your explanatory style not just on your resiliency but on your whole life cannot be overstated. Those with a pessimistic, “Me, Always, Everything” explanatory style are more prone to depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, and paralyzing inertia in the face of setbacks. Those with an optimistic, Not Me, Not Always, Not Everything style, on the other hand, experience improved health and happiness and significantly more success in the workplace, at school, and on the playing field.

It's tough to be reminded that the way that we think about the world is *not* objective. In reality, it's a series of unconscious or subconscious choices we repeatedly make to affirm our role within the world at large. Sure, it could be incredibly liberating to read about studies such as this, and simply recognize that we are the result of our own unwitting social experiments – individuals that theoretically *could* continue to modify our psychological makeup, our perceptions and related behaviors, into a better life, but... Not being world renowned social scientists ourselves, how do we delve in to our own psychological programming to debug our systems, and embark on a metapersonality upgrade?

Neuropsychiatrist, Dr. Daniel Amen, refers to debunking our learned helplessness by fighting what he termed the "A.N.T.'s," Automatic Negative Thoughts. He believes that if we can consciously train ourselves to question, and therefore nullify, the negative thoughts that surface in that cycle of learned helplessness, then we can often spring ourselves from the confines of our own sabotaging anxiety and depression. (To be noted: Dr. Amen does believe that there are both genetic and environmental roots to anxiety disorders and clinical depression that are very real, and need to be addressed biochemically – so please don't think he went all Tom Cruise on our asses, and is telling us to "turn that frown upside down" in place of the meds that signal relief for the millions suffering with those conditions.)

There is a term in developmental psychology for that subconscious stream of chatter that we hear inside our head – the one that often seems to be the wizard behind the magical curtain in our mind – it is called "the tapes." These "tapes" seem to play on repeating loops, affirming and confirming the ways we perceive the outside world, and our usefulness, productivity and projected success within that scope. Again, the theory stands that if we can derail negative tracks of this looping tape within our mind, we can free ourselves of the tethers which hold us back, or taint our most earnest efforts.

So many different people hitting that same metaphorical nail on the head: "change your mind to change you life." Okay, it sounds easy enough! Stop *believing* that every thought that floats through my head is 'true.' Remember how much my *perceptions* color the 'objectivity' of a given situation or scenario. Be more discerning while reviewing these perceptions, and toss away the negativity that holds me back unsympathetically. Right. I can do that. Or at least try my darnedest.

Theoretically, living without the burden of that crushing self-criticism would free me up to explore all of the adventures I talk myself out of when stuck in the rut of seeing my life as a tally of defeats and screw ups. But... While trying to fight the inertia, the pinching self-critic, the seemingly fatal flaws that keep me feeling immersed within my youthful folly – I wonder: What are the exercises to train myself into being a more fully realized, and organically capable, successful person?

Now that I know what *not to do,* even if I make that into a 'to do' list – what are the social experiments that I can administer to myself in order to craft this new resilient super human? Anyone??? I suppose this very question lays at the foundation for groups like the aforementioned Scientology, and other such organizations claiming to be the key to realize the individual's fullest potential. (Eek!) Can't I just keep a journal, or do some push ups?!?

Two weeks ago I came up with an idea for this blog, a new series called "Dare (Will) to Dream," in which I ask many of my closest friends to dare me into having a richer life. (It could be amazing, or the most ridiculously lame idea ever fathomed... Maybe I've just watched "Yes Man" too many times on cable.) But after re-reading this Art of Manliness article, maybe it's just what I need to combat the wintertime inertia that has slowed me down, as of late.

I think of my abused pit bull that I rescued years back, desperately needing to be "reprogrammed" after his rough puppyhood. Or my dear 3 legged dog friend Aubrey, who despite his hardships, always seems upbeat and chipper. (So, do I need to sever off one of my own limbs to get a case of the giggles?!? Hopefully not...)

If helplessness can be learned, so can its opposite. I am ready to dare myself into a new perspective for a new resiliency to take root. Go on, dare me – I dare you to...

Snowtorius B.I.G.

2010-02-06T13:16:00.001-08:00

Here is a pic of my limp wristed pit bull, Bub Le Bubs, pacing in our backyard covered with over 2' of snow. (Interestingly, he wouldn't pee after I swept away a clearing for him. So, I then had to shovel a path way, with still no luck of Bubs relieving himself. Finally, I had to clear away an alcove at the end of the shoveled walkway so that he could have some privacy to squat and pee. My god, this dog has OCD, just like me! Hilarious!)

If you haven't heard, we are in the midst of a huge blizzard, here in DC. It's been snowing for the past 30 hours, and won't be letting up anytime soon. The good news is that I finally have a weekend off! The bad news is:

Some of my clients are out of town, and I am hoping that their neighbors are following through with checking on their pets like they said they would, since I am snowed in and stranded.
The cabin fever is setting in, big time! There isn't anything captivating on tv, and I've already done all I can to entertain myself. I might have to resort to reading a book, or finishing my taxes, if all else fails. God help me!
I had to park illegally last night when I came home from checking on a pet mid snow storm. I'm hoping that my car is still there, and that the cops are too busy with actual storm emergencies to ticket my car, now covered in 24" of snow. We'll see!

I wish I had the gusto to write like 6 articles right now, or work out for 2 straight hours, but I'm having problems focusing, and feel generally exhausted. I was hoping that having the weekend off would help me recuperate from that cold I couldn't quite kick, but I'm so restless, I would call this "feeling better..." Any suggestions?

Americone Dream

2010-02-04T17:36:00.000-08:00

Those of you who know me well, probably know how much of a biography nerd I am. Some might even go so far to say that I'm obsessive when it comes to learning everything there is about noteworthy people. These folks can be inventors, business tycoons, understated 'accidental' activists (like Rosa Parks), artists and the like. I am fascinated by every element of the human experience, and how people's lives are shaped by their social environments, the grit of their passions, and the driving psyches behind their motivations and mindful decisions. I can't get enough...

Tonight I satiated that endless curiosity by watching a documentary on Ben & Jerry, the ice cream magnates. Much of the company's history was common knowledge, having grown up in the 1980s, and since I attended college in Vermont. But what I found most inspiring were the interview segments where the men talked about their personal struggles, and their intense humanitarian principles that their business needed to rise above the pure profit driven models they detested. These guys were a couple of left wing hippies wanting sidestep the greed and corporate toxicity that they believed were ruining America. (Think: *Wall Street,* the movie. "Greed is good." Is it? Is it really?!?)

I *need* to hear about the turbulent periods these kinds of people go through. I think it helps me feel more grounded when I go through my own rough patches. No one is immune or exempt. We all have those moments and triggers that push us past our base of knowledge. This documentary was an illustration that 'success' is about being adaptable, receptive to changing trends, and inventive enough to know how to ride those tides to a new, and hopefully improved outcome.

But success isn't an end point – it isn't a permanent state of being. It's more of a state of mind, a process that requires tremendous maintenance and constant intentional evolutions. Even if we 'achieve' the loftiest of accomplishments, it doesn't imply that we will be eternally suspended in that glow of victory. Fortunes can be made, and depleted. High level promotions can sometimes lead to lay offs when corporations restructure. Chart topping, number one pop songs slide their ways back down, and then off the top 40's lists. A sad, but true fact. (I think the Taoists are right...)

(I say all of this having acquired much success in my younger years: I was in all honors classes, tested well, won national awards for my metal work and musical abilities, was athletic in my much younger years, and was a regionally recognized activist – getting my name in the New England newspapers roughly a dozen times in my junior year of high school. Instead of wanting to ride that chariot of success into the sunset, I developed a stomach ulcer and decided to redefine success, and stop looking externally for affirmations about my self worth. I chose a college without tests, and without grades, where we had to write term papers instead, and got page long comments from our professors, instead of report cards and grade point averages. I did pretty well, but it could have been a mess. That's why hearing about others' experiences weathering the metaphorical storms mean so much to me.)

This documentary about "the people's ice cream" really granted me the faith in myself that I will eventually find my niche. Hearing about a company that integrated their social consciousness into not only their business model, but into their products themselves, gave me hope that we don't have to abandon our ideals in order to sustain our standard of living. Even though Ben & Jerry felt forced to sell the company that bares their names, they are still dedicated to social calls of action both on the national political scope, as well as the grassroots community base.

As I sit here in my mid thirties, daydreaming about what may become of me and my yet to be fully harvested talents, I hope that I can live as passionately and compassionately as these two blokes have. If only I could decipher what that "one thing" is that will help me "wow" the world. Then I'd be living the Americone Dream...

Just One of Those Days...

2010-02-04T14:17:00.000-08:00

Yep, it's been one of those days.

Last night, my roommate and I had some people over to watch "Man vs. Food," since he works at the Travel Channel, and was excited about the live episode. I'd never seen it before, and basically had no interest in consistently watching such gluttony. But, I figured I'd be a team player, and invite some folks over as well, and make a party of it. I went to bed around 1am, after deducing the leak surrounding the skylight in my bedroom ceiling was still dripping, after two failed attempts to seal it. The leak is over my bed, causing a wet spot on the left side of my mattress. Yay! A wet bed! Everyone's favorite thing! So, I cautiously tried to sleep as far over to the right as possible, having gotten caught in the cross fire a time or two mid-sleep.

I then overslept, due to being achy, sniffly, and exhausted, as I am trying to fight a cold (unsuccessfully, having to be outdoors in this cold weather for 4-12 hrs a day!). This was made worse since I was now running late for two early client meetings. (The second of which was super pissed at me, and I had to kiss some serious ass. Yay squared!) Right before I approached her front door, I tried to take a quick swig of seltzer, but when I opened the bottle it spewed everywhere – all over me, all over the interior of my car, awesome! I tried to shake it off, as I rushed to my predictable fate of getting bitched out. It was fine...

When I got back home after those late morning visits, I spied two "tubs" of cheesepuffs left over from the party last night. Somehow, they intrigued me, and I found myself swept up in their gravitational pull. While trying to pop the top off the huge plastic container, the canister itself slipped from my hand, and went flying through the air, behind my tv and television stand, liberating what seemed like thousands of cheesepuffs. Whew-fucking-hew! I had to laugh at the idiocy of it all, and the little gray rain cloud that seemed to be appearing above my head. Funny.

Then I tried to purchased a gently used Macbook Pro from eBay, and monkeyed it up, accidentally paying for it from my bank account, rather than the credit card I was going to use. Uh ~ guh! So, I had to contact the seller, and politely ask if I could swap out the payment arrangement, kind of looking like an incompetent dolt, or a fraudulent schiester! Perfect!

But the pièce de résistance was when I had to go walk my new favorite dog, "Aubrey," a 12 year old three legged yellow lab with a newly discovered degenerative disease, which makes him even more wobbly on three legs. The dog itself is pretty amazing, so happy go lucky, and such a sweetheart! Working with him has reminded me to not sweat the small stuff, as he greets me everyday, tail wagging, hobbling around to explore every corner of his back yard. He's such a lesson in courage and conviction, always getting himself where he needs to go, completely devoid of any self pity or wallowing in the hardships he has faced.

Despite my few glitches during the day, seeing Aubrey cheered me up, per usual. But when we came back in from our visit around the backyard, he collapsed on the floor, sans dog bed, and looked a little 'off.' He was laying on his belly, like he usually does, even wagging his tail, but as I went to pet him to say goodbye, I heard a terrible grumbling. He wasn't growling at me, but rather his body was foisting its own protest, when out of his mouth erupted this molten quagmire of puke, suddenly everywhere.

His owner, a sweet pregnant woman, with one small baby already, leapt up from her chair, mortified that her three legged dog was practically vomiting on my shoes. I was fine, and ran to grab a plastic bag to put under Aubrey's gaping mouth to catch the final reserves. The owner was so embarrassed, and kept telling me how much she appreciated my help, but that I didn't need to stay, as the two of us tried to clean up our canine friend, and the area rug underneath him. I was fine, and continued to clean, as I heard the pregnant mom start to cough. She excused herself, and asked if I could do her a big favor, and throw the bag away before I left. I heard her coughing a few rooms away from me, as I tossed the soiled bag into the kitchen trash can she pointed out to me.

I hadn't realized that she, herself, had begun to vomit, since being pregnant has heightened her sense of smell, and the dog's upset stomach began a chain reaction in her, too. She came out a moment later, apologetic, and thanking me again for my help. I excused myself, saying that I would see them tomorrow, and hoped that everyone was feeling better soon. I wasn't phased by the events, but could tell that the new mom/mom-to-be (for a second time) was blushing, shaken by tossing her cookies in front of a virtual stranger. So sad...

It's only 6:30pm, and I'm curious to know what this day has left in store for me! Nothing has been horrible, so it's not the worst day of my life, but I just feel like it's some cosmic jokester kind of day, where everything is just a bit out of whack.

I'm trying to ready myself for this next "snow-pocalypse," which will be interesting when 20-24" of snow will drape this nation's capital in a heavy, impenetrable blanket of precipitation, shutting down virtually every single element of this city's livelihood.

How the fuck is DC so fragile when it comes to the weather? I grew up in Connecticut, and went to college in Vermont, where it snows 9 months out of the year. Southerners are such pansies when it comes to this shit.

I can't wait to be snowed in, and be forced to take the weekend off from work, resorting to watching bad romantic comedies, and getting around to reading one of the dozen or so books I recently purchased, but already forgot that I own. I need to stock pile some cereal and soy milk, and start some serious nesting. Anything to end this bout of uphill battles on this day of Murphy's Law. Fingers crossed!

Miss Understood

2010-01-30T19:15:00.000-08:00

"People cease to understand you when you need understanding the most." ~ Antony Baekeland, the Protagonist in the film "Savage Grace"
(Based on the true story of the incestuous/matricide of the Baekeland Family, heir to the Bakelite Plastics Fortune.)

Right. Besides being a pretty disturbing film, set on the even more dysfunctional spin of the actual Baekeland brood, that quote above kind of kicked my ass. It snapped me back into my own reality (thankfully out of the biopic reality of that fuct up family), and helped me see just how defensive I can get when I feel hurt. Sure, this is a common gut reaction for nearly everyone feeling the pinch of love gone bad, even if but momentarily...

I think I am starting to see that my approaches to communicate about said disconnects often leaves me feeling more disconnected, ironically. So, one has to wonder: Is that I am choosing to love emotionally distant people, or am I accidentally adding insult to injury when what I seek is intimacy?

Harville Hendricks (author of a million self help books that friends, former therapists, and Oprah all highly recommend) has a few great passages on this subject from his book (with the gayest title ever), "Getting the Love You Want":

In despair, people begin to use negative tactics to force their partners to be more loving. They withhold their affection and become emotionally distant. They become irritable and critical. They attack and blame: "Why don't you...?" "Why do you always...?" "How come you never...?" They fling these verbal stones in a desperate attempt to get their partners to be warm and responsive – or to express whatever positive traits are in their imagos. They believe that, if they give their partners enough pain, the partners will return to their former loving ways.

What makes people believe that hurting their partners will make them behave more pleasantly? Why don't people simply tell each other in plain English that they want more affection or attention... or whatever it is that they are craving? ... ((he goes on to explain why...))

...When we were babies, we didn't smile sweetly at our mothers to get them to take care of us. We didn't pinpoint our discomfort by putting it into words. We simply opened our mouths and screamed. And it didn't take us long to learn that, the louder we screamed, the quicker they came. The success of this tactic was turned into an "imprint," a part of our stored memory about how to get the world to respond to our needs: "When you are frustrated, provoke the people around you. Be as unpleasant as possible until someone comes to your rescue."

Damn, he really hit the nail on the proverbial head, didn't he?!? I kind of feel dumb for being so infantile, and cranky when my feelings are hurt. But his point was to illuminate that it is the only tactic we knew as language-less babies – one that worked quite effectively, if we have survived into adulthood. The thing is, our modes of communicating have often been stunted, and semi-permanently stuck in those less than mature stages of life. Not having further refined our communication skills not only kind of sucks for our partners' sakes, as they are on the shit end of the stick, as they say – but, it also prevents us from getting what we wanted in the first place. So, everybody loses! (Awesome! I wanna go crawl under some love-less rock right now...)

This author goes on to illustrate that the smallest alterations in our approach to love and the moments when love feels out of reach can transcend the gaps, and reconnect us in ways we have previously only hoped could happen. Of course, all of these practical applications seemed to have slipped my mind over the past year while wrestling with the loss of love, or the months before that when love was thinking of dropping in for a visit.

While dissecting my erroneous ways with my best friend, she helpfully pointed out that my big trigger issue is not feeling understood. She said that often times folks who take care of others ("people pleasers") seem to feel leveled when their beloveds don't return those same thoughtful gestures, and make an effort to really learn about their partners wants and needs. I could see that to be true... She said that people like us (her and I), want so desperately for people to understand us, and really intuitively *know* us at our core. My friend explained that it makes perfect sense if I felt trapped in the misnomer of being raised as a girl, when I have always felt "other/alien" in my body, but wasn't able explore the definition, identity and physiological modifications of being transgender until decades later.

Having to "fake" my way through childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, pretending to be okay with that fractured and dislocated sense of self obviously took its toll on me, in the form of debilitating anxiety and depression for much of my life. Things that only started to lessen once I truly faced the reality of being trans, and allowed myself to delve in head first to see what resonated with this formerly unresolved sense of self. It's getting there. I am understanding more and more about myself, not only through my trans identity, and how that channels my experiences in the world at large, but also the intrinsic elements beyond the surface level of gender paradigms.

What I want more than anything is for someone to *get* the fact that I have struggled, and that I have worked my ass off to let those challenges inform the healthier ways in which I choose to live. I don't want to be cast away simply because I'm "weird" or "freakish." And I don't want to be discounted because I have battled with the depression of denying my truest self. I want someone to *get* that I am trying my damnedest, and to give me the benefit of the doubt, when I might get stuck in an emotional loophole that I haven't figured out yet. I want to be understood, and to be appreciated for how much more I still want to decipher.

I want to change my approaches to love, and those of whom I love, to ensure that I'm not that screaming baby in the corner ironically begging for closeness. It's time for me to learn how to transparently talk about the intimacy I seek, rather than have it coded in actions that seemingly disprove all of my chattering on about wanting to be sweet in love. It's time to be an adult, and break the patterns that kept me being misunderstood. It's time to grow up – that's MIZZ Understood, from now on!

NewMan

2010-01-27T19:56:00.000-08:00

So, I've been thinking a lot lately. I guess you could say it's kinda my schtick. (Not to mention that it's often exacerbated when my T levels are down, which they are – since I missed a dose when my grandmother died. Yes, I am saying that higher levels of testosterone actually make me *think* less. Make of it what you will...) But all of this to say, I've been figuring out some things that were leaving me feeling a bit frazzled.

Case in point: I started to understand how new I am to this whole manhood thing. This last relationship I had was my first attempt at love post transitioning. Sure, I was on again off again with another woman for years *while* I transitioned, and hooked up with an ex after that... But this was my first shot at refining the nuances for my version of masculinity. It was my first relationship as "Will," and took a bit more navigating than I anticipated.

Yes, it's easy to say: "Just be yourself! Why would you have to consciously *try* to be a man? Why put on false veneers, and self imposed rhetoric if the masculinity isn't organic?" And of course, I'd know what you mean, but it's complicated. I liken it to one of my good friends who recently became single after a long relationship. She was still herself, this consistent essence of herself, but she had to learn who she was *now* as her life had changed so much. Plus, she had to gain some experiential knowledge of how to approach and engage prospective suitors – a challenging feat after being "coupled" for so long. Ya, it's kinda like that. I am still myself, but have to fine tune the elements that may create the kind of life I want to be living as "Will." (And I promise not to talk about myself in the third person ever again!)

I had spent a long time on my own, hanging out with various women, learning the ropes of what I liked about them, and similarly, what I liked about myself. I listened so intently to their criticisms of former partners, or their romantic mishaps. It all seemed like one gigantic case study to craft the ideal man. Little did I know that not all women want the exact same thing, and that my obsessive study of wants and desires would leave me a tad befuddled at best. So, I'd have to summarize, and use a shot gun approach that might cover more ground, but might also miss the particular target altogether – as shotguns often do. It was risky, but the best I could manage.

When a good friend, whom I adored for years, sort of put the moves on me, I felt shy and reticent to put my theories to practice. I lost my mojo... Much of that shyness and paralysis came from roughly four years of massively crushing out on this gal, and pretty much telling myself that she was the ideal woman. No pressure, right?!??!?!? Guh! And even though I may have flubbed up that first initial night of more focused, intentional flirting, I tried to spin it in an endearing way to still "get the girl..."

What I wasn't expecting was that my intentionally lower doses of T at the time (due to a fear of injecting testosterone after I developed an infection from a shot), not only made me stuck in "paralysis by analysis," but I also was obsessively looking for cues from this lady-friend to see what qualities and attributes she preferred in her men. Theoretically it could have been a home run, but instead, it was like I was rounding the bases with my pants around my ankles (and not in the *fun* way!), tripping myself up the entire route.

I not only wanted to be a man, to be a good man, but I wanted to be the "perfect man" for this friend that I assumed to be the "perfect woman." What she said mattered, perhaps a bit too much when trying to define my own sense and interpretation of masculinity. I yearned to be *her* man, and decipher exactly what I needed to do to get the job, as if it was some "help wanted" sign I saw posted in her bed room window. (((I didn't mean that as dirtily as it sounds!!!))) But I failed to see that all of my cowering and pandering would leave me weakened and exhausted – and ultimately alone. No one wants to be with someone who doesn't know who they are... It's not sexy.

And therein lies my problem: this (gender) "do over" that I've willingly solicited meant that I would have to completely reinvent myself in my 30s, like 100% "complete." My body would change, but in dramatic, shape-shifting ways that one can never predict at the out set. Things like getting beefier and more muscular, losing my girlie curves, my voice dropping like 3 octaves, getting facial hair, chest hair, belly hair (wah wah wah), and acquiring a "male hairline" on my scalp. (Yes, that is code for "losing my hair." Read between the lines, dude!) My patterns of speech and intonation that formerly made me appear like an angry lesbian somehow now made me appear like a swishy fag. (How ironic is that?!?)

But the toughest part was trying to decipher how to be the "hunter" in relationships. As I've said before, I was socialized to be a woman, stereotypically erring more on the side of "people pleaser," rather than aggressor. (Don't worry, I'm not a misogynist! I've dated plenty of aggressive women, so I'm not saying women can't be more assertive!) I wanted to get over my shyness, and woo the pants off this gal. (Um... Figure of speech.) More than anything, I wanted to be the upstanding, charming, commanding, seductive dude to pique -and- sustain her interest. Alpha-central... I just had 32 years of missed opportunities to suddenly make up. Awesome!

After all this time, several years in to my transition, I am still fumbling around to figure out how the fuck to do this stuff! It's like a second puberty in every way. Who the hell is suave during that period of their lives? Certainly not me – either time. How long does this stage last? Shouldn't I be rounding the bend sometime soon? When can I outgrow this phase of being a "new man," and shift right into "old man" status? Arg – you know what I mean!

Love(N)in

2010-01-27T05:24:00.000-08:00

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing." - Anais Nin

A friend of mine posted this quote on Facebook yesterday. Seems fitting with all that's going through my head these days on the subject of love, and how it has been lost.

In college I studied Conflict Resolution: Mediation and Negotiation. We would examine all of the best methods to ensure that people would participate in their own collective resolution. I was taught to hate the word "compromise," as it instantly evokes a negative response: "Why should I have to give anything up when *s/he* did _____, to cause the problem in the first place."

We all believe in our righteous justifications for the ways in which we act negatively upon the world. We all struggle with trying to do the best we can muster in any given situation, and sometimes feel provoked beyond our comfort levels. At times, these provocations come directly from another individual, while other times they are more symbolic, as in expectations we either assume for ourselves, or those which are placed upon us externally. Confrontations rarely go well in the immediacy of the moment. Even with the best of intentions, confrontations frequently cue our most dramatic defense mechanisms, and skills of deflection. It is the job of the mediator/negotiator to understand these provocations and potential reactions, and to mindfully guide the parties through the often emotionally explosive process. For obvious reasons, it can be a challenge, at best.

Having said all of this, I tend to beat myself up when I can not put my own emotions in check while trying to communicate about my feelings having been hurt by a loved one. It leaves e wishing that I had a third neutral party present at all times to walk us through the active listening, mirroring, and so on... Oye! Or only surround myself with people that have this experiential knowledge base. Unrealistic!

Mediation can be both heartbreaking and an intensely healing process. A gifted mediator can squelch power plays, and redirect the parties' attention to the irreducible issues at hand. The mediator's role is to suss out all of the core problems, and understand the how's and why's of each members' actions and reactions related to those root issues. Then, and only then, that mediator has to prove her/his neutrality to all active participants to earn their trust, and hopefully calculate common denominators amongst group members. Once you can have everyone focus on these commonalities, it can be a smidge easier to work backwards from there, asking how we, collectively, can achieve these threads of a common goal.

The aim is to pull people out of their opposing corners, where they may have succumb to combative, defensive tactics in order to shield their vulnerabilities and Achilles' heel. (The image of a dog fight runs through my mind: two dogs facing each other, bracing themselves for the fight to ensue; as opposed to two dogs walking gleefully next to one another, embarking on a journey together... Yes, I am a dog walker...) But the same applies to people.

At what point to we stop joyously walking next to one another on our common path, and decide to rip our partners a new one?

Mediation is different from therapy in that it has specific goals, end points and structures to achieve those end points. All members at the table have to participate to achieve the very specific, plausible resolution. Where as, in therapy, the goal is usually more vague: "to feel better." But what does that mean? How does one get there from here? And how long will it take, 50 minutes intervals at a time?

I chose to study Conflict Resolution because the spectrum of human emotion fascinated me. To be able to closely examine the human psyche, but in a way that doesn't just quantify it, but rather, delve into those trenches with the hope of building a way out *collaboratively.* Maybe it's just the idealist in me. Or maybe having had my own fucked up childhood, I'm used to the chaos. I don't know.

But I experience the loss all the more when I am in love, and feel the love slipping away. Knowing that most divorced couples once felt like their former significant other was the answer to their dreams, it's a sobering realization. At one point, they were probably even smitten about this person whom they can no longer stand. It is perplexing to consider the loss and the fractures that settle in to the places where love use to reside. Reading so much philosophy, psychology, history, fiction, lyrics to pop songs, even screenplays – love is the single greatest motivator in existence. And conversely, the loss of love is the most crushing experience we can endure, testing our very fragile moral fibers. Even after thousands of years of writing on this universal topic, we are no closer to "solving" the mystery, and "curing" ourselves from our romantic ailments. (Well, at least I don't feel so alone...)

If Anais Nin's statement is true – how do we prevent the blindness, the errors and betrayals? How do we keep love healthy and self-healing? How can we protect it from the storms, nourish it again and again into infinity, and polish away the cloudiness that may appear from time to time? How do we love love itself???

"That Girl"

2010-01-25T18:26:00.000-08:00

I spent about four days trying to rework a post entitled, "Great Expectations," all about the intricate line between hope and (perhaps) self-delusion. This post became my (nearly full length) autobiography, as I started charting and mapping out my thesis, supporting evidence, and even concocted an "anger flow-chart." (No, I'm totally serious! Now I wanna trademark that shit!)

What I found was a whole lot of sumpthin'... But I'm not quite sure what yet. So, let me step back, and try to fill you in on some of the back story:

My most recent ex started calling me again, after several months of no contact. She called for my birthday in early December, where we talked for a few hours and got caught up. I basically said that her decision to break up with me was one of the best things that's happened to me in years. (I didn't mean it rudely, I swear!) What I meant was that it was the catalyst I needed to get my shit together, and get back to my self-development. Basically, I was letting my anxiety drive my actions and reactions, which understandably was an uphill approach towards contentment. Like a county fair goldfish recently won by a highly "distractable" seven year old – projections for a healthy life did not look good.

During our several month hiatus from communicating, I started to understand just how much of myself I forfeited in order to be what I assumed she wanted. In the beginning she referenced several of her other boyfriends' traits and habits that confused her, or drove her crazy. Rather than let the potential jealousy set in, I tried to make it a positive and use those kernels of information as sign posts for which direction to plot in our new relationship. It seemed easy enough... Boyfriend A did this, Boyfriend B did that, and Boyfriend C would never do this other thing that totally became an issue. So, if I could chart a new course, I could ensure avoiding those metaphorical landmines that she was clearly, and decisively communicating would not work for her. The problem was that these men became ghosted images haunting my presence with her.

I think anyone might naturally feel a little uneasy when their current partner tends to talk about their pasts a bit too much, but for me it was double trouble, since this was my first "new" relationship post transitioning. I had been in a relationship on and off during the early stages of my old switch-a-roo, and then got together with a significant ex from college after that, but this was my first true attempt at making a go of it from scratch. I felt really nervous that I wouldn't be man enough, let alone all of the extraneous traits and circumstances that we all have to negotiate. I basically scared myself straight. Well...

While talking to my best friend about the matter, I realized that I'm "that girl," – the empty shell of a woman that Oprah warns us about becoming. The reason that fashion magazines print their personality quizzes, and their articles on why bad men dump great women... That little voice inside many sexy vixens' heads, prompting them to never let their guard down...

In my attempt to sidestep those manly traits that leave women furious and annoyed, I accidentally abandoned a whole slew of positive attributes that I took years to refine and hone – traits that landed me so many of the wonderful relationships I've had in my life. (The old adage of "Throwing the baby out with the bath water." I always wondered what douchebag came up with that saying. Apparently, that d-bag was just like me.)

I was so afraid of not being lovable in this first relationship out of the gate (of trans-hood ~ not to be confused with Transylvania...) that I reappropriated my old codependent ways, and tried to *only* be what this woman wanted. This is what I mean when I say "That Girl!" The woman who wreaks of clingy desperation, molding herself again and again, shaping shifting into each new dimension she assumingly thinks her partner wants. Holy smack! That's totally me! Ugh~ I want a cocktail! When did I become a character on Sex and the City?

This woman I dated was pretty great. She's gregarious, super funny, really charming, a colorful story teller, really ambitious and driven professionally, an adventurous world traveler, really sexy with impeccable style and the most incredible shoes I've ever seen. I've kind of adored her since we first met nearly four years ago. But what I wasn't expecting was for me to completely lose myself in order to satiate her prospective wants and desires. Bummer.

It's not like she outwardly complained about this or that in me. It was more that she would retreat, or withdraw, and tell me that she couldn't be with me. I found myself trying to go through the motions of being the perfect boyfriend: of being an active listener, asking a number of compelling questions when she'd tell me about her day, give amazingly thoughtful gifts, try to be really charismatic around her family and friends... The whole nine. But I tried so intently to be what she wanted, I think somewhere in there I forgot what I wanted to be for my own sake. I forgot who I was intrinsically, and organically. And it was there, in that place, that the anxiety took over, and filled in all of the gaps where my own ambition and playful curiosity used to reside. I wan an empty shell, the veneer of the perfect vapid boyfriend. So sad.

She's a great individual, but maybe not the most attentive of partners. I think she is better at answering the thoughtful questions, rather than asking them. She is used to be the belle of the ball, as opposed to the host, or the plus one. And perhaps she is more accustomed to leaving when her needs aren't being met, rather than asking for what she needs, and trying to negotiate from that point onwards. None of these things are horrible, or make her an awful person. But I did want there to be more balance in our relationship, for things to *feel* more equal between the two of us.

It was tough because I really do adore her, and see so many attractive qualities in her, so many things that inspire me on a daily basis. But even though she's a great individual, it doesn't necessarily translate into being the perfect girlfriend. She wasn't bad, or mean, but there was just a disconnect between us. The two of us being so far opposed on opposite ends of the spectrum: she had a really strong sense of self and autonomy, but a resistance to "blending" in a relationship. And my impassioned readiness to be a thoughtful, intuitive partner, but sacrificing my own newly emerging sense of self post transition out of fear that being trans will nix me from prospective partners' lists. Objectively it was either a train wreck waiting to happen, or the most incredible opportunity for the two of us to learn that balance while in this dynamic. (Having read a few too many self help books myself, I was eager to give it a'go, and try to find some semblance of balance from working these outer poles inward. ((Not to be confused with Pollacks, or pole dancers...)))

But I can't make someone love me, or want to try to find balance in a way that might seem counter intuitive to them. What the hell do I know??? So, instead, I have to let it go, and continue to find myself, and truly get myself grounded again. I am ready for the undertaking, and the over-coming parts.

I think I needed our break up to wake up. But now that I'm awake, it'd sure be nice to feel like it doesn't have to be one or the other... And I am bummed that my attempts to try to explain some of this to her, and how I lost myself accidentally in our dynamic possibly came out in a way that made her feel like she needed to defend herself spontaneously. How do we tell those of whom we love about those little things they do that pinch us unintentionally, as we try to move forward together, whole heartedly from a place of compassion and sympathy?

In the past she accused me of always having to process everything, always wanting to talk everything out, like a broken record. Honestly no: I wanted to have the conversation *once* about something that hurt my feelings, and then ideally have it change, so it would never come up again. But when the same hurtful things kept happening over and over after I tried to address it in the least accusatory, provocative way possible – yes, I might have tried to bring it up again to try another approach to prevent future missteps. Isn't that how it works?

I'm wrestling with the ego-bruisers of idealizing a pretty great woman, and wanting to someone so great to want to be with me out of principle. She recently told a friend in common that she couldn't be with me because I am not ambitious enough. Secretly, I had succumb to my defenses when I heard that statement. Having spent the past several years overhauling my entire life so that I could live more genuinely in this trans identity that I had denied for decades ~ it feels like I was pretty fucking ambitious to radically change every single element within my identity, family dynamics, social circles – the whole gamut.

So, if one only equates personal success with professional aims, then yes, maybe right now I have been coasting to have one pleasantly consistent thread in my life while undergoing so many other changes. Not to mention how impulsive it would be to change careers in this rough economy, and the fact that I really love my job, and the riches it grants me, like being able to write for 2-4 hours everyday while getting paid my generous salary.

When I equate ambition with the holistic approach of the entirety of one's life, their contentment, and self-development, I am right on target. And I don't get bogged down in having to explain myself to anyone else. From that place, I also don't quiver when contemplating whether or not the hott girl likes me back. I return to the mantra that got me through my transition in the first place:

It's not about who may abandon me because I am trans, but rather, who is amazing enough to be invited in to this incredibly intimate process and rich life of mine.

I'm not saying this ex is no longer invited, but I do see that once I return to myself, return to my own rooted foundation, her interpretations of me matter less and less. I can find compassion for us both in those places, but exert my own time and energy to continuing to do my heart-full work in self-awareness and self-development, rather than trying to convince anyone else of anything.

It's time for me to simply trust that the right person will "get me," and that the right relationship will only encourage me to feel confident in myself, and foster a dynamic that helps us both grow as individuals while we simultaneously become more intimately connected.

I can let go of being "that girl," and just get back to being myself, free from that desperation and anxiety, and full of ambition to make this life as rich as possible. But I do hope someday to find "a girl" to go with me being "this trans-guy." Sigh~

Disaster

2010-01-19T06:07:00.001-08:00

(This is a house in the ninth ward of New Orleans, badly struck by storm Katrina, and still hanging on by a thread several years later.)

My heart is kind of breaking right now. Thinking about all of the people in Haiti, and feeling so helpless, unsure of what more I can do beyond donating money or supplies. I woke up earlier than usual this morning, despite going to bed much later than usual, and was in a mild funk upon falling asleep. Something so trite pestering me away from the tranquility I was hoping to find while laying there, staring at my ceiling.

I had dragged some friends to a Haiti relief event yesterday to donate some funds and try to watch the film "The Agronomist." After we left, we were approached by a very eloquent homeless man asking for money for a fund to get more folks off the street as the cold weather will inevitably return in our fare city. I gave him some cash, as he chatted me up, and he thanked us for engaging with him, and treating him like a human being. There was something so compelling about the way he spoke with me, hearing the horrific stories of finding six homeless men that had frozen to death in the past two weeks.

(This is the interior of one of the main churches in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans, completely gutted, and abandoned...)

Then this morning, I turned on the tv, while I got ready to begin my writing for the day. It is a rarity that I turn the tv on this early in the day, but as the picture came on, I saw that it was that documentary about the levees breaking in New Orleans during storm Katrina. I left the doc on quietly as I began to type away. Suddenly, I became transfixed, and my writing absorbed some of the images I was capturing on screen, recounting images that I had taken myself while in the ninth ward a year ago. These are all photos that I took while exploring all of New Orleans for the art Biennial there last year.

My heart is breaking as I reflect on all of the impossible traumas this world has suffered over the past ten years. It seems like at least once a year we collectively experience some terrifying "natural" disaster that kills infinite amounts of people innocently in the path of those tragedies. These storms and quakes, floods and fires appear to be of biblical proportions. Now, I'm not religious in the least, but it is making me wonder if that whole apocalyptic spin might have some truth to it. Or if the Mayans were on to something saying that the world was going to end in 2012.

(This was a shot I took of the interior view of the tread from a bulldozer. It was stripped from the machine, and left unraveled on the side of the road in the Ninth Ward, after many structures had been demolished. It felt like a skeletal carcass found in a desert, just a hint that some sort of life form once existed there...)

Here I sit, at my laptop, in my little well of anxieties or the minutia of my day. And I feel like such an asshole for being so privileged, for having so many opportunities, and yet I still fret over whether this woman or that woman may like me back. I want my life to be more than a summation of crushes, and relationships or rejections. I *need* this life to have more meaning, more weight, more relevance than just: "I'm a tranny, can I get a date?"

I am trying to shed my skin, peel back the layers of false veneers, and sift through the metaphysical wreckage to see what still exists in me, and how I can make that core essence truly radiate all of the fiery passion, compassion, and drive to actually make a difference in this world. Not like in a Miss American pageant sort of way, claiming to want world peace one pretty girl at a time – but in a radical, heart-full manifesto kind of way.

My heart is breaking for all of the people who are suffering right now, for all of the people that have suffered from Katrina, the huge tsunamis of the past few years, the insane forest fires, the inescapable earthquakes... Yes, it's been incredible to see how quickly some people are to step in and do whatever they can to aid people in need, but the apathy is also as heartbreaking as the traumas themselves.

How do we squelch the source apathy, and plant the seeds of compassion and true change? How can we all be fully realized human being, when we still have got our own shit to deal with...? You'd think with all of these disasters, we'd be faster to learn that by now...

Please do what you can to help, and let me know if you've got any insight about how to change the world.

Pick Up in Aisle 5

2010-01-18T20:52:00.000-08:00

My best friend, Jen, is pretty hott. (No, this is not her pictured above...) The other day while she was picking up a few items at Whole Foods (in Denver), this young guy came over and asked her: "Huh, so how is that? Is that stuff good?" She looked down at the last item still affixed to her hand. It was a box of Raisin Bran her boyfriend asked her to pick up for him. "Raisin Bran? Uh, I guess it's good... Raisin Bran?!?" She replied in her most baffled tone.

The guy feeling a bit rejected, blandly responded with, "Well, I guess I should try it." Jen smiled, and then walked away. A few minutes later she called to tell me: "I think someone just hit on me. But it was *so* awkward, I'm not sure."

Jen told me this, not to brag, but to point out that people can use any excuse to hit on another person. Raisin Bran is a prime example because, as we all know, it's the least sensual of the breakfast cereals. (Frankly, I didn't know anyone under 57 ate it. I think my Polish Grandmother loved it. That and Grapenuts. Sexy.) But I digress.

This poor guy saw a woman he fancied, and desperately sought out the quickest way to start chatting her up. Unfortunately for him, his attempt bombed, but we have to give the guy credit. How many people have we seen across an aisle, or waiting for the metro, but we can't muster up the courage or the savvy to say something witty enough to capture their full attention?

I am the king of missed opportunities. Seriously. Having been freakishly shy as a kid, I have tried to force myself to be more social as I've aged, but it still seems like a feat at times to get back out there. Case in point: There is a woman that I fancy right now, that I met at an art auction a few months ago. I was assisting with the catering crew to butter up all of the patrons, and massage them into buying more art, raising funds for my friend's gallery downtown. There was one woman in particular who caught my eye. She looked like a younger, hotter version of Debbie Harry.

As I worked the crowd that night, I refilled folks' beverages, and found myself refilling this woman's champagne flute a few too many times. At one point, I remember leaning in, and boldly telling her how amazing she looked in her vibrant vintage gown, and flawless make up. She was a vision that night.

Every time I swept through the crowd, she caught my eye, and would send a coy grin my way. At the end of the evening, she came into the kitchen of the venue to thank us all. She saw me out of the corner of her eye, and turned to me at say: "And YOU... Heh. There you are..." As we were all leaving, pouring into the very busy streets of DC, she literally stormed out into traffic in her leopard print coat to shut down all traffic so that we could cross the street. Sadly, we didn't need to cross the street, but I so urgently wanted to go in whatever direction she was traveling at the moment.

Fearing I'd never see her again, I asked around and found out more about her. I sent her a friend request on Facebook (pathetic, I know!), stating that I was the "short guy in the tortoise shell Buddy Holly glasses that told (her that she) looked amazing that night." She accepted my request. Step one, down! And then most recently, I've run into her at some other art events in town. When I saw her, I nervously clammed up the first time. But instead, she came over to me and said: "Hey, I remember YOU! You were at that art auction! YOU got me drunk!!!" She exclaimed feverishly, while poking my shoulder with her firm index finger.

(I need to point out here: These are the moments that we wish for in life... Those fleeting moments when the hott girl not only looks your way, but comes over to *you* AND somewhat flirtatiously strikes up a conversation. Now, I need to further point out: These are the moments that fill me with such paralysis and awkward bumbling, nervousness, that I completely lose my cool and just seem dumb. God, I wish I could sedate myself into *only* having witty repartee. No dice!)

The next day, I ran into her at another event, where she and the friend I accompanied began chatting. She noticed me behind our friend in common, and said: "Hey, I'm seeing you two days in a row now." My friend reintroduced us, and then slyly snuck away to give the two of us some time to catch up, and find out more about each other. She's pretty fucking interesting. I have to admit, she's someone that I'd like to get to know better. Thinking of excuses to run into her again, or invite her to things that I hope may be of interest. Trying not to strike out like the Raisin Bran guy, but understanding more about that fleeting feeling of urgency when you don't want your curious enthusiasm to trip up the momentum.

I think I've realized that I was much better at flirting before I transitioned because all my cards were already on the table. I could be coy, because they knew what they were getting themselves into, even if they had only dated bio-guys before. Now that I pass as a guy 100% of the time, there is this weird reticence surfacing in me, like if I flirt, I run the risk of the other person taking me up on the offer, and then what?

The friend that accompanied me to this last art event (acting as my wingman) asked me, "So, when do you tell them you're trans? What rule of thumb do you use to know it's the right time?" Um, how about – I don't have one? How about – I have no fucking clue about how or when to tell people? How's that for an answer?

My last relationship seemed somewhat thwarted by my lack of flirtatious exchange. In the very beginning, she started telling me waaaay too many details about her last few boyfriends, and I felt seriously cock-blocked. It kind of shut me down emotionally, and I was a bit stuttery after that. I used to be pretty suave with this shit. I used to know how to make women swoon, and leave their boyfriends for me. Not that I want to be a home-wrecker, but it's just that I want to return to that smooth, Victorian sensibility – that sensuality that lies just beneath the surface, so close, but that might evaporate if exposed too quickly. That slow burning tension that drives everyone crazy in the most seductive of ways. That used to be my charm. And frankly, I miss it. I miss that tension, and my old ways.

Just like that guy in Aisle 5, I think I need more practice. (Practice makes perfect, right?) Balls to the wall with this learning curve shit! I just gotta start, and see what feels right. So, watch out ladies, we're gonna test this theory about tension!

Be Prepared...

2010-01-17T19:23:00.000-08:00

I don't think I was prepared for the writer's block that would come after my grandmother's passing. It's not as though I am overwhelmed with grief, but moreso, I don't exactly know how to focus right now. When I am at work, it seems effortless for me to rattle off dozens of prospective topics and titles for posts and articles that I'd like to write. I even scribble down whole sentences that I tell myself I *must* include the next time I sit down to begin typing away prolifically. As if...

With all that is going on in the world right now, and all that has happened in my own tiny sphere as of late, I don't think it's the worst thing ever to have taken a few days off from the blog, but I don't want it to become a pattern.

I had a wonderfully charged conversation the other night with a dear friend who attends a 12 step program for spending. Every day she has to "check in" in her sponsor about what she sets out to do for the day, and then she receives calls from two other people checking in with her about their plans for the day. She spoke of the necessity of accountability, routine, and community. Because of the implicit responsibility of having to chart your course in very strategic and mindful ways when you have to consistently report back to a sponsor on a daily basis, it leaves less room for impulsivity and misguided detours if one truly participates.

Part of me envied my friend's approach, and then another part of me instantly realized that this blog has a similar affect on me. For all intents and purposes, this space is my haven, my confessional where I get to exorcise my demons, and baseless ponderings. (Man, can you tell I was raised Catholic?) And when I don't write, my mind feels more muddled, and I succumb to infinite distractions. Dare I say, I am a better person, a better friend, a better listener, a better producer in the world when I grant myself the time to sit in this isolation chamber of my home office, and just "write it out." (Kind of like "hugging it out," but with one less set of arms.)

So, now with dozens of ideas spooled around my metaphorical finger, like a string tied tightly in an act of remembrance, I am going to try to forge through the writer's block, and return to the daily missives. Before the holidays, I mentioned starting two new series of interviews on this blog, one called, "Men I Admire," and the other titled, "Women of Intrigue." I have some fascinating people already signed on, and I plan to do some of the interviews in a more conversational approach, to really get in there, and have some fun. My hope is that these chats, along with the many others I am having in my "real" life, may help me jump start my return to daily posts, and hold me accountable for launching several longer articles to submit by the end of February. I need deadlines, I need guidelines, I need clotheslines... Well... The first two, anyway.

I will be back later today, writing more, and getting myself prepared to start. I hope you can tune back in, and we'll see what I come up with... And we're off!

Whatcha looking for...?

2010-01-15T06:09:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention that we only see things that we are open to seeing. We will only recognize what may be blatantly in front of us if we willing acknowledge that form may exist in this world. What I mean is: if we don't believe something is possible, then in most cases, we won't allow ourselves to see it, even if it's blaringly obvious, right before our eyes.

Case in point: I have been covering for one of our walkers who has been out all week. Luckily, the weather has been relatively mild, and the route is in Georgetown, so I've had the luxury of getting paid to meander around some of the oldest parts of the city, taking in all of the gorgeous architecture, and having some time to think. At a few different points, I was taken aback when some sights caught me off guard. There had been a mammoth tree that had absorbed an antique wrought iron fence, making the tree appear to be molten lava slowing its pace after engulfing this nearby relic. It was amorphous, and viscus – something that never comes to mind when thinking about a tree.

It moved me enough to snap a quick photo with my cell, and keep walking, returning to the modest churnings of my morning. But then later the same day, I saw yet another prime example of this arborous envelopment – this time, a tree swallowed up a sign post still signaling away.

These sightings left me puzzled and quizzically wondering: if that is possible – if a tree can become almost liquid in its form, to grow ever so slowly, yet seemingly intentional in its overtaking of static objects – of what can I be capable if granted my own trajectory and a powerhouse of focused, willful force?

Clearly, when that tree was planted, no one had the forethought of wondering if this meager sapling would someday overtake the centuries old fencing that neighbored it. Nor did any of the civil workers assume that putting a "no parking sign" next to a young tree might later pose a threat to that post's fragility. But day after day, with effortless expansion and development, those trees became entities to reckon with... It's rare to perceive a tree as predatory, well unless your car may have been parked under one recently fallen in some sort of inexplicable extreme storm, or 'act of God," as they say. Here, it is not the sudden snap of a branch, the withering away of a rotted trunk that poses the threat. No, it is time elapsing, and the inevitability of growth and bourgeoning strength that secretly, and sneakily consume all that surround it.

I don't see myself as a predator, nor do I ever want to... But I think witnessing these anomalies helped me to understand that a mere obstacle need not stop our course. Obstructions can simply be assessed as we calculate our new bearings, and continue to navigate our way to our desired destinations. A tree doesn't *think*: "Grow this way! Go in that direction, there's something sharp over here!" No... Instead, it just grows, and modifies its form and path out of necessity – perhaps the path of least resistance.

Stumbling around these streets I've known for ten years suddenly woke me up to all that I may have been missing when I walked around so intent on one thing (like a golden parking spot – no, not a golden shower...). Concentrating on that one subject eclipsed everything else in the past, as if I lead myself astray, my eyes half closed. Having no specific focus yesterday helped me to truly immerse myself in my surroundings, and see all that has clearly existed for decades before my feet hit these cobblestone path ways. Things that have been there the hundreds of other times I had passed on by, yet I was too distracted to notice.

We only take in that of which we allow ourselves to see... (Which is also why people attest to seeing aliens, ghosts, their boyfriends flirting with other women at a club, or their wives with-holding affection.) We train our minds to seek out specific patterns. When we are in that computational mode, the answers can only be: "Yes, that flash of light appeared to be consistent with that of a UFO." Or: "No, your boyfriend has not emailed you back in three hours, and therefore it *feels* as though he is being distant and cold, like all the other times..." It can most often only be yay or nay, and very difficult to step outside of those predetermined catalogues of data our minds have filed away for us. (Maybe your boyfriend was busy planning a surprise birthday party for you while you assumed his unresponsiveness meant he was bored with you. Or that flash of light was a flare from a sailor in distress, not an alien space craft. But having never seen a flare, you'd only chalk it up to that 'other' category...)

So, my hope for today is that anyone who reads this can take a look around them, and really be open to simply witnessing their worlds objectively for even a few moments. Try to refrain from seeking out the specifics we already know, and just see what may be in there when we open ourselves up beyond our mind's eye. You never know what you might find.

And as for me, I'm off to work, and ready to contemplate all the ways I can expand, mature, and envelope this world around me, so that I can become a force with which to reckon! Ya, wish me luck out there!

All the best ~ Will

Imperfecto

2010-01-14T16:46:00.000-08:00

Hello? (echo, echo, echo...) Is there anybody out there? Is there anyone left after my periods of repeated absences (or is that absynthe?) from this blog?

Things have gotten kind of busy for me since I returned from my trek up north, but it's been eerily still in DC, strangely peaceful. I've been hearing church bells chiming at random times, and witnessing spontaneous acts of kindness that are rare in these populated cities. And all of this was even before the Haitian earthquake. My poor brain working overtime to make some sense of it all. Good luck with that!

I've been having all of these intense conversations as of late; some regarding psychological development, friends talking about their old flames who always seemed just beyond reach, and what it means to truly grow up. How does it all work again?

Here I am, struggling to put words to these thoughts that keep circling around in my head. Since my grandmother died I have been thinking a great deal about substance – the marrow of our lives that make them all worth living. My grandmother made it to 99 years, and here I am at 34, wondering what kind of knowledge comes from that much living. I think I have this misconception that since I always think of myself as a "work in progress," at some point I'll hit my stride, achieve perfection, and then can coast from there on out. It probably doesn't really work like that, does it? Perfection is never reached, is it? Well, perfection in the strictest of terms...

It's been great to commiserate with friends to hear that I am not alone in my pondering, and striving towards something resembling goodness. (I'd say "greatness," but it feels very heavy-handed here.) Maybe that's been my problem all along... I want to believe that I am capable of greatness without it sounding too pretentious, or to have my ego get overly inflated.

But I want 2010 to be about settling in to myself – this sense of honestly accessing my strengths, and bringing the weaknesses up to code, so I don't get stuck in self-sabotaging modes. I think in the past, I've been afraid of success, and let myself stall out when amazing opportunities presented themselves to me. Without getting stuck in the trappings of regret, instead – I want to learn to keep moving forward productively. And I want to utilize this blog to push me in directions that will help me stay focused, and set up structures that require follow through and accountability.

I'm ready, 2010 ~ so bring it! (For now, I'm sleepy, and need to get some rest to recharge to launch a few new projects tomorrow. So, keep your eyes peeled! I promise to make it interesting!)

Rest in Peace

2010-01-11T08:19:00.000-08:00

(How creepy is this image??? And why do I wrongfully suspect that it is simply a snapshot for some Will Ferrell trailer?)

Well, I went up to New England at the end of last week for my Polish grandmother's funeral. There were many things that really struck me while in attendance:

I was amazed that so many people came by the wake and the liturgical services to pay their respects. Family members that I haven't seen in years, previous neighbors of my grandmother who have since moved away, co-workers of my mother and my aunt, and so on... It was very touching.
Seeing so many people turn out for this kind of event really illustrated this concept of community, and "hometowns" with village charms. It is a sentiment that seems to be fleeting in this day and age, especially considering economic downturns that have left many homeless and jobless, needing to find shelter where ever they could. It made me appreciate and long for those kind of sustainable ties and friendships. Seeing that sense of community made me feel like I had stepped back in time, as if my grandmother's funeral was an episode of Lost, and time travel was now possible. (Was my grandmother John Locke?!?)
It was incredible to witness firsthand so many relatives' and distant acquaintances' reactions to the news of my gender transition. One second cousin, who is of my mother's generation, kept exclaiming: "Oh my god! Oh my god!" with wide eyes, and a glimmer of enthusiastic curiosity. (She has always been one of our favorite relatives, with her urbane sensibilities, after years of residing in the West Village.) I *knew* that her irrepressible reaction to my transformation, although shocked, was not one born out of malice or disgust.
Honestly, it was a relief to "come clean" about my evolution, and candidly share my experiential knowledge from both sides of the great gender divide. I feel liberated from that fear of wondering the ever-taunting "what if's" that seem to gnaw away at us when we try to divert ourselves from a head on collision. Phew! (And the best compliment of all was when this cousin said that she wished her own mother -- my grandmother's sister-- had still been alive to witness my changes. This cousin seemed to think that he mother would have found it a "hoot," and enjoyed the endless amounts of questions to toss my way. I would have enjoyed that volley back and forth, as she, too was also one of our favorite, more open-minded family members.)
I gave the eulogy at the Catholic church, and despite a few flubbed words, or spontaneously ad libbed lines that were probably redundant and wildly inappropriate – I feel really proud of myself for stepping up, and accepting the challenge. It's doubtful that anyone is ever "thrilled" to write eulogies, under the implied circumstances, but I was proud to override the requisite anxiety and self-consciousness to remember that it wasn't about *me* that day. It was about honoring this beloved, yet snarky, matriarch of my family. And from the consensus, my eulogy was able to capture that very balance between the two.
The priest (who looked like a more handsome versions of Brian Cox) overseeing my grandmother's services appeared to be flamboyantly gay. He made far too much eye contact with me, even winking at me at one point, when no one else was looking. Um... Really? (It's like that Will & Grace episode when Will hit on a guy who's grandmother just died, but thought he had a chance since the guy was wearing Prada shoes in Schenectady. Ya, kinda like that, 'cept I was the Prada shoe guy, and Will was THE PRIEST OVERSEEING THE SERVICES!!!) But anywho~
I saw many touching moments, observing the husbands trying to comfort the distraught women in my family. To see the energy those men exerted, and how consolation is a multi-tiered approach – it made me proud of these men, and also made me hope to someday find my own other half. Someone whom I can comfort in the most trying of times, and someone whom I hope could be there for me in those same gestures. Someday...

Thanks to everyone who offered up their condolences, and their eulogy pep talks – they were all a huge help!

I am glad that my 99 year old grandmother can finally rest in peace. And also relieved to know that after this whole experience, I can also rest more peacefully from here on out.

I hope this finds everyone well, and maybe even cherishing what they love all the more...

Circuit boy-

2010-01-07T21:19:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow morning I am delivering my first ever eulogy - wish me luck!

I just told my bff that I'm ready, I have my speech written (which my entire family fears is too long-ha!), and I'm kind of excited. It feels like a big honor!

Despite the fact that I'm going a little more casual than my bro and pops, I'm even looking forward to the event. I take my job seriously, and always have. I've always been the one in the family who could make people laugh, and cut through the tension with a slick one liner to change the tone.

As much as I want to be respectful, I want this to be a memorial of her life-not a somber day only focusing on her death. And I think that I can help guide people back to the celebrating her life end of the spectrum. I'm ready!

And it is especially important to me as this will be the first time I am meeting some friends of the family, of at least the first time since my transition. And rather than panicking about the potential awkwardness of this endeavor, I want to face it head on-with courage, valore, and charm.

People can be freaked out that I used to be Lani, but it doesn't change the fact that I am now Will. And they will only be as freaked out as I let them be. What if my own self-assuredness and contentment could put everyone else at ease? What if I could dazzle them with the person I've become, rather than fear they will be disgusted by me, or embarrassed for me?

I want to be like the Dog Whisperer of funerals-or at least potentially uncomfortable family gatherings post-transitioning! I wanna be that alpha that sets the tone, and makes everyone else feel safe enough to follow suit. I'm ready. I'm ready to be *that guy* because I already am him...

I used to have a backwards fear of being in a crowd-not of speaking in front of people. I was terrified of being a peer at a conference or big special event, but I was fine being on stage or speaking in front of groups. Ass-backwards, I know. It must speak my both my former paralyzing insecurities AND my narcissism, simultaneously!

So, I actually feel fine about speaking in front of this congregation, these family members and strangers. It's the chatting and introductions part that I'd rather dodge. But I know I'll be fine. I'll be funny, charming, insightful, sentimental, and inclusive. I think I was born to write eulogies!

I was just joking with my bff that after this I wanna hit the funeral circuit writing impromptu eulogies off the cuff. I think it would help my writing and my character development immensely! Afterall- what's the point of a eulogy? Not only to honor the recently departed, but to remind us of the riches in life, and the marrow still present to nourish us into our own old ages...

It'd be like "Wedding Crashers," but a little more macabre!

But I think everyone should write at least one eulogy or obituary in their life. Maybe their own, and see how they would want to sum up their experiential knowledge.

So-what would you say in yours???

Well, god help me tomorrow-I think I'll be fine. My only fear is that I'll get a severe case of Frankenstein legs while walking up to the pulpit. Lord help me!!!

Wish me luck, yo- all the best, Willz

Eulogy

2010-01-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

I was asked to write the eulogy for my grandmother's services on Friday. Whoa... Interesting. Trying to figure out what angle to take to ensure I won't take my funny stories too far. Where is that line??? Too soon...?

Wish me luck folks! Any pointers?

The Last Goodbye~

2010-01-06T06:29:00.000-08:00

When I have been mentioning to my clients that I would be out later in the week to attend services for my 99 year old grandmother, these clients would exclaim, "Bless her heart!" or, "If only we could be so lucky to live to such a ripe old age!" And it's true: we want to live a long, healthy, vibrant life. But what's funny to me is that my clients' questions soon begin to paint a picture of a feeble, weathered, little woman, meekly tiptoeing away from life. For anyone who's ever met my grandmother – this was not the case!

Stella Warren was born Stephania Lech, on August 1, 1910; the daughter of two Polish immigrants from the Warsaw area, who settled in Cambridge, Massachussetts around the turn of the century. She was one of three daughters, all of whom remained very close throughout their lives, spent in the New England area still close to Boston.

To appear more Americanized, Stephania changed her name to "Stella,"perhaps around the time of the popularity of A Streetcar Named Desire. Stella left home, and rented a room in an apartment shared with a few other young women who all worked together. Around this time, in the mid 1930s, she met my grandfather, Harris "Speed" Warren, who was working as a cab driver to sustain himself through the Great Depression. (My grandfather acquired the nickname "Speed" while being the star quarterback at his local high school. It was a nickname that stuck with him until his death at 85, a decade and a half ago. It was the only name by which he went, and I used to love the fact that this wobbly old man still went by "Speed," despite walking with a cane later in life.)

If my memory serves me well, I believe my grandparents met at a coffee shop that they both used to frequent with their co-workers after they retired from the day's shift. They caught each other's fancy, and soon began to date. Unfortunately, I don't know the details of how long they dated before they got married, or many of the fun stories they might have shared from that period. I do know that after several years of marriage they had their first daughter, Diane, and then four years later, they had my mother, Jane. I also know that they bought they first and only house for $7,000, which still remains in the family today.

Back to my grandmother... I have been thinking about her so much over the past week, having a good chuckle here and there at what I will call her "Stella-isms." When I saw her last summer at a family reunion, she didn't recognize me at first. She stared at me with a squint and a grimace, and then broke into a mischievous grin. When I asked her what she was smiling at, she replied: "You look good – now that you got fat!" Feeling a little pinched by the comment, and taken-aback, I couldn't help but laugh. And I still laugh now, thinking of it. This was just her way...

And she truly meant it, every word. She *did* think I looked better with more weight on my frame. She had spent her life as a professional baker, so I think she subconsciously didn't trust people who were that thin, or who didn't partake in her heavenly, sugary concoctions. I, of course, have a pretty intense sweet tooth, and have inherited what I refer to as my grandmother's "Polish center of gravity." (aka: my "bubble butt," or "my ass that won't quit!")

But she was infamous for these kinds of Stella-witticisms. She also once told my sister-in-law that she looked good, now that she wasn't so "pinched and drawn." Um, thank you?!? (Why I outta...) Or like in the mid 1990s when I asked her which Presidential candidate she'd be voting for, since we never spoke of politics at her house, and I began to wonder on which side she would fall, she simply replied: "They're ALL schmoes!!!" Well, okay then! I'm still no closer to unraveling the mystery of her political leanings.

Even though she had this biting, snarky charm for quick witted one liners, this woman loved to laugh. She had a tough exterior, but once you got through it, she would roll with the punches, right along with you. So much of my childhood was spent around her enormous dinner table with my extended family sharing jokes and anecdotes that would get us all roaring. We were a family that loved to laugh, my grandmother included. Ironically, her tastes were perhaps a little more prudish than the rest of ours at the dinner table, as she was a teetotaler, who would only have a sip of Manichewitz wine at Easter, (how's that for some cultural identity confusion?!?). And although she didn't offer up her own boisterous hilarity like the rest of us in the pack, she certainly laughed right there along with us. Or at least "at" us!

She had her own brand of humor, which resided more on the one on one basis of communicating. Like when I was a young child and eagerly asked her what we were having for dinner that night, she responded in Polish: "Goobna na potico." (Pardon my spelling, and pardon my French, as I believe it loosely translates into: "shit on a shingle.") She wasn't angry at me, and didn't even intend for her statement to be mean – it was just her brand of humor and wit. Her snappy come backs, and pursed lip, squinty eyed glints from the across the room; these were her charms. And I mean it!

Even though she could be a bit brash at times, it was clear that she loved us, and only wanted the best for us. I honestly think that much of it was simply a cultural road block. My brother, cousin and I, as third generation Americans, might not have been privy to her Eastern European sensibilities and sentiments. Somehow, her seemingly staccato quips revealed her tender, adoring sentimentality. Like the boys of yesteryear who only dunked the pigtails of the girls they had crushes on into those inkwell, my grandmother would only metaphorically pinch those of whom had already been let in to her heart-full inner-circle.

My favorite memories of her where from my earliest parts of childhood. We would visit our grandparents nearly every weekend, as my dad's career relocated my parents from the Boston area, to the Connecticut suburbs before I was born. My grandmother would eagerly welcome us with every visit. Since she had been a professional baker before she retired, we often spent weekends rolling out some age old recipe, or cutting out my favorite shaped cookies. She was infinitely patient with me, as it was often just the two of us in her kitchen, crouching over her salmon colored counter tops, with me inevitably dusted in flour from head to toe. She would quietly spell out every step of the process, and grant me enough latitude to perform my assigned duties with skillful precision, making her smile with each step completed.

Or while we had "down time" after baking, I'd beg her to teach me words in Polish, or we would play a few rounds of this unique card game she taught me as a child, seemingly related to a version of two people solitaire ("Steal the Old Woman's Bundle," or something like that?). She'd always be so patient with me, and we'd have so much fun, just the two of us. But my favorite thing of all time as a kid was trying to trick her into thinking that I had been awake for hours...

While staying at her house as a child, anytime I'd wake up and come downstairs to find her sitting at her kitchen table, she'd always say: "Good morning, Sunshine!" Something about it would kind of drive me crazy, I don't know why... It was just so funny. So, I concocted these schemes, where I'd sneak downstairs, and slip into the kitchen, pretending like I had simply been there the whole time, as if she just failed to notice me for three and a half hours. Without skipping a beat, she'd always catch me, have me figured out, and would still pipe up with: "Good morning, Sunshine!" She was on to me...

When I step back and think of her objectively, she was kind of amazing! She could whittle a sheet cake down to looking like an open bible for a baby's christening, or would frost the most heavenly multi-tiered wedding cakes that would make every woman in the room want to get married just for the sweets. Her niece Laura wrote a children's book about my grandmother and her two sisters – how fun that she was not only a character in real life, but now she will live on into eternity as a character in this book as well!

But there are other things, more subtle things that come to mind, that perhaps not everyone would know about her. Like: She had incredible taste in wallpaper. Her house had this gorgeous powdery silver wallpaper, with ivory toned patterns in nearly every room. Not only did she have great taste, but she also used to apply all of the wallpaper herself – an impressive feat, considering that it still was intact, nearly 70 years later. And that's what I remember about my grandmother – her impeccably clean house, despite her later years, when her mobility became more of an issue. Everything always had its place, and if you put your cup down for more than five minutes, she'd do a "sweep through" and it ended up being washed and back in the cabinet before you even had time to want a refill.

And the day bed our family bought for her was always precisely made and decorated with every stuffed animal we ever got her during our lifetimes. What a trooper – I mean, who really needed the commemorative Kermit the Frog, Missy Piggy in her Christmas stole, sad puppy dog with a puffy heart in his mouth, white teddy bear holding a bouquet of flowers, and the tiny kitten curled up, which was possibly made out of real fur? But she proudly displayed them as not only our tokens of love for her, but her love for us as well, as she moved them on and off her bed daily with each bedtime routine. A woman who was, for all intents and purposes, a minimalist – kept every gift we ever gave her, ridiculous or not. She appreciated every single thing. Sure, there were some holidays where she cried and said that we shouldn't have, but she never once asked to return or exchange whatever we got her – she was grateful that we thought of her at all.

But there was something almost queen-like about her. Because of her years of baking, she completely wore out the cartilage in her knees, and as she aged, she often sat with her feet up to help with circulation. Whenever we'd come in to see her, we'd all gather around her, and lean over to kiss her on the cheek, as her hair was always done perfectly, her nails polished and shaped, and a nice throw draped over her legs to keep her warm. And most recently, she had been in a nursing home, and was wheeled everywhere in a wheel chair, with a procession of family and staff following right behind. Very queen-like, indeed.

I'm happy that she had such a close knit family, who– through everything, loved to laugh. I'm thrilled that she got to see my cousin get married, that we were all together for a family reunion last summer, and this past Christmas. I *love* that she got to witness a Polish Pope – a score for the mother land...

Whether you knew her as the fabulous baker, the sassy sayer of quick witted one liners, the paper-er of walls, the one who spoke Polish with her sisters as their secret language (we all suspected they used to talk about us unknowingly); whether she was your mother, your sister, your aunt, your grandmother, your neighbor, or just the funny little grinning granny at the table next to you at the wedding – she definitely had a presence. She was one tough old bird, and one that I was proud to know, and call my grandmother.

I hope for her sake that heaven does exist, and that it reunites her with my grandfather, her parents, her sister, and Pope John Paul II. Rock that party, Gram! Love you ~

The Old News...

2010-01-05T18:58:00.000-08:00

Well, sad to report that my 99 year old Polish grandmother passed away yesterday. Luckily, my mother and her sister were there by my grandmother's side, holding her hands as she passed. They both said that it was incredibly peaceful, and serene, as my grandmother appeared to drift off to sleep – and then it was over. Not to be too somber or macabre...

I have spent the past few days thinking a great deal, while meandering around my city. I kept hearing church bells at random times throughout the day, and would look up to catch glimpses of incredible scenic views right before me. It has been bitterly cold, but sunny in that way that illuminates everything with that orange sherbet glow.

Despite feeling sad over the loss, there are many things that make me feel grateful as I reflect on the general state of things.

I feel grateful that my mom and aunt were notified when my grandmother's health started to fail, so that they could rush to her side to say their goodbyes.
I feel relieved to know that my grandmother died while surrounded by her adoring children, and that she wasn't in any pain as she drifted off to sleep.
I am happy that we all got to spend the holidays together a few weeks ago – the first time since my childhood that my extended family celebrated Christmas all together on the holiday itself. Everyone got along perfectly, and my grandmother was in a chipper mood, which was somewhat rare for her.
I love the fact that she got to see my cousin get married last spring.
After feeling guilty for not spending more time with her as of late, I felt some consolation yesterday when my mom told me how much my grandmother gushed about how sweet I was to her at Christmas. Apparently she told my aunt how nice I was to her, and when my aunt responded by saying that I've always been nice to her, she then said, "Yes, but even nicer than usual!" Awe...
I'm incredibly appreciative to all of my friends and family that have called, texted, emailed, sent me posts on Facebook, sending their condolences and well wishes.

There are many more, but I'm starting to get tired, having not been able to get much restful sleep as of late. My best friend suggested that I try to write a kind of funny eulogy for my grandmother; one that encapsulates that snappy, sometimes biting wit of hers.

I'll take a stab at it tomorrow, but I think I need to crash and recharge. Thanks for tuning in and reading this stuff. I promise I'll get back to the funny, dopey stories again soon!

Take good care ~

Grandmother ~

2010-01-04T08:21:00.000-08:00

I just got a call from my Mom that my 99 year old Polish Grandmother's health is failing somewhat spontaneously. (Several months ago she was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure, but her kidneys were too weak to sustain the treatment for her heart. The doctors have kept her comfortable, but said that it was unfortunately a matter of time...) The other day, my Grandmother's oxygen levels were off, causing all sorts of issues, which they were able to rectify. But today a new slew of problems related to the oxygen levels came up, and my Mom just called in tears saying it doesn't look good.

My heart breaks for my Mom, as no one is ever prepared to lose their parents, at any age. Every time I see my parents calling my cell phone I fear it's "that call," as of late. I can't even begin to imagine how it feels to be on my Mom's side of it.

All of this to say, whether you are 99 like my Grandmother, (who lies and says she's 98, and not out of senility!), or you are my age – please take today to reach out to those you love, and not take life for granted...

Wishing you all the best, as always... ~ Will

In with the New...

2010-01-04T06:35:00.000-08:00

Hello dear friends,
It's been several days since I last posted something on this here blog, and I've missed writing. Things had gotten somewhat hectic with work, and to be honest, I didn't have the mind-space to write much of late. I think I left off with that friend of mine screwing up royally, and to be honest, that has really been weighing on me. My heart has really been heavy with stress from that situation, and every spare moment has been spent trying to distract myself with a healthier focus. It's been a challenge. Not wanting to write from that place of internalized heaviness, I simply haven't been writing. So, today I return in hopes that writing can once again be my catharsis, and stop putting off what I enjoy doing just because my heart still feels a bit of the sting of remorse and regret. (Not how I wanted to bring in the New Year!)

I have to use this as an opportunity to learn more about myself, and my reactions to things. With every new year comes the flurry of *wishes* we imbibe, praying that we can be more resolute just because we flipped a new date on our calendars and day planners. What if day planners were less about the minutia of literal appointments, and we actually could constructively set a daily course for our own intentional, and hyper-mindful self-improvement? What would that look like, and how would we go about creating that system?

My dear friend from high school and I have been commiserating about the lack of romance in our lives these days, and keep stating that the lack of a solid wingman in our geographical locales makes branching out all the more intimidating. I texted back a snarky response stating that we should "dare each other into the lives we want to be living" in 2010. There are so many elements that we wish we could change, but if we only knew how... Our friends are often our biggest cheerleaders, piping up with much needed pep rallies when the going gets tough. So what if we not only declare our personal resolutions for 2010, but we go even further with setting up structures that foster those necessary doses of encouragement when our own peters out, *and* have a forum of accountability and fortitude?

I just read a great article from The Art of Manliness all about the necessity of *discipline* (which I will post shortly), and how it is the root to all success. Here is an excerpt from their site that ignited that fire under my arse:

The Kingship of Self-Control
from Self control, its Kingship and Majesty by William George Jordan, 1905

When a man fails in life he usually says, ” I am as God made me.” When he succeeds he proudly proclaims himself a ” self-made man.” Man is placed into this world not as a finality,— but as a possibility. Man’s greatest enemy is,—himself. Man in his weakness is the creature of circumstances; man in his strength is the creator of circumstances. Whether he be victim or victor depends largely on himself.

Man is never truly great merely for what he is, but ever for what he may become. Until man be truly filled with the knowledge of the majesty of his possibility, until there come to him the glow of realization of his privilege to live the life committed to him, as an individual life for which he is individually responsible, he is merely groping through the years…

It was reading that first part about our "natural" state of being versus our self determination that really kicked my butt. (As many people know my email "handle" is "selfmadewill," and I even chose my name Will to be a directive from here on out. So, it goes without saying that this passage really resonated with me. Lord knows I have failed enough for the bunch of us, and that changing that course of self-defeat will be its own success.)

Back to my two friends. I have the one friend from high school with whom I share my biggest hopes and fears, and the newer friend that just disappointed me more than any other human being in decades. This second friend labels herself "the fuck up," where the longer standing friend from my hometown seems to say: "I keep trying, but I haven't yet found the desired results..." Both of these women have lived and traveled extensively in the Middle East, had amazing global adventures I am too nervous to endure, and are both generally funny, approachable, interesting individuals. But it is this friend my past that keeps me inspired, and ready to steady myself for the next unknown, impending challenge because of her own quiet hope that her life may someday *realized* in that big, profound way. She meekly *wants* to succeed, even if she feels teetered by minor set backs and pinched by not yet knowing the "right" course.

This is the kind of person that I want to be. This is the kind of friend that I wish to have. A friend that can commiserate, but also help me regroup to launch myself again, heading out after that long desired skill, quality, or experience that will broaden my chances of true success and fulfillment in this lifetime. Even though her modesty can sometimes jokingly come across as insecurity, I truly believe that in her heart of hearts she wants to find and *earn* that sense of achievement and contentment.

The second, newer friend of mine always rails against the rich, spouting off all of the advantages they have, and still take for granted. She bitches about "spoiled rich kids" being unable to do anything for themselves, and how hard she's had to work being poor, and lacking in nepotistic connections to catapult her artistic career. I finally had to explain to her A) if you're an artist, you can't hate the rich – they're the ones who can afford to buy your art; B) connections alone don't create success – fortitude and talent can drive anyone to success, regardless of their parents' financial status, and on and on...

She has so many grudges to hold against the world, and yet simultaneously sees herself as the fuck up. And it's true, she fucked up pretty royally with me, where I am now at a point where I may not ever be able to return to a friendship with her, after she toxically contaminated professional and residential situations I sent her way. There is a residual strain I feel in my body having had to deal with her over the past week, reviving this same sensation I have felt dealing with her at multiple points in the previous summer. When an individual makes my body feel ill due to the stress and strain they cause me repeatedly, it is a pretty clear indication that they are not healthy for me, and I need to steer clear. Her mixed internalized messages of simultaneously being "the fuck up," while having to work exponentially harder than those "rich kids with their advantages" leaves her in this self-prophetic, exhaustive stance of eternally crashing and burning.

My older friend from high school may also secretly share some of those same sentiments about the privileged, as she and I grew up working class in a suburb of Connecticut where the line between the "have and the have not's" seemed infinitely huge. But when I speak to this friend, even as sheepish as she may feel at times, she never implies that the world is inherently set against her. Sure, there are times when both she and I *wish* that we had more love, more friends, more financial security in this economy, but she says it in a way that is relatable, where I end up rooting for us both. And yes, I think she and I could use a healthy dose of more self-confidence, and bravery at times, but who couldn't?!? Witnessing these two friends earnestly wanting a better life has taught me on which side of that metaphorical fence I'd prefer to land.

With my high school friend and I consistently bolstering the others' confidence and courage to maker bolder steps into these potential lives we could be leading, I see that I want more of that. I want that prodding to live more heart-fully, more coaxing to go beyond the scary places that might have formerly elicited knee-jerk, kick-stop reaction. To be blunt: I want to muster all the requisite facilities to forge ahead into the life of riches, of which I hope to be deserving. I am willing to do all the work to get there, to *earn* it, but sometimes, I need a little external voicely reminder that I will be okay, despite the fears and insecurities potentially telling me otherwise. Space isn't the final frontier, it's the life still yet to be lived fully that is the final frontier for all of us.

So, while distancing myself from this newer toxic friend, I have joyfully embraced this older friendship, seeing that its riches will help me unlock the mystery of my own future self, and the life that I will create for myself there. I feel lucky to have it, and have requested that she and I set up a series of "dares" to safely, and intentionally broaden our daily scopes, until the point where we can make more mindful leaps of faith, delivering us in that hallowed place that for now is still just a day dream away. It will require follow through, stick-to-it-iveness, drive, and accountability. All the good stuff...

I believe with each other's encouraging prods, and our abilities to self-improve from our insightful ways, that we can find love, more friends, more creative career opportunities to supplement our incomes, and enrich our lives. It comes down to ingenuity, hope, discipline, faith, and openness. We're both ready! Are you? Wanna join us for "Self Made Men/Women 2010???"

The Silver Lining

2009-12-30T15:46:00.000-08:00

There was more work strife today, as more complaints poured in regarding that friend I hired over the holidays. It's tough when I have lived in a way that railed against the sentiment: "It's not personal, it's business." But as with all clichés – they have been coined for a reason.

The truth is, it's both... It's a small business that is very personal. When someone monkeys with that system, it hits people's heartstrings in a way that we could never predict, which in turn hits our wallets in a way we'd never want to imagine. All of this say: I am bummed that someone I considered a friend couldn't even manage the bare minimum of the job responsibilities we repeatedly spelled out for her. I am not only disappointed, but pissed that this friend bit the hand that fed her so many handouts. Trying to brush it off, meanwhile a Taoist saying keeps coming to mind:

What is a good man but a bad man's teacher. What is a bad man but a good man's job.

I believe that there is something to be learned from everything, a lesson gained to further refine our sensibilities. It's actually one of my favorite qualities in myself. (That, and my feet. I have really nice feet...) So, I am trying to chalk this one up to one -HUGE- learning experience, and find ways to improve myself with this newly acquired knowledge.

Not to always talk about television, my new best friend, but ––– last night on Tabitha's Salon Takeover there was a young gay stylist that reminded me of this very situation. He was very immature and sloppy, and would become defensive when constructive criticism was shuttled his way. Of course, no one likes to hear what they are doing wrong – it could make any of us feel embarrassed and a little insecure with everyone watching us. But... Ideally, there should to be that point when we decide that we will not only withstand those criticisms, but that we *should intentionally seek them out* to become better at whatever it is that's in front of us.

Sure, there are some instances where that is easier said than done (((like in bed))), but my hope is that we could muster the requisite courage and fortitude to face those nagging pinches of our peers' critiques, and absorb the much needed marrow of their offerings. Am I too much of a Pollyanna here??? Probably. But this young gay stylist kept crying every time Tabitha made a suggestion that would improve his cutting ability exponentially. Do we really want to cry every time someone dangles an opportunity for growth before us? (((Why did that sentence suddenly sound so dirty?)))

Point being, true self improvement can only happen when we're willing to face those parts of ourselves that we most likely don't want to really admit are in our arsenal. (I put the "arse" in arsenal... What's with me today?!?)

I had a fascinating conversation yesterday with yet another friend whom I haven't seen in ages. She and her boyfriend asked me to take care of their cats (as they each have their own condo and cats in said condos, but all reside in the same building). My dear friend kept making numerous advanced apologies for how messy and dirty she claimed her place was, and she admitted that she finally got around to contacting a professional organizer to help her in the new year. She seemed doubly embarrassed since she seems to think I'm some insane neatnik, and would be disgusted by her diggs.

The interesting part was that she said, "I don't think this messy part of myself really fits in to who I see myself as, on the whole." Hmmm. Some food for thought in there. And I could relate, as much as I can be a germaphobe with a penchant for wanting certain things to have *their* place in my home, I don't see myself as a neatnik. I kind of think of myself as a "work in progress," always trying to learn some new system that will help me break bad habits of letting junk mail pile up, or holding on to old magazines cuz I'm too lazy to tear out the one article and toss the rest, and just finally mastered my bill paying system online to prevent late payments and such... We all have that inner monologue, or that book jacket biography pinned to our psyche's metaphorical lapel.

"Will Warren is a short, subdued, yet snarky transguy who spends most of his free time writing, obsessively watching bad television and great films, and playing with animals for a living. In the past, he had many impatient, impulsive bad traits, often turning him into a stark raving lunatic, especially in affairs of the heart – which, unfortunately he's had many. Of all the things he's worked hardest at, it has been love – which has seemingly always escaped him, quite effortlessly. One day he decided to stop being a fuck up, and we're still waiting to see where that gets him... He's currently in the process of writing a few rambly blogs on the subject, which he is turning into a series of articles about contemporary masculinity, the necessity of "emerging identity" in American culture, and what not to do if you ever want to date again. He dreams about turning some of his articles into longer book forms, and getting back into film work. But his Mecca is to trek to California to someday meet Betty White, and maybe even Shirley MacLaine. Dare to dream."

I still see myself as the fuck up because that's what I've known for 30+ years. Even though I've had a few doozies to test me over the past year, and I've come out better than just okay, I am apparently slow to edit that self-description that I penned when my self-identity was just being formed. But stepping back now, I see that we are so much more malleable than perhaps we ever give ourselves credit for being. And yes, I decided to seek out some medical assistance when my long standing anxiety became increasingly problematic, but to be able to now see myself as liberated from that which felt like a noose around this mostly hopeful heart of mine, it is incredible.

Maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, or at least a cute configuration of a panda bear eating cotton candy while floating above us in the sky. Even as bummed as I was about my friend who let me down, I can see the ways that I've chosen to step up given this situation. I can't control her or her actions, but can learn and be more mindful about my own actions and reactions in the future. I am beginning to think that 95% of living well has to do specifically with our ability to manage crises, attending to the minutia of life to prevent them from snowballing into a crisis.

In the past, my anxiety would get the best of me and hold it hostage, while the worst of me would take over as the interim ambassador of Crazy Town. Now I see that I can manage nearly everything that tests me on a daily basis. With every bad day I am able to tell myself, "I will survive... It's not the end of the world." And I do survive, and the next day slowly evolves into it's own entity, bringing with it relief from some of yesterday's problems, and if I'm lucky, maybe even some joy thrown in there for good measure. The stress just rolls off me in a way that used to seem impossible. I formerly felt like a stress magnet, and when one feels like that, they are bound to find it wherever they go. Please don't get me wrong – I'm not saying that I don't care anymore... I simply mean, I have gained a better perspective on what really matters. And I have also gained more faith in my ability to withstand, and even improve upon what might currently feel off-putting.

Many times in relationships what matters most is how people handle the challenging times, where they inadvertently become make or break moments without even realizing it. As for me, I think slowly I have come to learn in this recent past of mine that I will make it, that I am not as permanently broken as I used to suspect. And I can only imagine how much more I will continue to learn, and how all of this will truly create a solid foundation upon which these handsome feet of mine can finally rest.

It's the hard times that test us the most. And I see now that I've passed.

Takeover

2009-12-29T20:23:00.000-08:00

Perhaps it's appropriate that I watched Tabitha's Salon Takeover today after having that funked up day at work. Maybe I need Tabitha's help to kick my managerial ass into shape. Have you seen it? I think I kind of have a crush on her. Man, she can be such a raging bitch! It kind of works for me. Is that what I need to be in life – some complete douchebag to get shit done? Lay down the law, and just make things happen?

Yes, it's true, there is something about her snarky, take charge attitude that I kind of adore. She doesn't look like what I usually go for, but I know she'd be able to snap me like a twig. Apparently that's a good thing in my book – yes, I like being bossed around.

While trying to watch her show, I kept being inundated by commercials for dating web sites, Turbo Tax, and the like. Huh, ya, I guess it's the big push for New Year's resolutions. So, um, yes, having just received a notice from the IRS that my high price tagged accountant fucked up my taxes, and I owe an additional $1,600 from last year, maybe it's the perfect time to get these types of things in order.

Back to dating: Bring it! I'm ready to get back out there in 2010, and try to find that feisty incarnation like Tabitha. I'm ready to be bossed around, get complimentary hair care suggestions, and if she can recommend a better accountant, I'm all in... Know anyone???

TCB

2009-12-29T15:52:00.000-08:00

I mean: Takin' care of business – not to be confused with "The Country's Best Yogurt," (TCBY). Do they even still have those anymore?

Things have been kind of hectic since I got back into town. I made the mistake of hiring a friend of mine to help out over the holidays for the pet care company I manage. We kept getting complaints from our clients after my friend's visits, and each time I had to have a chat with her. We were so under staffed during the holidays with both an influx of additional clients needing our assistance, and our permanent staffers needing subs for their ongoing routes while they went off to visit their families. All of this to say: we nervously had my friend help out, and it may have been more of a hassle than it was worth.

The tough part for me is my own stupid pride, and my ego getting in the way. I have been *feeling* like her bad choices have inadvertently made me look bad, and have tarnished our company's brand and reputation. With that many complaints, and so many uncomfortable conversations I have had to brooch with said friend, it pushed me to the point of getting pissed off. I have worked my butt off to lobby for her, and to get her opportunities for employment and affordable housing in the city, and to *feel* like she did a half assed job in her responsibilities with both. It *feels* like her lack of attention to detail was almost flippant, and disrespectful, or at least lacking the minimal amount of common sense.

Having to kiss the clients' asses, and apologize repeatedly to my boss have proven to be frustrating, and understandably embarrassing. It sucks. What a lesson in humility! It has taught me to trust my instincts about people, and not always give people the benefit of the doubt when they give me hints and suggestions that more problems may be around the corner. I gave my friend repeated chances because she claimed to be desperate for cash, and I side stepped my gut instinct in trying to find more support from our current staffers. I have to take responsibility for the bad decisions I've made, and the ones that my boss and I discussed prior to our offering her more temporary work.

I say all of this now, despite it being completely unrelated to the specific topic of dating, because it made me realize so much about myself, and how I need to stand up to be the man worth being. I need to trust myself more, and not override my sensibility just to placate a friend claiming to be in distress. It should have been a red flag, and when it was, I didn't turn a blind eye, but rather, held my breath and hoped for the best. How dumb was that? I wasn't being a good manager because I was trying to be a good friend. But when my friend did a bad job, it felt like she was being a bad friend, and highlighting my bad managerial skills for hiring her in the first place.

There is a new wave in management theory emphasizing our individual strengths and knowing how to best negotiate them, as opposed to former theories that we need to improve upon our worst traits to not be a detriment to our projects. I'm not convinced that it's one versus the other, but today helped me better understand what exactly are my fortes and foibles.

In general, I have a pretty intense, acute attention to detail. It is what makes me good at my job, and what made me successful while studying Conflict Resolution, working as a Producer in the Film and Video world, and as an Event Planner in various fields. I try to focus on the greater needs of a given situation, while simultaneously trying to predict whatever set backs may surface, and what work-arounds may help seal the deal. Former co-workers joked that I should be a detective, or work in forensics with such an eye for detail. (I saw Sherlock Holmes last night, and thought it could be a cool life, if only we had to permanently wear Victorian duds...)

But seriously – I am starting to understand how to best put some of my better features to use professionally, and how I want to work on some "self-development" to shed the layers that aren't doing me any favors.

I think this is what growing up must be about, and how we slowly settle in to our roles as adults. Funny how a good friend and bad employee can be that kind of wake up call. Back to work... There's always something, right?!?

Homer

2009-12-24T21:08:00.001-08:00

Well, I made it back to my hometown today, even in record time. I left at 6:30am and arrived at 12:30pm, so not bad considering... So far, everything has been going well. My bro and sis-in-law arrived a few nights ago, and seemed to have put a good spin on the holidays. Everyone appears to be in a good mood, which is rare. My dad is almost giddy. I don't know what changed, but hell, I'll take it!

I'm ticking this out from my iPhone in my now dark childhood bedroom, hoping you can forgive me for the ill formatting for one night. I'll add an image after the festivities tomorrow with our extended family.

I guess I just wanted to check in... It's like you are my parole officer, and I fear you'll get suspicious with too much radio silence. All is going okay, well except that two of the presents I had shipped to my folks' house have not arrived yet. Oh well... It will be fine.

It was nice-we had dinner at the dining room table, and I had everyone cracking up over my stories of bulldagger clients telling me that their dogs needed a positive male role model, or how one of my gay male clients always creepily hits on me when I run into him. It was nice to be able to joke about my transition and have it be funny. My family is really goofy, so if we can't laugh at something (or someone) it feels painfully awkward. I don't mind being the butt of my own jokes-it's kind of my forte, so it worked well to bring us closer together by laughing (at me).

Part of it is tough, though, as I used to see old friends while I was back. Many of our parents have moved away, so no one seems to be around this year. And I don't think I'll get to spend much time in NYC to catch up with folks on my way back

I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic and missing people. Not in a bad way, but in a way that is sweet to know who means the most to me.

The missing may subside, but for now, I honor it as the guest list of this heart of mine. It may be getting old, battered and bruised, but I'll still listen to whatever it's trying to tell me.

Someone once told me that she didn't think she could be with me because missing me wasn't difficult. She wanted someone for whom she could not live without. I think I know what she meant. Sure, I can live without her, but damn I still miss that fiery gal. And the missing her, times like now, feels difficult.

But this time, like all times, shall pass.

For now-I'll savor the sensation of missing while it lasts... And so it goes.

G'night.

Anal Retentive...

2009-12-23T18:01:00.000-08:00

While stuck in traffic trying to drop my dog off at the kennel, I looked up to see a McDonald's sign missing a very necessary letter. I think the sign was supposed to read angus. Oh, little "g" ~ where have you gone? Anus burgers? Hmmm. Ya, that's a new menu item... I'd say it was refreshing to see such transparency in McDonald's marketing their "fresh" ingredients, but under the circumstances – it's probably more accurate than we'd like to admit.

Anywho~

I had to abandon my trek up north today, and postpone it until tomorrow. A friend of mine was supposed to come by to pick up some client keys to sub for me over the next several days, but unfortunately my friend came by an hour and a half late. It threw off my entire schedule today, so by the time I got done with work after these delays, I got stuck in horrible traffic bringing my dog to his doggie day spa kennel, waaaaay the fuck out in Virginia. A trip that usually takes about 40 minutes took nearly 2.5 hours. This delivered me in the thick of rush hour traffic by the time I dropped him off, and projecting more of the same, I gave up and headed back to DC, rather than brave the stop and go for the next 9 hours heading northbound. Oh well.

I'm going to try to hit the hay soon, and get up super early to begin again. (Wow, if it were that easy...) But it will be an interesting visit with my family. It's the first time that my brother will be in attendance Christmas morning in over 2o years. (Yes, we're *that* old.) My bro, sis-in-law, and our parents will be opening presents Xmas morning in Connecticut, then heading up to the Boston area to have Christmas dinner with the extended family. My 99 year old grandmother's health is failing, so it's strange to think that this may be the last time that we will all be together. The first time in over 20 years, and possibly the last.

My father and I tend to get in some huge blow out fight over the holidaze, and this year, I haven't even been dreading the visit like usual. It's kind of nice to go into the whole venture with a neutral attitude. It's the first holiday where my entire family will not only be altogether, but also the first time that they'll try to comply with using my 'newish' name, and sticking strictly to male pronouns. They hadn't been so great with this stuff in the past. Recently, my Mom has been going into overdrive, buying me a "son" birthday card --- which was HUGE, if you don't know my family, relaying stories where she'd be talking to others referring to me as her son, and so on. Kind of amazing, after years of us all bumbling through the awkwardness of stepping on others' toes, and offending everyone at the same time. My Dad still calls me by my birth name, which annoys me, but makes sense after knowing him for nearly 35 years.

I don't know. It seems like the first time I am going into this feeling like an adult, not like the baby of the family. I am ready.

Last year I was supposed to see my family for a few days around Christmas, but everyone else in the family got stranded by the multitude of snow storms, and I got a "get outta jail free" pass, and bailed to go to Houston early to see the woman that I was dating at the time. That was the first time I had ever been away from my family on Christmas, and the first time I'd ever spent it was a significant other. Crazy. I had a blast in Houston, and the trip we took to New Orleans for New Year's, but I was deathly ill with a flu, worsened by spending time in two cities walloped by hurricanes. I spent a week and a half being a wet blanket, sneezing, wheezing, and sniffling. That's sexy. (I was single again soon after... wah wah wah...)

But I see now that it set the tone for how I want my life to be. I want to be in an mature, responsible relationship, and be an adult within the context of my family. Strange to think about where I have been in this past year, but necessary. This has been the most dramatic few years of my life, not only with my gender schtuff, but with stepping up and trying to be the stable, rooted person I always hoped to become.

I watched a documentary about Keith Haring last night, and thought a lot about the comment someone made about outsider art, and how different it was to be queer in the late 1970s through the mid 1980s. It was still taboo, and frowned upon, and that source of closeted behavior led to this interesting dialogue in a lot of underground art at the time, where that sense of alienation from the main stream was the connecting factor amongst the artists. I could relate.

Having known since I was 3 or 4 that I was queer, and 'different,' I knew my life would potentially be very challenging. I had no clue how my life would materialize, and the ways in which certain specific challenges would manifest, but I knew I was an outsider, and always would be.

Years ago, I dated a woman who was getting a double masters in Deaf Studies and Queer Studies at Gallaudet University. Her thesis focused on the theme of "chosen families" versus our actual biological families, since queer and trans children often come from hetero-normative parents, and many deaf people are born of hearing parents. It was an interesting comparison. She'd bring me to special events at the school, and then proceed to ignore me – something she later on acknowledged was intentional, to make me feel as alienated as many deaf people do in a hearing world. Having felt that way my whole life, I didn't need some woman trying to make me feel more alone in the world.

But I think of all of this now, on the eve of seeing my hetero-normative family, and thinking about this sense of alienation I have always experienced, even with them. And how I didn't realize it until just now, that I have subconsciously been looking for that one person in the universe that makes me feel at home with them – who makes that eternal sense of alienation dissolve right before my eyes. That one person who can melt this cold, cold heart of mine. A person with whom I can start my own family, and know that I belong there. (Well, until my kids are teenagers, and make everything feel awkward, awful and unwanted... Heh.)

I had hoped that this last person I dated could have been the one to feel like home. After we broke up I started to understand how much of what I wanted to feel with someone else had to begin with me. Gandhi said something like: "Be the change you wish to see in the world," and I think that sentiment can be extended. I think I need to be the home I wish to find in the world, the family I wish to create.

In the past, I think I struggled with this fractured, broken feeling I have always had. Many of us seem to turn to romantic relationships in hopes that they will make us feel whole, and heal the long standing wounds we've suffered. I can honestly say that I'm not looking to be rescued, or for that person to come and save me. For once, I've seen all the work I've done to save myself, and I'm finally feeling relieved knowing that whatever comes next will be free of some of these anchors that kept me stuck in this broken past.

I'm looking forward to some new adventures! And away we go ~

AOM: What to Expect From Women

2009-12-21T10:42:00.000-08:00

(Click on this title to read the full article from The Art of Manliness, titled: "What Can Manly Men Expect of Women?")

Check out this article from The Art of Manliness. Pretty interesting stuff!

The Fugly Truth

2009-12-21T08:59:00.000-08:00

While recuperating from my rough day last night, I watched that cheese-ball battle of the sexes flick "The Ugly Truth." It was predictably predictable, and the same schlock they've been dishing out for the past 20 years on the subject of designated gender roles in contemporary society. The successful, career-focused woman wants the man of her dreams, while the man of her nightmares tells her how to win over the handsome, coiffed doctor she's been eyeing. She then has to face the fact that taking the ruffian's advice to land the hott doctor meant that she inadvertently became a caricature of the ultimate woman (in stereotypical man land), and would be forced to ask if that perfect man could love her for just being herself. Don't worry, this point is so glossed over, I'm not ruining any of the mystery!

I also watched that movie "The Proposal" with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds, while battling my cabin fever with horrible films, a dust buster, and Clorox wipes. (Admittedly, I watched that one to catch a glimpse of Betty White, who stole the whole show. Repeatedly!) This was yet another of the same thematic approach featuring a woman who seemingly has it all that needs just that *one more* thing to be complete... It's been tough watching this kind of fluff, and wondering where I fall on the gender divide.

Sure, I've dated women who were successful, powerful, wealthy, who seemingly had it all... And sure, I've sometimes felt eclipsed by their power, success, and popularity. But it would make me too nervous to sum all of that up in some overly simply sexist paradigm, and throw a movie title on it. So, what is the point?

It got me to thinking: Why do we keep coming back to these kinds of themes? What is it that we are examining here? What is it that still rolls onward, unresolved? That we, as a society, don't know what to do now that women have won their supposed equality to men? (I say "supposed" because there are clearly still many inequalities between the sexes, and the genders.) Or that we are just as clueless now about dating and attraction as we ever were?

I studied screen writing for a time, and acknowledge that there are only seven story lines that act as the substantive foundations in narrative films. That said, it is the flourishes, the nuances and twists to those seven foundations that make films memorable and unique. But only having seven narrative archetypes reveals that these are the prime conditions of the human psyche. (And by "prime" I mean can only be reduced down to itself, as in prime numbers. Not like "highly selective," say when we are referring to a prime piece of meat.)

When we think about how much time has passed since the Feminist movement of the late 1960s-1970s, or since women held down men's jobs during World War II, or the Suffragists' movement before that, or even since women were burned at the stake from rising fear of witch craft and heretics – are we any closer to unraveling the enigma of gender, and how we should interact with one another?

At one point in American history, the Irish were labeled as a sub-race in this country. The Italians, too. There were dozens of cultural slurs to reinforce their lesser-than stature. Several decades have passed, and we wouldn't even fathom that these two ethnicities were once deemed their own races in our fair nation. It has genuinely disappeared from our cultural radar, with no residual traces for later generations to contest.

Is it plausible to one day imagine that there will no longer be such emphasis placed on the great gender divide? Or that equality will truly exist, and the differences between (or amongst if you don't believe in polarity of masculine versus feminine) the genders will be merely superficial, and just for funzies?

With so many social scientists, biologists, neurologists, human genome experts, historians, cultural critics, self-help authors, talk show hosts, and play writes focusing on this stuff – how the hell are we *still* so fucking oblivious, and bashing our heads on the same societal road blocks?

I'm so confused. And clearly, I'm not the only one.

Snowpocalypse Now

2009-12-20T18:47:00.000-08:00

(This was the view from my front door this morning.)

I've been having one of those days. D'ya know what I mean?

I'm not sure if you've heard about the roughly 16-18" of snow that fell in the DC metro area over the past two days. My newer car's "traction control" left me coveting my old Audi quattro, as my ass either slide all over the road, or worse yet, wouldn't budge at all. I took a "snow day" yesterday, and canceled all my client meetings, and proceeded to hang out with my dog while watching bad movies all day. Fighting the cabin fever, I obsessively cleaned my house, reorganized two dressers, my closet, my linens, bathed my dog, shoveled a walk way or two, and called it a day. A very productive day.

Cut to today. Overslept, woke up late for work, where I had to again cancel a few early client meetings due to inclimate weather, but couldn't figure out what to do with myself. So, I decided to shovel the newly fallen snow for a few hours. It was a good work out, one desperately needed after not having been to the gym in a few weeks. And it gave me a lot of time to think.

I have the house to myself, my dog has been super chill, and I've gotten so much shit done. It felt great. And slowly these thoughts crept into my head, remembering times with this woman, or that one. Remembering how it felt to have a girlfriend, to actually live with someone, and share in that domesticity. Thinking about how much I have changed in a relatively short period of time, and yet haven't truly put myself to the test to see if any of these newer renditions of myself hook the right person. Huh.

As the afternoon progressed, I forced myself to stop canoodling, and forge on ahead with my last few client meetings. One was for the lesbian power couple mentioned several posts ago. They gave me an incredibly generous holiday bonus, a very expensive bottle of champagne, a card that said how much they "love (my) visits, and love (me)," and both kissed me farewell upon my departure. Damn!

Foolishly, I then tried to kill some time, and proceeded to get a $25o parking ticket while ducking into a CVS for 7 minutes. Apparently I was temporarily parked on a main thoroughfare, which was deemed a "snow emergency route." Awesome! After that, I was so pissed, I couldn't find parking at the next client's place, and ended up getting lodged atop a small iceberg, stuck again. This is doubly embarrassing since I come from New England, and often mock mid-Atlantico's for their bullshit driving in the winter. My ego was badly bruised with this new suck mobile.

When I eventually got myself deployed back home, everything seemed just a bit off. Cranky now as ever, I am trying to read the signs that all of these annoyances might be trying to tell me. But what? What do these signs represent – what signals missed?

Or... Is synchronicity a load of crap? Was Carl Jung wrong? Was Sting just abusing it to sound like an enlightened pop-star douche bag? Why do things *have* to mean something? Can't a bad day just be a bad day? Can't I just be an idiot for following the sixty or so other cars when I parked on that main drag, and not finding any "snow emergency" signs in sight?

Now, I'm not saying that getting deserted on the repeated ice caps of DC prompted me to move to Honolulu. No. And I'm not mulling over which insanely over sized SUV with four wheel drive should be sitting in my drive way come Jan 1st. Again, not so much. But if this really was an apocalyptic snow storm, then shouldn't there be some revelatory "come to Jesus" epiphany?

Even as this rough day passes, I yearn for something bigger, something more significant. Maybe that handful of Advil and this heating pad for my aching back (you know, it's true when they tell you to bend with your knees...) is distracting me from my a-ha moment.

What to do, what to do... I'm itching to break through this inertia, and crack these cement slippers I've found myself wearing. Where's my pick axe? I'm going Cool Hand Luke on yer asses!

Thunder Snow

2009-12-19T06:21:00.000-08:00

Have you heard about this??? I live in DC, and yesterday all of the meteorologists kept throwing around the term "Thunder Snow." WTF? Apparently, they believe that this 8" to 400 million inches of snow we might be getting today could possibly bring some thunder with it. They are calling it "Thunder Snow." Great!

It's good to know that the up and coming 'next generation' of meteorologists are actually younger than me, and were psyched to start coining new weather terminology based on their favorite cartoons growing up. Next week will be the "Smurfy Tsunami," and the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Tornado" ripping across Kansas, taking out only the evil megalomaniacs, petty criminals, and alien invaders. (Honestly, I had no clue what the TMNT's did. I had to look it up on Wikipedia to see if they were good guys or bad guys. Huh.)

It looks beautiful outside, but considering that I have to leave the house for a few client visits today, I am a little nervous about getting around in this downright lazy city when it comes to their inclimate weather upkeep. DC duct tapes a few orange plastic shovels to the front of two trash trucks, and call it their "winter weather maintenance crew." Nice, guys... Nice.

I grew up in New England, went to college in Vermont, where it snows nine months out of the year. One would think that being exposed to that much snow constantly might increase the risks of accidents and such by the residents of said snowy northern villages. It snows like twice a year here, and never as heavily or badly as in New England, and the whole city shuts down. You'd think that having ample time to prepare for precipitation the other 340 days of the year might give DC a head start. But no... The federal government shuts down, the entire metro area juts into a tizzy, and people flock to stores to buy out necessities like cookies and magazines.

(I ran into my next door neighbor last night before the snow started and we got to chatting it up about the incoming storm. She asked if I was "getting ready" for the snow, as she was toting all of these bags from Target. She seemed puzzled when I said I wasn't that phased by this stuff. To be honest, I was out trying to finish the last of my gardening that I had procrastinated for forever, with weeks of unending rain. I put down more mulch, cleaned up the last of the leaves, etc. She was the one who tipped me off to the Thundercats movement. While looking at the multiple bags she was carrying, I jokingly asked if she bought them out of milk and bread. "Hell, no! I went and bought booze, and considered buying a video camera to document this whole thing!" My kinda gal! Now I know where to go in the event of a *real* emergency! This is only a test. Had it been a real emergency...)

Speaking of ~ my ninny of a pit bull took one look outside, and rethought his need to frolic in this snow dunes of our backyard. While I was staring out trying to decipher just how many inches of snow had already fallen since 10pm last night, my wussy killer pup stood by my side, also staring out into the white, vast beyond... I looked down at him, ready to give him some totally concocted pep talk to rush us both down the back steps to relieve himself, and then run back inside. But I noticed he seemed shorter than usual. When I took a closer look, he had already decided to squat, and peed right there on my back porch. Fucker! I then had to figure out how to hose it down, mid snow storm. I'm getting that dog some Depends. Or a catheter.

Well, it's getting late, so I supposed I should be on my way! Wish me luck out there in this winter wonder-thunderthighs-snowcapped metropolis!

Loss.

2009-12-17T20:45:00.000-08:00

I don't know what to say...

For the first time in a really long time I am at a loss for words. Anyone who knows me, knows what a rarity that is, as I can ramble about anything. I don't want to ramble.

Three very close friends of mine all lost loved ones within the past few weeks. One lost her father unexpectedly from a sudden heart attack, one lost her grandmother (from complications related to a surgery that was intended to resolve her health issues), and the last lost her artist mentor (who was also her former boss, confidante, etc.).

I simply don't know what to say. Trolling around different stationary shops seeking out decent sympathy cards. Nothing seems to fit. How do we say the words that never sound quite good enough? How do we buy the cards we hope to never need? How can we extend a genuine flurry of our care?

Yes, I've been busy with work, but more than that, I am thinking through this idea of loss. My clients have been needing so much of me lately, and I have been spreading myself a bit too thin. An elderly client who keeps falling, and phoning me day and night to jump in and aid her with her daily tasks. Another whose husband travels for work, and I am the 'go to' guy. I barely have time to do anything, running around for everyone else. But I have time to think. Thinking non-stop as I walk their dogs, run their errands, try to get some semblance of my own life back in there somewhere. Thinking the whole time...

I feel inadequate.

Words are usually my solace. I take comfort in trying to craft the perfect string of phrases to represent all that takes up residence in this feeble mind of mine. I'm not saying that I'm a great writer – no. All I mean is that I like how much I really work at every attempt. I set up these rigorous challenges for myself everyday in hopes of pushing myself a little bit further past this threshold of comfort and ease. I want it to be difficult, to have writing feel like enough of a chore that it is always intentional.

And so, here I've been... In the dis-ease of a flooded mind, immersed in so many lead-heavy, anchoring thoughts about living, dying, and how it all functions in our lives. For several days I have been at this standstill, trying to cull one single idea from the pile to tease out a beginning.

I've missed writing, as it's clearly been my catharsis in the past. Anyone who is close to me has probably received her of his share of long, rambly emails from me. It's what I do. And when I don't have time to write those overly verbose missives, or these blog posts, it means something. It means that I am stuck. Not like I am paralyzed by fear or melancholy. No. In this case, I haven't had the time to find the stillness – to make the stillness – required for me to write. My mind is endlessly chattering away, and the distractions are infinite. I can now see the appeal of meditation. I can't do it myself, but I understand why folks are drawn to it.

Writing about my life not only helps me purge the grit from the day's events, but it helps me to define my life simultaneously as I write. Things crystallize, come into focus, and take shape as I type away. Not writing leaves things nameless, faceless, like molten blobs of raw thoughts. It can *feel* dangerous after a while.

So, not having written for days, makes this first stab feel useless.

Her father died, and I don't know how to make her feel better. This friend that was my only life line when things were the darkest in my life several years ago. We emailed and instant messaged my way through the multitude of sleepless nights when I felt the most alone. Now that she experiencing her own darkness, I wish that I could somehow swoop in and be that emotional nurse maid to her. And to my other two friends that have stuck by me in my most trying times.

I can't imagine writing about anything else right now, and yet I don't even know what to say here.

Despite death being inevitable, we are never prepared for its arrival. One friend had a few months to ready herself for her mentor's departure after his diagnosis and prognosis from a rare type of cancer. Then this other friend's father passed away in his slept from a sudden heart attack. There was no time to worry, to think about the probability of that kind of loss. And my third friend's experience falling in between those two poles of 'lead time' prior to a loved one's passing. This third friend's grandmother had been having recurring health issues that seemed very dire. Doctors suggested a surgery to hopefully rectify some of her ailments, but unfortunately, and horrifically, she didn't survive.

Even though none of us can escape death, why does it feel so personal when *we lose* someone so dear? Every loss feels so incredibly unique and previously explored. And the horrible sensation that the world does not stop when we lose that loved one. The busy-ness, the chatter, the mind numbing rudiments we still have to perform.

I'm just trying to find some of that stillness to get back to the middle. Wanna meet me here?

Runaway Bride?

2009-12-11T19:32:00.000-08:00

Um, I think I have a problem. Admittedly, I am a tad bit tipsy right now, so perhaps it's not the best time to write. That said, I just got back from a going away party for my neighbor, who used to seem to fancy me. She recently found a boyfriend, with whom she is moving across the country (somewhat simultaneously, and spontaneously), so a bunch of us got together to wish them farewell. At this huge table of two dozen people, beyond my neighbor and her new boyfriend, I had only met 1 other person in passing before this dinner. He, of course, was sitting as far away from me as possible in our seating configuration. This meant I had to do the unthinkable: I had to talk to strangers.

For those of you who know me, I can pretty much talk to anyone, but truly dread being in situations where I may not know folks. I'm *not* one of those people who goes up to strangers at a show or a bar and starts chatting them up. No. But I will politely engage if someone volleys a line of conversation my way. I'm good with asking insightful questions – it's the getting comfortable part that's tricky for me.

Anyway... I arrived a few minutes after everyone else sat down, so I had to politely accept the only open seat. It was next to a woman who lobbed a few comments my way. Overflowing with niceties, I tried my best to be sociable to these unfamiliar faces. This woman next to me kept going. I had to push myself past the smidge of discomfort to try to actually get to know this newbie sitting next to me. What I found out: Her name (Julie), her job (grant writer at the Jewish Community Center), her religion (Jewish), her diet (observes Kosher Law, and often eats vegetarian food to simplify meat with dairy conflict), is from "all over" (via: Midwest, high school in New Hampshire, college in Iowa), lives in Virginia, has been in the DC metro area for 5 years since graduating from school. Riiiight.

I tried to be polite. I tried to ask questions to other folks sitting at our end of the table. Namely, the guy sitting top her right. Apparently her fiance... Huh. He didn't seem particularly interested in me. Go figure. He'd sort of answers my questions with a brief, staccato response, and try to but back in to some other, more titillating conversation. But his fiance kept right on asking. Awkward.

It was somewhat strained for me, trying to be on my best behavior, and all the while, feeling watched by her man, and my neighbor. It felt a bit incriminating. Or better said: I felt a bit guilty.

See, I've been in this position before. I've innocently befriended women thinking we could "just be friends." Even if nothing 'happened,' it often interfered with the other relationships we might have been in at the time. (One woman dumped her long term boyfriend so we could move to the west coast together. Another woman dumped her boyfriend right after they moved in together. I don't want to be interference anymore. It's disrespectful of whatever connection existed before "we" met, and frankly, I don't want to be with someone who may feel distracted, or conflicted about being with me. I've been there, and it's no fun. But...

It felt kind of tough meeting this woman who wouldn't stop talking to me, as she was totally my type: Jewish, fiery, worked for a non-profit fighting the good fight, funny as hell, and apparently taken. Sad to think that might be one of the ingredients for being "my type." Sigh~

I asked the engaged couple about their wedding to come, and how they met to try to diffuse my attention. The guy stepped up and shared the story of how they came to date. He said that when they met she "had a little problem." Instantly I assumed it was coke, or meth... Maybe she was an alcoholic with a shopping addiction. Suddenly, she seemed even hotter! But no, her "problem" was the fact that she already had a boyfriend when she met her now fiance. Oh... , So, she dumped *that* boyfriend to start dating this guy??? Okay, don't get excited about that fact, as though it's the beginning of a pattern. And whatever I do, don't imagine her being a run-away bride at the altar to come running after me... Don't do it, buddy – just let it go.

Yet another woman residing across from me at our end of the table proceeded to ask: "So, like, what's up with your glasses?" I asked if there was an actual question in there that she'd like me to answer. She replied, "I mean, are you like a hipster, or something?!?" It took every ounce of restraint I had (after the many cocktails I'd already imbibed) to not launch into publicly teasing this dud of a guest. Luckily my amour de jour was out of ear shot when this went down. I was safe. Fucker.

Many of the folks from the dinner party were heading out to a bar for the second portion of the farewell celebration. I had to call it a night, since I've been fighting the battle against an emerging cold coming on, and I had to get up early the next morning. As I said goodbye to many of these strangers, we all sort of knew we'd probably never see each other again with the one friend in common moving to LA. But when this woman and I said goodbye, we both said we'd get each others' info from said common friend, and we'd keep in touch. I put out my hand for a hand shake (um, yes, I am a total and complete dork), and she looked down quizzically, and leaned in for a hug. Oh, okay, we're hugging now? We're friends that hug? I'm cool with that.

I drove home shaking my head at my behavior, that I somehow managed to have the only fully taken woman at the party hit on me. Awesome – I still got it! I'm still an asshole! This added to the fact that I spend hours a week chatting away during home visits for a client who just had a baby with her busy lawyer of a husband, it seems so incriminating now that I pass as a dude. Even though I have come to learn that it's maybe not so appropriate for me to be this emotionally available to women who are spoken for – when I try to slink away politely, it just seems to add to their attempts to get me to open up.

Then, mid sentence, I begin to realize that our level of connection might seem disrespectful to their other halves. I'm now some guy hanging around, cracking jokes and seeming mysterious by default. (That one client repeatedly told me the other day how funny she thinks I am. She said sometimes she'll be sitting there in the midst of some project, and randomly remember some witty one liner I threw her way days before, and she'd erupt with spontaneous laughing out loud. It's a sweet compliment, but one that obviously makes me nervous, given my guilty history.)

I swear, I'm trying to be on my best behavior, and not wreck any more relationships than I already have in my impulsive, passionate past. I'm really trying to be good, respectful, and mindful about how the rules have changed for me since my old gender switch-a-roo. Less like a seductive sweet talker, and more like an aloof CPA. But that *still* seems to reel them in... I can't win! When did accountants with social anxiety, dodgey eye contact, and a mild stutter become sexy? It must be the damn pheromones! Arg!!!

Somebody help me!

Psych

2009-12-11T06:55:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to psych myself up for some requisite holiday shopping. So far, it has lost its zeal. It's like 20º out, and I'm staving off a cold that one of my clients shared with me. Many thanks for their generosity this holiday season!

My family does this convoluted "Secret Santa" gift exchange thing, where instead of buying for every member of our extended family, we only buy gifts for the one name we drew out of a hat. Theoretically it seems simple enough, but we draw names for the next Christmas 15 seconds after we open this year's presents – but it's all supposed to be a secret, so we have to remember who we have for 364 more days. There are back up sealed envelopes to mail out if we forget who we have, and so on... And "wish lists" sent out to the entire family days before Christmas, so we can scramble to the nearest stores, or to our laptops in hopes of finding whatever traces might be left of their desired new goods. What a way to celebrate, instantly making us all frustrated and annoyed that my brother's suggestion to streamline Xmas gift giving, now has been commandeered and made all the more complicated!

I remember when Christmas used to be about my father and I decorating the tree, while my mother was on a marathon baking binge, and the entire house filled with the scent of six different kinds of cookies, apple pie, and cinnamon and sugar twists made for the extra pie crust dough. These days, it's more about trying to cross reference my brother and sister-in-law's travel schedule with my cousin and her husband, so we can zero in on a few days we may all be in the same place at the same time. Then worrying about finding coverage for work for the days I'm away, getting reservations for my crazy pit bull at his kennel, hoping a friend can feed my cat while I'm traveling, and the like.

I don't mean to sound like a Scrooge, but I miss the days when holidays were about the excitement of Christmas morning, wondering each wrapped goodie concealed under its veil of cartoon snowmen paper. It used to be infused with such hope and glee, as we couldn't wait to see what new favorite toy or necessity would be revealed to us.

As some of you might know, I *really* like giving gifts. I love trying to deduce what quiet inner yearnings that person may hold close to their chest, as if I had some secret decoder ring looking into their soul. I love giving gifts just because... But over-commercialized holidays that make us feel obligated to just get *stuff* makes me feel anxious and empty. Anxious because I am doing my damnedest to purge all of the extras that I don't really need anymore. Selling some of mid my century furniture, donating clothes that could be more useful to other people. I even had a tag sale to rid my home of house wares that were more of a hassle than they are worth. My boss has a rule that for everything one thing he buys himself, he needs to get rid of one item. Suddenly, I understand how those self-imposed rules come to pass.

Right now, feeling uninspired and no closer to the perfect gift ideas for my loved ones, I am resisting braving the cold to be just another consumer. Blech. (Plus, I'm distracted with Golden Girls being on. It's the episode about a local politician allegedly having an affair with Blanche while his wife's away. He turns out to have a secret punchline– that he used to be Anna Maria Bonnaduce, until his 'operation' in 1968, when *she* became a *he* – Gil Kessler. How's that for a bang?!? You gotta love this stuff! ~ I jokingly wanted to change my name to "Gil Kessler" as a nod to the girls, but I luckily came to my senses! I don't think I look like a "Gil.")

Anyway, back to the grind. Anyone wanna come with me for this shopping extravaganza? Safety in numbers?

Possible Side Effects

2009-12-09T19:13:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling a bit off today. Nothing bad happened, and I'm not sad or depressed. No, nothing like that. I think I'm just tired from my dog waking me up every few hours last night, and feeling somewhat alarmed by a notice I stumbled upon regarding possible side effects for a new med I started taking.

While at my General Practitioner's office a few weeks ago, I casually, and humorously mentioned my escalating concern over my thinning hair. Clearly, since I bring it up every other line on this damn blog, it's been kind of bugging me. My Doc teased me, telling me that I'm crazy, and that my hair is fine. Without wanting to sound combative, I mentioned how my friends have even been noticing as of late, especially since that reprint of that ad campaign I was in a year ago. Man, a lot can change in a year. (My "foot in mouth" Canadian friend told me that I "looked a lot younger and had a ton more hair" in that pic. Awesome! Are the Canadians still our allies?)

This Doctor has been with me from the beginning of my transition. He has seen it all unfold, and was the one who made it all possible. Not only that, but he made it approachable and dissected all of the various details and concerns for me. He's great, and I feel indebted to him, plus I generally like the guy.

So, when I mentioned my disappointment over losing my hair after a little over 3 years of being on T, he took me seriously, and suggested a few options. One of the possibilities was a script for Finasteride (aka: Propecia), to take daily. I remembered hearing in the past that it might cancel out some of the more desirable effects of the testosterone that I wouldn't necessarily want to lose. The age old conundrum of the lesser of the evils.

But seeing the possible side effects for Finasteride listed so blatantly today was a bit terrifying. They are as follows:

impotence (1.1% to 18.5%),
abnormal ejaculation (7.2%),
decreased ejaculatory volume (0.9% to 2.8%),
abnormal sexual function (2.5%),
gynecomastia (2.2%),
erectile dysfunction (1.3%),
ejaculation disorder (1.2%)
testicular pain
the potential risk of male breast cancer

Okay, most of those have absolutely *NO* relevance in my life, but here are the whoppers:

Propecia (and other products containing finasteride) causes a rise in testosterone levels, because testosterone that would normally be converted into DHT remains testosterone. Persistently higher levels of testosterone in the body could have negative psychological effects, such as impulsivity, aggression, irritability and depression.

Some users, in an effort to save money, buy Proscar instead of Propecia, and split the Proscar pills to approximate the Propecia dosage. Doing so is considered unadvisable if women of pregnancy age are in the household; this is because finasteride, even in small concentrations, can cause birth defects in a developing male fetus. The birth defects involve the development of male genitalia (no such effects have been noted in developing female fetuses). On most product inserts, it will be mentioned that the dust or crumbs from broken Proscar tablets should be kept away from pregnant women.

What the fuck??? How scary is this shit? Dust from broken tablets can't be around pregnant women because it will cause genital birth defeats in male fetuses??? Are you fucking kidding me?

Okay, the upswing is that my hair won't fall out as much, I might actual regain some of the already departed strands, and the med will even prevent problems with my prostate. Wait... The downsides are virtually everything else! Gynemastia ("man boobs") would seriously piss me off, after I paid like $8,000 to get that junk taken off the first time. (Sadly, as many less endowed friends kept asking if there could be a transplant arranged, as opposed to a plain old removal, since they were hoping to benefit from what I no longer needed...) The sexual side effects would be a bummer, but I'm single now, so it's not a deal breaker relationship-wise, at the moment. But the part about birth defects if pregnant women are near the tablets ~ that part is horrifying!

Not that I wanted to rush out and get pregnant, or hit up some women who are already preggers, but it's scary to think that I am ingesting something that is known to have those kinds of severe side effects. (((It makes me wonder about the underlying causes of transgenderism – if it is the result of some weird birth control pill my Mom had been on before she tried to get pregnant with me, or something weird like that...)))

Lately, I have been talking a lot about this desire to be able to have a family in the future. Knowingly sterilizing myself (albeit, temporarily) with the testosterone was challenging enough, fearing that I might fuck up my chances of having kids if I transitioned. (Meaning: I can't have my own kids biologically if I am on testosterone, and I am assuming that being trans might make adoption more difficult in certain parts of the country. So, I am pretty much dependent on having a child with a partner, which leaves me feeling really alone and vulnerable. Typically, I am the DIY kind of person. In this case, I can't DIM...)

There was something so liberating about taking T when I first started, knowing that I could stop at any point, and in the beginning, many of the changes brought on by the T would still be reversible. The deeper I get into my transition, and the less reversible many of these shifts in my physiology become, the more stuck and dependent I feel with regards to procreating. With the possibility that my brother (my only sibling) and sister-in-law might not have kids, it feels like there is this unspoken pressure on my shoulders to get down to business, and start this baby making to carry on our genes. So weird to think like that.

I think the fact that I turned 34 last week also has me unconsciously sizing up my life, and wondering what exactly I have done of worth since my last birthday, and what I have in the works. Being single with no prospectives on the horizon feels really strange, as I prematurely assumed that I'd be settled in by 24-25, and married with a few kids by my late 20s, early 30s.

It's so fucking odd that this little warning label for a preventative med for male pattern baldness threw me into this little muddled tizzy. It's always something, huh?

Relocation Program

2009-12-08T08:55:00.000-08:00

I feared I was losing my hair – seems as though it just relocated to my shoulders. Like a follicle relocation program, or a weeping willow planting roots where its branches fall... It's pretty gross, if not fascinating! Testosterone is a mysterious entity.

Don't worry, this isn't me – yet...

Make Believe

2009-12-07T05:57:00.000-08:00

I was driving the other day, and something came on the radio talking about "make believe." It's been a while since I used that term, and even longer since I really thought about it. Contextually, it's typically used as a synonym for 'fantasy,' as in "the land of make believe," where our weirdest and wackiest dreams seem to come to life. But when I thought about it more, it changed meanings right before my eyes.

I assumed that the term was reserved for all that we *pretended* to be real could take shape in our imaginations. But upon closer inspection, and perhaps too literal a translation, the term simply means: "to suspend one's disbelief, and assume that subject to be true, and accurate."

Here are some definitions for "believe" from dictionary.com:

–verb (used without object)

1. to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing so: Only if one believes in something can one act purposefully.

–verb (used with object)

2. to have confidence or faith in the truth of (a positive assertion, story, etc.); give credence to.

3. to have confidence in the assertions of (a person).

4. to have a conviction that (a person or thing) is, has been, or will be engaged in a given action or involved in a given situation: The fugitive is believed to be headed for the Mexican border.

5. to suppose or assume; understand (usually fol. by a noun clause): I believe that he has left town.

—Verb phrase
6. believe in,

a. to be persuaded of the truth or existence of: to believe in Zoroastrianism; to believe in ghosts.

b. to have faith in the reliability, honesty, benevolence, etc., of: I can help only if you believe in me.

In the past, I think I reserved the term "make believe" for things like snow fairies and woodland gnomes (not to be confused with tooth fairies, and garden gnomes), but I see it differently now. "Make believe" isn't just about wee creatures that we dream up in our childhood. We tell stories to work out whatever is unresolved in our lives in order to find consolation and resolution. As kids, maybe this takes shape in the form of Tinkerbells and hoot-in-nanny. But as adults, we use our stories to reinforce whatever linear narrative best suits our needs.

This past spring I became mildly obsessed with the collection of 80 essays from the NPR series called, This I Believe, (which was a reprise of the Edward R. Murrow series from 1952). It was pure genius to read the edited collection of dozens and dozens of beliefs held by famous authors, people of historical note, and even regular Joe's like me. I was captivated by the offerings of every single individual, and mesmerized by the vast differences in approach, tenor, and resounding foundations of each entry. There were some that provoked me into a new perspective on life, while others left me reading faster to get to the next chapter already. But each of these scribes left an indelible mark on me, ones on which I am reflecting now.

To ask me, "What do you believe?" it may take a while to formulate my response. While thinking of "make believe," I'd probably laugh away at my silly antics as a child, believing in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and boogie men under my bed. I was "made to believe" these things existed through the stories shared with me repeatedly over time. So, in short: this world of "make believe" is actually more confined to not only the details we can concoct from our multi-faceted minds, but of those details conjured up, the ones that convince us that they are plausible options to consider. There is an "assumability quotient" implied when talking about "make believe." How much evidence is required for us to assume the validity of the story spun out for us?

It was easy for me to believe in Santa Claus as a child because everywhere I looked in the many Decembers of my life were images of Santa plastered on every available surface. And my parents took painstaking efforts to confirm that he visited our living room every year by stomping out oversized footprints in soot on our antique oriental rug leading from our fireplace over to our Christmas tree, and the mammoth sized bite marks left in the carrots I'd left out for the reindeer. Yes, I was a sucker, but I prefer to see it more as a cultish brainwashing when my parents went so far to convince me since birth.

This is just what I mean: "Make believe" isn't so much about blind faith, but about the fragments of evidence we choose to acknowledge as sufficient. I could believe in Santa as a gift giving fat dude, who sloppily left footprints around my own personal living room because I saw it to be true. That seemed more realistic than believing that Jesus died for my sins, since I never met the guy, and it happened before I was even born. Why would he care about me?

As a child, asking relevant questions in my catechism class got me labeled as a heathen, and disruptor. (One example: I asked what the "H" in "Jesus H Christ" stood for, and Mother Superior was not amused. In my defense, I remember seeing Roman numerals on the crucifix at church, and wrongly assumed them to be Jesus's initial, as if the Romans monogrammed his cross before his ritualistic sacrifice, like it was a robe from L.L. Bean. I was seven! I thought it stood for like Henry, or Herbert, or something...)

My parents could *make me believe* in Santa because of their earnest and noteworthy efforts, while the Catholic Church was somewhat lacking in its command of corroborating evidence to plant the Jesus seed in my malleable little mind. Now that I think of it, if the church employed trial lawyers or politicians, maybe we'd all be buying more of what they are trying to sell. (Or they should hire my parents, who could muster up some modern day miracles and turn us all into believers!)

This all comes to mind now because I think part of being a worthy candidate in matters of love and romance implies that we can make people believe... Perhaps the most lovable person is simply the one who can make us believe in the things that we so desperately needed to be true. Things ranging from believing that we are in fact lovable, that we will find one person who promises to take care of us even at our most challenging times, one who will never stray despite a love that may wax and wane over a lifetime, and so on.

Maybe that is the reason it is considered "true love," because they make us believe in those formerly unfathomable, unattainable beliefs. They make us want to believe in the truth of love. And why we say someone is "the man/woman of my dreams" – because we can only dream of something so good and pure, when the reality is often fraught with struggles and defenses. How deflated do we feel when we think we may have found *the one,* to then only be let down when we find out that they are not as idealized as we had hoped? And how quick are we to be excited once again when the next candidate comes around, even more polished than the last? We want to believe, we yearn to believe it is possible to find that kind of true love.

Observing those who have found it simultaneously grants us faith that we may find our own versions of our perfect other half, and for those of us who haven't yet found her or him, bums us out that it is taking so damn long! But it never quells our drive, our pursuit, even when we may be too scared to actively admit we are still looking for that partner.

(Like me for instance, writing every spare moment I get, leaving me hermetic and solitary, ticking away at my laptop at home for hours a day. After signing up for an online dating account, I shied away, not knowing how to navigate that world as a transman now. Despite not getting myself out into the real world enough, and being a little intimidated by the virtual world, I still somehow – perhaps foolishly – believe that I will find my other half. Maybe I have already met her, or maybe it is this writing in my remote corner of the world that will introduce myself to her, or him... But I still believe, even if on the surface it may look like I have stalled in defeat. I still believe...)

So, to summarize: being the best spouse or lover means being part salesman, part defense attorney, part story teller, and part young at heart to imagine that despite all of the lifetime of evidence stating otherwise – we can still believe in love. That someone else can *make us believe* in love, in them, and their love for us. To me – that is the true definition of "make believe."

Side note:

2009-12-06T15:31:00.000-08:00

I guess I should mention that I'm not throwing cute little puppies down flights of stairs to be an asshole, since in my previous post I wrote that women go for assholes that are only nice to them. (not puppies...)

Just to clarify...

Super Dog

2009-12-06T14:07:00.000-08:00

Well, I don't mean it so literally!!!

As I have mentioned before, I manage the largest pet care service in Washington, DC. We take care of roughly 750 a week, primarily in only the Northwest Quadrant of the city, and a few blocks spilling into the Maryland suburbs. We have a staff of about 15-18 'walkers' at any given moment, and provide 24/7 coverage 365 days a year. The majority of my time, is spent focusing on marketing, advertising, low end design work, scheduling, hiring new staff, training new hires, and assisting with invoicing, once in a blue moon.

I also provide pet care services to some of our 'higher maintenance' clientele, to ensure their satisfaction with our company, god forbid one of our scruffy punk rock staffers makes them nervous. This often means that I find myself in *unusual* circumstances, sometimes caring for people who have undergone heart surgery, elderly people who are now too feeble to walk their own dogs, women 'too pregnant to move,' and the like.

Overall, I consider myself a relatively good care taker. I am pretty intuitive, sensitive, (insert ominous foreshadowing here ___), and when I override my instinctual shyness, I can even be quite gregarious. Most of our clients (over 2,000+) seem to like me, and enjoy chatting with me when they get the chance. Sometimes I still find myself a little tongue tied and stuttery when faced with someone I make out to be a bit intimidating.

Meet: The Power Lesbians.

Two of the remaining few clients I assist directly are what I refer to as "The Power Lesbians." They are two women, most likely in their 50s, who are an incredibly powerful and influential couple. One is a retired lawyer, while the other is a famous political journalist for televised news programs. (Yes, you would know her...) They make me nervous.

Both of these women are powerhouses not to be reckoned with, which of course, throws me into nervous spasms every time I approach their huge, minimalist, modernist mansion. Ugh! I feel anxious even thinking about it.

The *funny* part is that these women seem to adore me, and rave about how lucky they are to have me caring for their precious pets. (Again, with the foreshadowing...) They would say repeatedly how important it is for their two boy dogs to have some "positive male influence" in their lives. I thought they were joking, until one of them finally fessed up that their previous dog would passive aggressively pee around the house if a guy came over. Oh, they weren't joking! Anybody else find this hilarious, saying this kind of shit to ME?!?

Just yesterday, the lesbian lawyer (think of Jane Lynch from Glee and Best in Show), praised me for almost a half hour, raving about my meticulous attention to every detail her dogs need. While I was readying myself for an awkward exit, she stood silently, with her "math face" on, as though she was cornered with a new exhibit right before her final cross examination.

PL: "Will, I was wondering if there is anything that you want for Christmas." (Notice, this was a statement, not a question.)

Will: "Um – no, no, no...! There's nothing I need, and these guys are so much fun to be around, it's a joy to see them." (Did I even answer her question in there?)

PL: "Well, I wanted to get you something special you might like as a 'thank you' for taking such great care of our boys. But I didn't want to get you something you didn't want, so I was thinking I'd just give you a check. I know – it's so gauche, but that way you can get what you'd like."

Will: "Really – these boys are so great, I don't need anything. But I appreciate your gesture."

She wouldn't accept my deflection, and persisted. I knew I didn't have a chance against the Power Lesbians, so I acquiesced.

Fast forward to today: I was feeling a little under the weather, literally, as it was 30º and incredibly windy, but otherwise okay. I arrived to their homo-mansion to only find the older of their two dogs, but mysteriously, it sounded as though someone might be rustling around upstairs. (Note: I would *never* go upstairs in the lesbian lair. Nope, never, nunca!)

I took the one dog down to the nearby park (which I have to drive the dog to get there, btw!), and upon returning, found Jane Lynch's doppleganger cavorting with the younger pup. She asked me to take the little guy out to the back yard to let him pee, and reminded me that I didn't need a leash. Meanwhile, she walked the older dog down to their renovated basement, and told me to follow with the pup in my arms. As we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the little westie pup decided to completely launch himself out of my arms in an attempt to catch his Mom. This wriggling made me nervous, and I tried to get a good handle on him, with no avail, and through the air he leapt. It was like some slow motion multi-angle action shot in a blockbuster thriller – About a westie pup... It was awful!

Watching the dog mid-air, I freaked out, and tried to catch him, with no luck. He hit the ground, causing his little stubby white legs to buckle under him, and he belly flopped on the hard, ceramic tiled floor, bumping the very chin that she just told me last weekend might have a rare bone spur on it. Awesome! (Had I used the leash like I *had* been doing, this wouldn't have happened... Why did she tell me not to take it???)

I almost threw up.

She looked at me, as we both scurried to comfort the little guy who seemed completely unfazed. He was fine. I was the one in pain. The awkwardness and distress of having to sit there with the owner holding back her accusatory rants, and inflammatory tone. I was partly impressed that she didn't totally lose it on me, but I also felt so guilty and ashamed, I wanted to slink away and leave the key under the mat.

The Power Lesbian examined the little guy, as we both stared at him in concern, and she generously mentioned that this same exact thing happened to her a few weeks earlier, and not to worry. That's all I could do, imagining that his bone spur has broken off, and is now traveling freely inside his mandibular cavity.

I took him out in their back yard, where he frolicked carefree, diving into the still pristine white snow snout first. After what seemed like 18 dog years, the Power Lesbian joined me outside to rush things along, as she needed to head out to an event. I wanted to dive into the snow snout first as well, hoping to dive deep enough to disappear entirely. She tried to make me feel better still, and asked if I was still coming back tomorrow for their two visits while she will be away at a family funeral. Was I still allowed? Was I fired? She thanked me for my help, and told me to "take good care of the boys tomorrow." I think she meant: "take BETTER care of my boys tomorrow."

Just in case you were wondering: Dogs apparently can fly, it's the landing part they aren't so good at... Ugh, so much for being that sensitive, caring, positive male influence this dog needed! Jeez...

The Apartment

2009-12-05T16:34:00.000-08:00

I must apologize in advance: I know I just posted an entry about Shirley MacLaine not too long ago, with Sweet Charity and Irma La Douce, but The Apartment is on, and I can't help it! It just happens to be one of my all time favorite films. Have you ever seen it?

Jack Lemmon plays C.C. Baxter, a mid-level accountant in a huge firm, with several of the executives utilizing Baxter's Manhattan apartment for mid-week trysts with 'girls' from the office. These execs hide their infidelities from their wives by pretending to have banquets, meetings and other such work commitments to sneak away from their expecting families. Baxter has a crush on the Shirley MacLaine character, Fran Kubelik, who is the elevator operator at that commercial high rise.

The conflict is that Baxter has a crush on Ms. Kubelik, who is seeing the big boss, Mr. Sheldrake, played by Fred McMurray, who plays an amazing asshole in this gem. But *that* guy is married, and a notorious playa, (I know, insane to think of Fred McMurray, from My Three Sons, as a stud, right?!?) who keeps repeatedly breaking Ms. Kubelik's heart, despite her repeated attempts to get over him. A few twists and turns, in the grand style of Billy Wilder, and you have yourself one great film.

I remember catching this on cable for the first time as a young teenager, and being completely dumbfounded about how overt they were about the sexism and promiscuity in the early 1960s. This was the original Mad Men. Seriously! Everyone smoked at the office, had amazing style and grace, the furniture was impeccable, leaving me coveting a few mid centuries sofa sets, and all of the secretaries (yes, they still called them that back then), and switch board operators (yes, once upon a time *real people* operated telephone networks), all spoke with that totally affected New Yorkie nasally twang, wore cat eye glasses and leopard print coats.

As much as I would love to pretend that the relations between the sexes have improved since this film was shot, maybe the only real difference is the implied sense of... Wait, no, that's not different either. Maybe there is no change. People still cheat, still make up excuses for why it happens, still cover for other people's infidelities, and so on. Which begs to ask: Is this just the human condition?

A good friend of mine and I were talking about the subject of cheating, and she said she would never cheat on her current boyfriend, but had admitted to having trysts while with previous partners. She said the difference is that she knows her current partner would just leave, no questions asked. Even when problems arise between the two of them, she can tell herself that every relationship will have its challenges, and instead of straying, she'd prefer to stick around and work it out. She kind of joked by saying that she doesn't really feel like she can slack off in this relationship since he always seems just out of reach, and she really has to work for it.

Her boyfriend made a comment that I found shocking, especially after watching The Apartment. He said that she only likes him because he's a dick. She sort of winced, and asked him what he meant. "Women think they like the nice guys, but the truth is, they really only like the assholes who are nice to *them.* It makes them feel special. They never go for the guys that are nice to everyone. It just wouldn't work."

Huh... Ms. Kubelik's line echoes in my head: "Why can't I ever fall for a nice guy like you?"

Is this true ladies? If so, I've got some bad habits I need to be developing...

Snow Day

2009-12-05T15:10:00.000-08:00

The bad part of managing a pet sitting company is that you don't really get to telecommute for the pet visits themselves. Today was the first snow day of the season. It was gorgeous, cold, and made me nostalgic for my childhood in New England. I watched a father bring his two kids to this park, and try to go sledding down these modest knolls. It was really endearing, and made me yearn for the innocence and exuberance that is mostly found in our youth.

There is a part of me that feels somewhat dislocated. Watching that father with his kids, and feeling like I am stuck somewhere in between those two roles, perhaps permanently. Even though that particular dad might only be a few years older than me now that I've turned 34, I fear that I will always appear adolescent.

The other day a newer friend of mine mistakenly assumed that I was older than my brother. She said that I always take care of things, that I have my shit together, and end up taking a lot of people under my wing. It sounded so strange to me, as I feel like I have "little brother" emblazoned on my forehead. Everything about me seems like it was formulated as a reaction to having an older brother. Things like my paralyzing shyness, my fleeting insecurities, my yielding nature. Even the testosterone can't completely override that foundation of being a younger sibling.

My childhood seems so far away now. Yet fatherhood seems equally far, not to mention daunting. I'm left wondering when I'll ever look my age, and how to grow into it.

The spectacle of it all...

2009-12-04T16:38:00.000-08:00

I think I forgot to mention how I was basically heckled at my own birthday party. A bunch of folks mentioned that they liked my new specs, and we got to chatting. My old roommate, Michael, who was in attendance, just purchased the same small indie brand (Moscot), the same style (Nebb), but got the Olive color I was considering for sunglasses. It was humorous because he and I own many of the same exact clothes, apparently have similar taste in women (insert nervous cough here ____), and now have the same eyewear. Man, I guess there is something to that demography stuff, egh?

Next thing I knew, everyone at my party wanted to try on my new specs. (I guess I should mention here that I am very defensive about my horrible vision. In third grade I accidentally looked at the sun with high powered binoculars when trying to look at a visible full moon in the middle of the afternoon. In my elementary science class we were studying the planets, hence my astronomical interests. But while scanning the sky, I briefly bypassed the sun, and literally could not see for three minutes. I'm no Opthamologist, but... It may not be a coincidence that within weeks, I began wearing spectacles. My vision has gotten worse since then, with an especially bad astigmatism. A stigmata?!?)

So, as my friends tried on my specs, each and every one of them made comments about how bad my vision is... Uh, duh! I've already admitted that fact, so do we need to continue? Apparently, they did. Every fucking one. Thanks, guys! Happy fricken birthday to me!

After they finished mocking my impaired sight, somehow they switched over to the topic of my car. My friend Danni started going off about how much she misses my Audi, and how I really made a mistake when I opted to downgrade with the current economy. All of my friends went off about how 'special' they felt when I'd come to pick them up in my Audi A4 Quattro, and how much the heated leather seats spoiled them rotten. My new car has heated leather seats, a Bose six speaker sound system with a six cd changer, an auxilary tuner to synch to my iPhone, etc. But it's not my Audi...

I felt like I was wearing a "kick me" sign. WTF? My 34 birthday party turned into a spontaneous roast. God, no wonder why I'm single. With friends like these...

Birthday Hangover

2009-12-03T20:21:00.000-08:00

Don't worry, this isn't me! No intervention needed!

Yesterday was my birthday, and I am still 'feeling' the lingering celebration. One of my best friends in DC was very sweet and took me out to lunch yesterday. After that, I had a small gathering at my house in the evening for cocktails and cake. It was a blast, as the guests stayed til 2am, despite the pouring rain and the fact that my birthday fell on a school night.

Over 60 people wished me a happy birthday on Facebook, dozens of folks texted me their well wishes, and a few handfuls of people called me. I heard from all of these wonderful friends from a millions different facets of my life. It was so unexpected to see that many people want to send me their best wishes for my day. It was incredibly flattering, and I hope it may be catalogued and stored in my databanks the next time I feel particularly lonely and mopey. (It reminds me of that quote from Garrison Keilor: "They say such nice things about you at your funeral, it makes me sad to think that I'll miss mine by just a few days.") Ya, kinda like that. It was pretty sweet...

Speaking of sweets, I haven't really been eating much of them. I've tried to quit sweets altogether, and only eat salads and protein, but then my birthday came around. My mom sent her amazing brownies, and her world famous carrot cake (which got me a girlfriend in college – no fucking joke! Even she wished me a very happy birthday yesterday!) I didn't drink that much, and curbed my sugar cravings pretty well, but forgot that I had an early morning client meeting this morning when seeing my guests out at 2am last night. Fuck! I woke up exhausted and haggared, (but not as badly as this guy in this pic!) and *still* made it to work on time. Phew!

Even more friends called me today, and my downstairs neighbor took me out to dinner as a belated celebration. She's really peppy, and has always been super nice to me me. I think for a while she seemed to imply that I may have been the kind of guy she was interested in dating. (How much more can I dilute that statement???) But it always struck me as ironic that this uber-All American girl may have liked me because I seem to be the perfect boy next door.

(My belated birthday dinner: the world's largest *pumpkin* pizza... It's actually trick photography, like the Lord of the Rings dudes.)

A few months back she started dating this new guy, who seems pretty cool. Things are working out for her, and the two of them are simultaneously moving out to southern California somewhat randomly. We talked a great deal about where we've been emotionally, and how we're both so curious about where these turns of events might be leading us. She leaves in about a week, and I'm actually kind of sad that she's moving so far away.

The two of us used to hang out a bunch, on what I'd consider "accidental dates." It was perfect in some ways, as we'd talk incessantly about whatever dates we'd gone on with other people, and commiserate about the crap we'd experienced. I feel like I learned a great deal about how to be based on those "unofficial dates," and our running commentaries. I'm scared that I'll lose not only a fun friend who lives in the hood, and is always up for hanging out, but I'll also lose her candid, snarky feedback that was so helpful. I really am happy for her, and wish her the best.

But I got some other big, shocking calls (and texts) over the past two days. One of my good friend's grandmother passed away unexpectedly right after Thanksgiving, and my heart broke for her family. And today another friend called to say that she missed my party because she was hit by a driver in the rain last night while she was stopped at a red light on her Vespa. So insanely scary! A third friend accidentally hit a pedestrian yesterday, who luckily was not seriously injured. And a fourth friend called for my birthday greetings, and then casually mentioned her little sister, (whom I've known for about 18 years), is six months pregnant, and got married in September. What's odd is that I've talked to this friend many times in the past six months. What??? How did we miss talking about that?

With so much happening in the world: more troops being deployed, the health care debate causing such a ruckus, so many people struggling with foreclosures and potential homelessness during this winter holiday season, people losing their loved ones, friends getting into vehicular accidents – I just wish we could have some universal, world-wide moment of silence to stop all the busy-ness, and just be still. It wouldn't necessarily stop the wars, or lessen how much we miss our loved ones, but the fact that we are literally crashing into each other violently from our distractions, some quiet stillness may help us regroup.

Feeling somewhat 'blessed' (and I never use that damn word) to have had so many friends focus on me for even a brief moment, I have *received* all of those good tidings. I guess part of me just naively hopes everyone could feel that same sense of protective insulation, if they could be the focal point of that kind of collective intension. I wish everyone could feel that lucky. (And that the gynormous pumpkin pizza could feed world at the same time!)

Thanks for making me feel like the luckiest boy in the world, pizza or not.

My Birthday...

2009-12-02T05:08:00.000-08:00

Today is my birthday. I am 34 today, which seems so odd to me, as I still feel like I am in my early 20's, and look like a teenager. Well, except that my hair is turning gray, thinning, and I have laugh lines that really aren't so funny. But other than that!...

It's a little after 8am here, and I am still sleepy. My dog keeps waking me up between 3-4am to go out, and my cat keeps scratching at my door in the middle of the night if she fears she's running low on food, or just needs attention. Which begs to ask: Why did humans decide to domesticate animals in the first place? And how did I get stuck with a neurotic, aggro pit bull, and a feral, feisty black cat, for bad luck? Awesome! So, ya – a little sleepy today.

I used to have this ridiculous theory as a kid that the kind of weather you had on your birthday reflected the kind of person you were. As I got older, I realized that my theory was based on the kind of weather I witnessed where I am, regardless of where the birthday boy/girl resides. Funny. Apparently I am "overcast" then, if we're going by the immediate standard of weather outside.

All of these people have been asking me what I want for my birthday. As much as I really love giving gifts, I don't get as hung up on receiving gifts. As I always say in my birthday invitations: "No presents, just presence," since people sharing their time with me is the best gift I can receive. (Unless they are cranky assholes, who only go on and on about how shitty their lives are, and then "sharing" becomes unnecessary!)

But between friends asking me what I want for my birthday, and having to come up with suggestions for bday/Xmas presents for my family, I have really been thinking about what I want. I thought it would be good to write them down here, to put them out into the universe and help them materialize. They are as follows:

What I want for my birthday:

A beard! (And no, I don't mean a faux wife, for my gay boy ass...)
The new iPhone 3GS with video (so, I can be a complete dork and post videos to this here bloggy.)
A new operating system for my laptop, to better sync with my hypothetical new iPhone
An Audi A5... My favorite new car
World Peace (yes, I am a materialistic douche bag for putting it 5th on my list)
A hair transplant (yes, it's true. sigh~)
A new "operating system" for my neurotic, aggro pit bull, so he can permanently be as cute and cuddly as he is with me alone
Time and money to go travel around all of the oldest centers of Europe
To get three articles published by spring
A 10' ladder to seal the leaky skylight in my bedroom, and change the burned out light bulb in a light fixture in the upstairs hallway of my house, that some complete moron affixed over the stairwell, roughly 8' off the ground. WTF?
A leaf blower. (Yes, apparently I've become just that bourgeois)
Did I mention a beard? (Don't you think I'd look really good with a beard? Waiting for this second puberty to go full steam ahead already...)
To fall head over heels in love, and have it work out this time. Yep. Lucky 13...

(And maybe have Amy Sedaris personally deliver me cupcakes, while Amy Poehler waves some Happy Birthday banner, while they both sing me some wacky version of "Happy Birthday" to me. Is that too much to ask???)

Obviously, there is nothing that I really need this year. I feel pretty lucky to honestly have most of what I really want in life already. Sure, having a nice, well-groomed, full beard would rock the party, but otherwise, I am really content for the first extended time ever. I feel truly grateful for having such a wonderful network of friends and family that already started sending all of the warmest birthday wishes my way. Thanks everyone, and let's hope the sun breaks for at least a fleeting moment, so I can shake this self-induced reputation of being "overcast" from this birthday weather!

Much love, and many thanks! All the best ~Always, Will

Head in the...clouds?

2009-12-01T19:56:00.000-08:00

Have you ever felt like this? (((I like his little toes...))) This is kind of how I feel today. I had a great day, but it was a whirl wind. A small gaggle of my favorite people called me today to check in, which was really great to get caught up finally. I also did several hours of landscaping at my house, in preparation for my big birthday party tomorrow night. I think I've invited about 85 people, so any more than 13 will be a pleasant surprise. Trying to get ready. I've got about 4 simultaneous "to do" lists to ensure I won't forget anything. Inevitably, I will.

Invited friends via email. Check. Invited friends via Facebook. Check. (Which took me far too long to decipher how to set up an event. Man, I'm dum.) Swept front porch and front step, removed like 372 lbs of wet leaves from the front and back yards, repotted and replanted dozens of plants in front garden. Check. Hired my illegal alien - Canadian artist friend to recaulk two of my bathrooms. Check. Um – isn't there supposed some talk about party necessities, like booze and snacks? Ya. Hopefully I'll get around to that.

It was just such a gorgeous day, finally having the sun back after weeks of rain and dreary gray skies. The barometric tension seemed to break just in time for the the metaphorical clouds to part, as well. One of the phone calls I received was from the last person I seriously dated, who lives a time zone away. There had been several months of radio silence between us, so the call was unexpected, to say the least. It was great to get the chance to chat, and hear about each others' lives, as we had been friends for years before we tried to date one another. It was tough to feel like that friendship might have been threatened when our romance fizzled. I was bummed, to say the least.

In many ways, that relationship was one of the most defining moments in my life. It was that connection that made me realize that I wanted to step up and be a productive, successful, balanced adult. I think when I was younger, it was kind of sexy to be the mellow-dramatic fuck up, the bad boy. Then I hit a certain age, and realized that you're just a douche for still carrying on like some narcissistic, anxiously bratty child. Being dumped was the wake up call that I needed to get my shit together, and start living the life that would make me proud to claim as my own.

Being in that relationship made me want to be a better man. I've never truly felt that before. I was ready to raise the bar. I think in the past, I was too invested in trying to run away, or trying to defensively deflect responsibility for the bad choices I was making. But I finally saw myself objectively, and knew instantly that I had to step up and change what was sabotaging my life. I feel really proud of the person that I've worked so hard to become since that break up. And it felt great to be able to acknowledge what I've learned, and be able to put those ghosted flickers of guilt and shame to rest. To be able to hear us both say that we learned so much from each other, that it was significant, and that we've been missed by the other. So unexpected, and just plain nice to hear. No pretense, no defenses, no bullshit. What a great way to lead into my birthday.

Perfect.

And one of my favorite friends from college called, my best friend made her near-daily calls to check in, chatted for a while with an artist friend/client about her upcoming show in NYC later this week. Got home to find a bunch of folks already posting birthday greetings on my Facebook page. To be honest, I was a little nervous that this birthday was going to suck, as they seem to be super fun, or super sucky. Last year's birthday was one of my favorites of all time. Understated, simple, but exactly what I wanted. Brunch with the aforementioned ex ("pre-ex'ing"), spa treatments with one of my best friends in DC, a wonderful "dress up" dinner at the Tabard Inn with my gal-pal, and then a celebration with all of my closest friends at home with my Mom's famous carrot cake. Simply dreamy.

Looking forward to having a low key birthday this year, and having some time to reflect. I'm ready to celebrate with my friends, and letting it be what it is.

Thanks for already making it a good one!

Sorta Funny People

2009-11-27T19:53:00.000-08:00

Did you happen to see that movie Funny People? I caught it last night over at my friends' place after Thanksgiving dinner. I knew that it dealt with Adam Sandler's character being diagnosed with cancer, and that he worked as a comedian. Knowing only those two details left me in the dark about whether it was going to be funny, or a complete bummer. Needless to say, it wasn't that funny, but it kind of struck an unexpected chord with me.

The short of it is: Adam Sandler's character was told that he is dying, and he tries to reconnect with the love of his life, who's since moved on... She had gotten married and had two kids with her husband, played by Eric Bana.

I didn't really care about any of the plot lines, but I started to think. Am I gonna be that guy? Am I going to hit my 40s, and be filled with regret? Will I resent the fact that I didn't properly fight for the one who had my heart?

For a movie that didn't really have much to say, it sure made me think. God, I don't want to be that guy.

Thanks-taking

2009-11-26T11:31:00.000-08:00

(How amazing is this image? Man alive, it's like a Christmas miracle, but at Thanksgiving, and not really Godly. But otherwise...)

Today is Thanksgiving, (and also my friend Jason's birthday). There is so much talk giving thanks for all of the wonderful things in our lives, but to me, it seems more like 'thanks-taking.'
Taking in all of the gratitude we show this one day out of the year. (Really, just one stinkin' day? Yes... Just one little day.)

If you are reading this blog, then I probably know you in some capacity. I want to thank you for taking the time to see what stoopid antics I'm chattering about now. It means a lot to see how many people have stopped in since I started this project in mid-September. I have gotten so much feedback, and so many offline comments of reaction to what certain entries made the readership think. Writing in this sphere is a very strange endeavor, as I don't totally have a clue to who may see what I am putting out there in the world. I am writing for the sake of writing, which can sometimes be insanely self-indulgent, and at worst, just plain drivel. Thanks for sticking with me, and for those of you who have shared your thoughts with me. It's nice to know that there are folks out there, still dropping by.

So, in the spirit of this holiday, I will spew my own list of gratitude:

I am thankful for the opportunity to live this life as honestly, genuinely, and openly as I can. I am so ridiculously grateful that I have the chance to explore all of my crazy ideas, be it transitioning, writing this silly blog, walking a million dogs, or crushing out on some cute girl ~ it's been a great life!

Thank you to all of my friends and family that have stuck by in the dark corners when things got rough, and most of all ~ thanks for sticking by me in all the ways you do, as we create the fun times together.

This has been the best year of my life yet, and I am the happiest I've ever been. I am looking forward to whatever antics we will get into in this near future.

Many thanks, and have the happiest of Thanksgivings! (And remember to "dress" yer bird like this next year!!!)

Risk

2009-11-25T14:50:00.000-08:00

I just had an amazing heart to heart with my best friend in the world. We both have had a rough couple of years, and are finally finding ourselves not only back on track, but the best we've ever been. E v e r. I think a huge reason why I am doing so well is the fact that I have this best friend. And that I take my 'job' of being her best friend very seriously.

Usually, I'm the type of person that would befriend someone I was interested in, and then we'd typically date after that friendship blossomed. Whenever a relationship would end, I'd be crushed, as I'd not only be losing a lover, but my best friend. (God, isn't that from some cheesy song? groan~~~) But I think the requirements of being someone's best friend have suited me well, and made me grow up in a way that I hadn't expected.

There is a certain responsibility in taking that role. You are on call 24/7, and have to use your negotiating skills to sometimes talk them down off whatever metaphorical ledge they have found themselves. I am very lucky to have the best friend I have. She is an expert at talking me down by relating her own applicable experiences to my struggles to help me see that I am not alone. I've never felt like anyone truly had my back before this, and it's kind of incredible. I mean ~ we've been friends for years now, so it's not a recent epiphany... Maybe it's this whole "being thankful" thing (Thanksgiving-wise) that's got me all choked up. Whatev.

Back to the convo: My best friend and I were talking about the necessity of risk. (Note: *Not* the board game.) We were sharing our experiences of coming out alright after some pretty traumatizing years of our lives. Beyond the usual mishaps of trying to love someone and it not always going as smoothly as we would hope, we had both seen some shit. Things that forever changed us. Even as catastrophic as some of these happenings felt at the time – things that pushed us so far beyond our abilities to cope and manage – we see now just how resilient we've become having been tested in those various ways.

For me, I know that nothing will ever be able to shake me up as much as they had back then. I feel so grounded, so rooted now. I know that even if something hurts, I will be able to surmount any obstacle, and learn more about myself in the process. And watching her become this totally self assured, self preserving woman. It's been very inspiring.

But I think we both needed to lose ourselves to find ourselves. We needed to shed the veneers that no longer suited the people that we were becoming, but just didn't know it yet. It's an incredibly vulnerable process, to sort of molt into this new version of one's self. Talk about feeling naked... (I mean, we were talking about that, right?!?)

When we tried to analyze just what it was that changed for the two of us, we both began to see it take shape. There were elements or qualities within us that just weren't working for us anymore. We didn't change in order to have this person or that person love us. But we changed aspects of ourselves in order to end the sabotaging patterns that may have contributed to our past loves failing. As Jen says: "If you're our age, and things still aren't working – it's probably your fault!" And I know what she means!

If I kept finding all of my relationships turned out the same way – even if it was possible to blame everyone else for all of the problems (which of course it wasn't), I'M still the one seeking out people to fulfill that fucked up role. It's not that cut and dry, I know, but I completely agree with her point.

It wasn't until I was ready to really see myself as I am, faults and all, that I could finally do the required work to curb some of those bad habits. But it involved risks. Huge risks. I had to try new things out in order to see what might work more effectively. Frankly, that's terrifying.

When you already feel like a fuck up, the last thing you want to do is try new things when you admittedly don't have the slightest clue. It's horrifying to want to be the best, to see so blatantly that you're not, when you don't have the easy bake oven version of a solution. Thinking is hard. It hurts my brain. Sometimes I just don't like doing it. But there is no relief. Problems still exist, whether we allow ourselves to acknowledge them or not.

In order to potentially find better answers, I had to take risks that were terribly intimidating at first. I felt so raw and unsure of everything, my ego already so bruised. Only through repeatedly putting myself in situations where I had to assert a sense of courage and fortitude could I begin to see my own capabilities. In the beginning, I didn't even believe that I had any courage or fortitude in me. Maybe it was a "fake it, til you make it" kind of deal.

Unknowingly, we can get so scared of the depth and complexity of living, that we sometimes omit the element of risk. When this happens, we never allow ourselves to truly grow and expand beyond our teeny circles of routines and rote memory. To me, that seems dangerous. To me, that was dangerous.

It makes me think of all of those wonky, old fogey clichés, like "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Or some other witticism that Kanye West has repurposed. (That dude was shot like 37 times, so I guess he can claim that sentiment as his own. He earned it. But I digress...) There is something to those kind of clichés, though. And to every fucking self help book that's ever existed. How does one summarize the very source of that kind of 'entry level enlightenment' without sounding like a complete douche?

There is this weird part of me that wants to ask you, beg you, to think of one thing that terrifies you. I want to ask you to deduce what kind of calculated risk you can take to immerse yourself in that fear, and emerge the victor. (Victor, Victoria?) I want you to see yourself as brave, courageous, able... And I want that to slowly become a process that gets ingrained in our daily lives. To challenge ourselves everyday to choose bigger and bigger risks (Sensible ones, of course! Not like juggling 4 chainsaws, or charging the bulls at Pamplona if you have a bum knee.)

I think what made my risks successful was that I didn't really see failure as an option, but rather saw everything as an opportunity to learn more about myself. Even if something felt like a set back in the immediate state, I could remember that it's not about quick fixes, and even quicker escapes if things go awry. It was about longitudinal studies of what would really work. Things that didn't work were simply crossed off my list, and seen as a necessary ingredient to narrow down my scope. I didn't have to beat myself up with each misstep. There was something so invigorating and liberating about that kind of approach. I often believe that we are most inventive when we don't 'over-think' things.

These new approaches to my life weren't intended to land me dates, but rather to be a version of myself that would make me proud to share with others worthy of my affection. One that would help me forgive myself for past mistakes, and chalk it up to youthful folly. I didn't want to change to secure a specific person's love for me, but now that I've become someone that I believe is worth dating, so many more people seem interested and available to me. Ironic...

And I see that only through exploring the multitude can we find the one.

I feel so lucky to live in a time where my gender transition was possible. But more than that – I feel so lucky to understand how malleable we are as human animals, because of my transition. To know if we can change something that huge, and intrinsically ingrained in our psyches like gender, that nearly everything else should feel like a piece of cake.

So, I ask of you: What risks do you want to take? What do you wish you could transition into in your own life?

Frydaddy

2009-11-25T09:37:00.000-08:00

My friend Danni invited me over to her place for Thanksgiving dinner. It should be fun, and will definitely be entertaining! (For those you you who don't know Danni, think a younger Karen Walker from Will & Grace.)

Apparently she ordered a deep fried turkey, and will be ordering a bunch of sides, and desserts as well. Holidays made simple. It's kind of nice, as there is no pressure. I used to spend Thanksgiving with my family, where my Mom literally spends four days baking up a storm, and then spends two days prepping all the food for celebratory meal. Since my Polish Grandmother has been in a nursing home, we've kind of changed our game plan. My brother and his wife are staying out in Portland, OR, and my cousin who just got married, and will be spending the holiday in Virginia. This excused me from being the only 'kid' in attendance, so I'm laying low in DC and hanging out with friends.

Not to sound like a curmudgeon or grouch, but I really don't care much about holidays anymore. When I was a kid, they were so precious and full of such excitement. But as I grew older, and my family became somewhat spread out geographically, it just didn't have the same resonance. And usually my parents get on each others' nerves, which can feel a bit overwhelming at times.

It will be perfect to just have a laid back Thanksgiving where I can drink til my heart's content, and then stumble home, only a few blocks away, to let my dog out, and instantly pass out in my cozy bed. That is what I am thankful for this year. (Not sure about that deep fried turkey. I'm a yankee at heart, and this whole deep frying phenomenon in the south scares me a bit. My goal is to eat enough healthy sides to fill up, and maybe bypass the deep fried bird and endless amounts of pies that will be staring me down. Fingers crossed!)

Somekind of Wonderful

2009-11-24T07:13:00.000-08:00

The other day I had a quick flash of a memory of driving through my small Vermont college town, and noticing how many homes seemed to be surrounded by all of this debris. Old broken down cars, over-sized kids' toys no longer in daily circulation, things that looked like they were meant to be thrown away, but somehow escaped mid route to the garbage can. It really struck me, as I wondered what these littered items represented psychologically, and how this trash was really another man's treasure.

I became fixated on this idea of organizing the clutter in our lives, and trying to understand the deeper meanings of what we keep around us. I don't see it directly related to class, as I have known many millionaires that are horribly disorganized, yet they have the resources to hire people to help tidy up. Some of those 'staffers' have been house keepers, personal assistants, organizing specialists, and the like. But the predisposition to 'monkey up' our lives with junk can be present in any of us.
This idea probably came back to me now, as I have been trying to simplify my life considerably. I had a Latin teacher in high school that used to say: "What you own owns you." And I get it now, what he meant. Now that I am older, I am finding myself more and more responsible for every element of my life. If something breaks, I need to find a way to get it resolved. I can't wait for someone else to jump in, or dust under the rug like a guilt-ridden child.

I didn't realize that I have applied this to dating as well. Like that scene from Somekind of Wonderful where Amanda Jones tells Keith's character: "I'd rather be with someone for the wrong reasons then alone for the right." He says: "I'd rather be right."

It's not that I have to be right, but I'd rather not have 'stuff' just for the sake of having stuff. Relationships included.

I want to be more intentional, to consciously seek out what might be a good fit for me. As my dear old friend from high school and I have been talking about "finding our people." Sure, I have been going on some fun dates with gorgeous, hilarious folks, but I kept asking myself if my trans status was going to be a big hurdle for them. I didn't know how to ask without putting us all on the spot.

Part of me thinks that my feeling unsure if it would be an issue was perhaps my answer. With other people I dated in the past, they let me know that they were all in, or areas that they still struggled with for their futures. Even though my trans existence might complicate things a bit, there were folks who were so psyched to be with me that we were able to surmount those immediate challenges. And I guess that is what I am hoping to find now. Not someone who will 'excuse' or overlook the fact that I am trans, but rather someone who will really understand the way it informs my life, and how it helped me become the person that I am now.

I'm hoping that's not too much to ask... (Secretly wishing it was 1987, and I could walk out to find Watts on my front step waiting for me, as she looks good wearing my future. Sigh~ )

Men at Work in Progress

2009-11-23T18:11:00.000-08:00

I've really been reconnecting with a lot of my close friends as of late. It's been intense hearing about those who are now engaged, those of whom are purchasing their first homes together, those who are moving in with their partners for the first time, etc. It's made me reflect a great deal on this concept of progress.

What are the markers we use too chart or quantify our own progress – maturing into healthy, well adjusted, productive members of society? How do we know when we've 'arrived?' And how do we know when we are still bullshitting ourselves with smoke and mirrors?

It could be really easy to beat myself up, comparing myself to the countless friends that are hitched, co-habitating, have the perfect job, the gorgeous house they now own, and so on... But the reality is – I don't need to compare myself to anyone else anymore. I don't need to launch my own pity party because I am single again, or because I rent instead of own, or because I'm not on some fast track corporate escalator bringing me straight to the top.

The truth is, I've been that person who feels so insecure about my own place in the world, that I begin to judge everyone else. It felt like shit, only solidifying how inferior I felt. I wondered why they got the job in film that I wanted, or how they landed the hott girl I found intriguing... It never ended. And then something changed: I fell in love, moved in with the woman I wanted to marry, we rented a huge gorgeous house together, got a dog, worked together professionally, collaborated on art together, which was shown collectively, traveled the world side by side. I thought I had it all, but I was miserable. My heart was broken time and time again. And I realized that despite 'having it all,' I felt farther away from true contentment and happiness than when I was alone. Ironic.

There was something that was askew in the little venn diagram of my life. Until I really looked at it candidly, and courageously, my life was still going to feel like shit. Two elements in my life stood out as pretty significant problems:

1. I wasn't living genuinely. I was sure I didn't feel like a woman despite my female body, but I was terrified of immersing myself in any concrete changes that would be irreversible (gender wise) to see if anything else would feel like a better fit. At least knowing that something was wrong was easier to stomach than the potential hazards of the all too terrifying unknown. So, I spent decades in paralyzed limbo, fearing the seemingly infinite what-ifs, and hating the reality of my life – all of which meant that I had to do the work to resolve that broken sense of self, between my (female) body, and my internalized sense that I was *meant* to be masculine.

2. I was in a relationship that was toxic. I fell in love with an incredible human being who happened to be very damaged, and horrifically destructive. Instantly, all of the years I invested in trying to heal from my traumatic childhood went out the window, and suddenly, I was unwittingly committing to my own emotional unraveling. I truly loved this woman, but realized that it wasn't my job to fix her, and I wasn't doing a very good job of keeping myself safe while being with her.

Between these two paths intersecting, I lost myself completely. A wise woman once told me: "Sometimes a break down in necessary for a break through." Well, I definitely broke down, and feel so incredibly lucky to say that I did the requisite work to transform most of that pain and insight into the wisdom to transcend beyond the limits of my own capabilities and tolerances.

I had to step the fuck up to face all that scared me the most, which was no small task. And I can't help but assume that this is the informal foundation for at least 90% of things like substance abuse issues, eating disorders, sex addictions, chronic anger mis-management issues, and the whole lot of them. We simply don't want to really have to look at the elements that inflict the most debilitating, excruciating pain and confusion in our lives. So, often we just don't. We in turn find other avenues to distract us from that pain (addictions), or we find other outlets to pretend that we are healing from that one mortal wound. ("If I just get this one job, if I just find someone to date, if I could just find someone to publish my novel –– THEN my life will be okay. THEN I'll be content.")

The truth is we almost always look for outside 'fixes' for internal problems. We need the pat on the back, the partner who tells us incessantly that they love us, or that we're beautiful, our parents or bosses to tell us we're good enough. But even when we get those external gestures, they rarely get absorbed in the way we hoped they would. Even with those complements and remarks of adoration, we are often no closer to actually believing that we are worthy, or make it any easier to tell ourselves all that we wish we were hearing from those on whom we rely.

I can quantify it. I really can. I can tell you the exact day that I decided to change my life. I can tell you the moment – where I was when I knew that I couldn't keep running from the pain, and when I finally accepted that it was time to face those monsters in my closets. I stood up to my girlfriend and told her that I was no longer going to enable her abusive tactics anymore, and that if she wanted to be in my life, it would have to be from a stance of respect, and mutual dignity. And I decided that I wasn't going to keep myself frozen in limbo about my gender confusion. I granted myself permission to experiment, and push myself far beyond my comfort levels to simply see who I could become.

When I talk about my transition, I make it clear that gender was just the metaphor, and that the real change was in believing that I am worthy of this life of opportunity. Slowly, I began to awaken to the reality that I treat others better than I treat myself. And I expect others to treat themselves better than they treat me. I unconsciously sought out selfish people that could utilize my generosity, and simultaneously take me for granted. If I had a history of giving myself away, then the new history that I was creating as I went had to be about self-preservation. My 'new' life required all of my attention, and diligent focus. It wasn't about wearing a blue shirt as opposed to a pink shirt to become this new version of me. And it wasn't about applying down at the city courthouse for some random new name. Every single element of my life was torn down and rebuilt from the rubble.

It's been three years, and only now I am catching my stride, and expanding my center of focus. Some people go to grad school, while others work their way up the corporate ladder to learn what they think they need to know to have a better life, in whatever form that takes. I'm not dissing those approaches, but feel sad for those of whom I know that have spent years down those paths to find themselves no closer to happiness, contentment, or knowing what they 'should do' with their lives.

Instead of panicking because I have been managing the same small businesses for several years, I see that I have consciously chosen these options because it grants me time to write for several hours everyday, I enjoy the type of work I do, and the people with whom I work, and I am really good at small business management. I want to take myself more seriously as a writer, but this job helps me get there. I love what I do, and I love all that it allows me to do. I know that I am good at it, regardless of whether or not I have some pat on the back, or some 'Employee of the Month' plaque to hang on my wall. (as if...)

And rather than assuming that my being single means I am unlovable, I can finally rest assured that I'm the most content and at peace with myself that I've ever been in my life. All of my hard work has lead me to not only feel, but *be* more resolved, and rooted. It's been amazing.

I turn 34 next week, and I finally feel like I am worthy of all of the happiness and self-acceptance that had always escaped me. This was the life that I was meant to earn. But like all of the most valuable things in life – there were no shortcuts, or cliff notes for this invaluable experiential knowledge. I had to break down to break through. And from here, I look to my future from a seat of hope and curiosity. Even if I get kicked down again, I can trust myself to evolve, and grow into an even more resilient and able person, adding more insights and revelations to the heap.

It feels good to know in these last days of my early thirties that I am exactly where I need to be. And to feel surprisingly proud of all of my progress and accomplishments. Okay, so maybe I don't have some fancy diplomas on my wall, or 'World's Best' -whatever- trophies, but I do have my surly self-deprecating wit, and cubby full of verve that I get to rock this new party. (But a "World's Best Whatever" trophy would be kind of amazing...)

Now back to you: What if you could have the life for which you've always hoped? What hard work would you be willing to do to achieve it? What monsters in your closet would you be willing to face if it meant you could be free to find contentment?

Inspir-a-tor

2009-11-23T10:03:00.000-08:00

An artist friend of mine and I were talking the other day about the subject of inspiration. Namely, we were talking about how many people seem to be lacking in this department. Huh... I haven't thought about it in a long time.

When I was a teenager I was classically trained as a metalsmith, including jewelry techniques such as stone setting, casting, and enameling. At fifteen, I was determined to become a world famous artist by my mid twenties, and by sixteen, I won a national art award honoring me as one of the top 15 young metalsmiths in the country. Most people would have seen that as an affirmation that they were on the right track, but instead, I got disenchanted with "art for the sake of pleasing others," and after a few more jaded years, basically quit altogether.

I don't think about it much, even though almost all of my friends are artists, in some form or another. There are times that I have an idea for a project, or a piece I'd like to produce. Sometimes these are installations, sculptures, or other times, they are smaller pieces that might fall under the category of craft, rather than fine art. And I think that was a great deal of my struggle all along.

Did I want to create work that made people think? Or did I want to create 'pretty pieces' to sit on a shelf in someone's china cabinet? I guess it depended on each project, and my intentions for that piece to come to fruition. But when I step back and look at it on the whole, I see that even though I may have stepped out of the visual art/artisan craft arena, I still create – and there are times that I am still ignited by a driving source of inspiration.

And that's what I seek out in other people: the fire, the passion. I don't believe that all passionate people are artists (at least not in the most literal sense), and I certainly don't believe that all artists are passionate (um, hello, Thomas Kinkade!). I do, however, think that passion and fiery desire are incredible motivational tools to help us break from the monotony of coasting through mediocrity. No, not all passion can be sustained, but it doesn't need to be. It can be that launching pad, that catalyst for us to begin anew, and redefine ourselves in an exciting new direction.

I think my fire sort of went out for a while. The past few years after a bad break up from a far too intense relationship left me somewhat winded and exhausted. I have spent much of my time alone, tip toeing around the big issues, while I navigated through the smaller ones. Having had this conversation about passion reminded me to rekindle my own flame (yes, I am a big flamer now), and see what sparks may fly.

(My friend Melanie calculated my astrological chart several years ago, to find that like 7 of the planets in my chart fall on fire signs – mostly Sagittarius, which is also my sun sign. Hot damn! So, when I say fiery, I mean fiery!)

We all need a little time to heal, dust ourselves off, and reconvene. Now that I gotten that out of the way, I think I am finally ready to get back in the game, and see if I've still got game. (wah wah wah...)

I'm feeling inspired, and happy to find that a little thing like passion can be all the hope we need for a new chance at life. Let the games begin! Smell the moment! Er, wait~

Big Papa

2009-11-22T21:07:00.000-08:00

No, I'm not expecting. And no, I didn't knock anyone up. One of the privileges about being sterile from the testosterone – no surprises... But it's also the really impossible part, at the same time.

Lately I've really been wondering how my life will pan out. I am fearing that I am too comfortable with my solo existence. (Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man" just became my new theme song, didn't it? Fuck.)

I was talking earlier today about how I'm in finally getting back into working out and eating much healthier again, and my good friend mentioned that she is, too, in order to get pregnant. Wow. Um, I wasn't expecting that conversation. It must be something in the air. Or in the stars. I've been thinking about babies a lot lately, and wondering if I'll ever be in relationship that has kids. Or in a relationship, at all, ever again. Period.

It's weird to think that a year and a half ago I reconnected with a long lost ex, who gave birth to a son after we broke up. She and I met up for a couple of summers in a row, and I got to hang out with her kid, and see how it felt to be in that kind of dynamic. It was kind of crazy because her son looked like the perfect split between the two of us, so when we went out, everyone just assumed that I was his dad, since he had a square jaw and green eyes like I do. He was also roughly my height, even though he was only three years old when I last saw him. Ya, not my kid.

Dating someone with kids made wonder how I'd be as a parent. So strange to suddenly step into this spontaneous and hypothetical role as a dad, or step-dad. This little being existed before I came back into the picture, so there wasn't much time to catch up. It was an interesting experience. I got really excited about the prospect of being a stay at home (step) dad, as I work from home anyway, managing several small businesses and writing throughout my day. My mind was flooded with day dreams of all of the possibilities. It was especially a bummer when geography seemed a bit too daunting (at 6,000 miles/6 times zones apart), and the potential romance fizzled.

She and I still keep in contact, and everything is fine between us, but it's tough to feel like I may have missed out on maybe the one chance I'll have to be a parent. Being a transguy, it feels a little more complicated to think about how that may work in the future.

Not to put the cart before the horse, or in this case, the stroller before the infant... But I hope that this wasn't my only shot at being a dad, or a step dad. As scary as many elements can be when contemplating parenthood, I guess I just want to know that it can still be an option, and that my decision to transition hasn't squelched that possibility.

Cuz, in the end, don't we all just want to know we have possibilities...?