292. tenacious

In the last post I mentioned the recent end of a community of which I’ve been part for the past five years or so. Apparently it’s been a while since I last mentioned it, which I suppose is telling.

Our local Sunday Assembly chapter was founded in mid-2014 by a group of former Christians and secular folks who were excited about the mission of the organization and had been looking for a sense of community and belonging that was missing from our lives.

We first met in May of that year and in the beginning there was a lot of interest and excitement in what we were doing. People looked forward to seeing each other each month, and many even met outside of monthly assemblies. We had an active board that was excited to build something meaningful and important to people’s lives.

The beginning of the end probably came in early 2017 when a schism occurred amongst the board that had partly to do with my being physically assaulted in 2016. What exactly happened is a long story, but about half of the board sided with the couple that owned the house where I was attacked and when they left they took their friends with them.

From that point on we lost more board members who felt increasingly burned out or who simply lost interest. Attendance never recovered after the split and by late last year we had events where no one besides the volunteers showed up. After another no-show assembly last month, we decided the writing on the wall had been there long enough and that it was time to pull the plug.

On the one hand, for me it’s kind of a relief to have the time and energy that went into planning those events and making them happen. And over the last year and a half or so, I felt more and more like Leslie Knope trying to rally everyone’s enthusiasm, or (and this is probably more accurate) like someone who refuses to accept the reality that a dying family member is beyond help and that it’s time to let them go.

On the other hand, I’ve put an incredible amount of time and energy over the years into making this thing happen and keeping it going so it’s hard not to feel like that investment was a total waste. To admit defeat and that my efforts to revive this group failed also meant this was another community that I’ve lost.

And one of the most difficult things to deal with is the sense that I have been the only person who has really cared about its survival.

Much of this ties back to the longing I’ve had for belonging, community, and family, in part since leaving church in 2011 and losing that network but also throughout my life. Home was never a place where I felt truly accepted, and even church wasn’t an environment where it was safe to let down my guard.

Of course, many people (especially the non-religious) never really find a community like this one. Many never find a group of close friends, or feel the need for such a group.

This makes the loss even more keen.

Frankly, what I most enjoyed about church, aside from social stability, was the musical outlet it offered. That was probably my favorite thing about Sunday Assembly, and it was my favorite thing about college—collaborating with a small group of people who enjoy creating music or simply being creative together. There are few opportunities like this outside of community choirs and ensembles (like bands or orchestras), but frankly don’t fancy being part of a faceless mass.

And if I’m being brutally honest, I don’t care for not being the one who calls the shots.

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This is one thing that especially torments me about the demise of our Sunday Assembly chapter. Now that we’ve accepted the inevitable and pulled that lever, I’ve been post mortem-ing everything that’s happened over the last five years to identify any steps we could have taken to change the outcome.

The answer is: probably not much. Our chapter had a lot of competition in terms of there being a number of established groups with a similar purpose (and more resources). And it was difficult to really distinguish ourselves from those other groups or articulate what we had to offer that someone couldn’t find somewhere else.

Also: secular people (especially those who left religion) tend to be wary of church-like organizations, and that was our chief demographic.

There were a lot of mistakes that I made though that I worry contributed to our group’s unravelling. My leadership style as music director tended towards the unyielding rather than the collaborative, because while I was rarely outright dismissive of others’ ideas or input, I often ignored suggestions in favor of my own vision or agenda.

I was also reluctant to delegate or let others do things since no one else would deliver to my standards.

Because, you know, I was 100% right.

In hindsight, this had the hallmarks of insecurity and growing up in an environment where I had little control. It had the hallmarks of fearing that others would discover I wasn’t that talented–or worse, that someone else was a better and more fun leader.

It also had the hallmarks of being raised in a culture where everything was black and white, and where we were the ones who had it all figured out. I hate that all of that drove (and sometimes still drives) so much of my decisions and behavior.

Was any of this solely responsible for the chapter’s demise? Probably not. But it didn’t make being involved any easier, rewarding—or enjoyable.

These are some of my least attractive qualities; ones I fear will scare off potential boyfriends or partners.

There’s also the fear I couldn’t make Sunday Assembly work and won’t be able to make it work with a guy either.

… and why is vulnerability so damn hard?

291. perspicacity

Finally met with my therapist again after a couple weeks off. The first ten minutes or so were essentially a download of what’s happened over the past few weeks, from the practice of learning to silence negative self talk, to the recent end of a community I’ve been part of for almost five years, to the developments around beginning to experience attraction again for the first time in years.

She thought the news about both getting a better handle on the self talk and the return of experiencing attraction were promising signs that I’m finally getting “unstuck.”

We have a number of theories about what might be happening, but the most important takeaway is that this is a step closer to my goal of eventually finding a partner and establishing the home base that I never had growing up.

It’s also pretty clear that this isn’t any kind of sexual upheaval; that I’m no longer demisexual or something. Rather, it’s consistent with past experiences of only being attracted to guys with whom I have a fairly close connection.

What seems to be changing, however, is the level of openness to experiencing attraction again. Nothing appears to have shifted necessarily in terms of the types of attraction that I experience and the order in which they have occurred. Instead, it’s becoming more like non-judgmental awareness without expectation or feeling that I have to do anything with said feeling.

Of course, this is all fine in the abstract. In practice, it’ll take a lot of effort and practice to not worry about the meanings of different types of attraction or what I’m supposed to do with them, if anything. Should I say something? Is he attracted to me, too? What type of attraction is this even? Are we even compatible??

Because that is getting way ahead of everything.

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One big reason why I’m so hung up on this whole partner/dating thing is that at the core of this need is the intense desire for home and intimate belonging with someone who has seen all of the nightmarish things that are underneath my mask and who chooses to love me in spite of them.

In other words, the thing I never got from my parents, as either a child or as an adult. The natural need for love and acceptance by my family became perverted by the reality that I could never truly be myself around them, so the fear of being “discovered” and rejected is one buried deep in the subbasements of my psyche.

During a long walk last week, while reflecting on the mutual attraction encounter I’d had the night before, the connection between this fear and my (frankly) terrifying reactions to rejection or disappointment from the guys I’ve dated became quite clear.

When I’d become enraged over yet another let down by someone with whom I’d actually felt a rare connection, the inner emotionally unregulated child within responded by blowing up and basically trashing our inner childhood bedroom. He’d learned to channel sadness, disappointment, and hurt into anger in order to protect himself from those closest to him.

What this child needed to hear and feel growing up was that he belonged, that he was loved unconditionally, and that he was accepted by his mom and dad. He needed to be heard and understood when he was upset, to be shown how to express himself and his emotions in a constructive and healthy way, and to feel safe opening up to his parents about anything.

Of course, back he wasn’t able to articulate any of that. All he knew was that he felt unloved, unwanted, unworthy, broken, and unacceptable. Although his parents likely never intended to communicate any of that, their actions taught him that when he felt bad that he was bad.

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In college, I fell devastatingly hard for a guy named Larry. He was adorable, charming, and incredibly kind to boot. Naturally, he was both heterosexual and engaged. Though he probably suspected the truth, I never told him how I felt, in part because to acknowledge a feeling like that was forbidden but also for fear of hurting our friendship, because you can never unsay anything like that once it’s out in the open.

What’s most frustrating about this is that I don’t seem to have any control over who I fall for. My brain has locked me out of the decision-making process entirely.

Today I discussed with my therapist the possibility that I unconsciously fall for guys who are unattainable, with whom there is next to no chance of anything materializing. Although it keeps me safe from screwing anything up, in reality I carry around whole curio cabinets of unrequited longing and pain, tormented by the knowledge of this fact that I didn’t choose to fall for this person in the first place. Again, it’s nothing sexual. It’s more a sensual (wanting to hold hands, be held, kissed, etc.) or romantic attraction.

Maybe that’s not such an uncommon thing.

What is maddeningly frustrating is my track record.

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So back to this gradual return of experiencing attraction.

It’s very likely that the low incidence the past few years is more a result of learning to keep my emotional and sexual life tightly buttoned up and controlled. Control means protection from hurt and disappointment, yet there have been more moments than I’ve wanted to acknowledge where I’ve felt some sort of attraction.

The reluctance to go there comes from fear of vulnerability, of willingness to take risks and put myself out there.

But there’s also pride in maintaining control, of denying myself the common pleasures of physical intimacy–believing I should be above all that messy carnal nonsense. It’s a descendant of the Protestant asceticism with which I was raised.

Because I have been hurt and disappointed.

Not sure what to make of all this but it seems a sign that I’m growing more comfortable with the idea (for now) of loosening my grip on rigidly controlling myself.

More later…

290. circadian

“I don’t think I’m very good at gay… I used to sit there and watch [the Mardi Gras parade] and go, “Where are the quiet gays supposed to go?” I still do.

“… the pressure on my people to express our identity and pride through the metaphor of party is very intense. An afternoon of that … [and] I need to express my identity through the metaphor of a nap.”

– Hannah Gadsby. “Nanette.”

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What does it actually mean to be gay—aside from being attracted to other men (which I tend to think of as the defining criteria)?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself the last couple of years, in part because my brain is incapable of not overanalyzing everything.

Thankfully, society seems to have firmly settled opinions on this for me.

According to mass media, in no particular order, gay men:

1. Are extroverted, gregarious, youthful, and always happy, and ironically witty. They especially love clubs. And dancing. (So much dancing.)
2. Go to the gym, are underwear-model fit, and are comfortable stripping to their Aussiebum briefs/jock strap in public. Especially at the club or pride.
3. Speak in a higher pitch, often reminiscent of speech patterns and inflections of teenage girls.
4. Love pop music, especially dance music (e.g., Madonna, Carly Rae Jepsen, Cher, Gaga, etc).
5. Have location-based dating (i.e., hookup) apps (e.g., Grindr, Hornet, Scruff, Jack’d, Recon, etc).
6. Are rapaciously flirtatious, unabashedly promiscuous, attracted to all [physically fit] men, and sort neatly into the categories of top and bottom.
7. Walk quickly and with excellent posture, are very tidy and smartly dressed, and are often more than a little eccentric (which is why they can’t sit properly in chairs).
8. Can plan your wedding, organize a brunch, and redecorate your apartment in a single afternoon.
9. Belong to at least one kink community. (Leather is a given since every gay man owns a harness, armbands, and tight black t-shirts.)
10. Primarily have open—or monogamish—relationships (because #6).

Of course, these are stereotypes.

As such, they do not accurately reflect individuals or an entire population.

That said, as with most stereotypes, they exist partly because there are gay men for whom many of these are true. (Also: gays make great supporting characters.) But many of them do have a basis in the history of gay communities, especially leather and bars.

They also present a wee brain teaser to those of us who are trying to figure out where we fit in all this, and who often wonder “where the quiet gays are supposed to go”.

For me, I’m largely incapable of flirting, partly because I’ve no patience for the subtle rituals men (especially gay men) perform when they’re interested in someone.

Mostly because my style is so distinctly German.

Ditto patience for clothing or grooming habits that take more than two minutes.

Mostly, I just don’t care.

Meaning that it’s difficult to find where—and with whom—I might fit.

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This past weekend, as recounted in the last post, I was surprised to find myself both attracted to and flirting with a guy at the gaming mini-con. Granted, we were both pretty inebriated due to a miscalculation of 1) the amount of food I’d had that evening and 2) the strength of an alcoholic beverage a friend of mine had made.

Also, the guy in question was married and avowedly monogamous, even as he was coming to terms with the possibility of being bisexual.

There were a number of reasons why I was surprised at suddenly being attracted to this person and experiencing over the next day or so what can be described as a crush. He wasn’t my usual “type” and was also, for all intents and purposes, unavailable.

In hindsight, that was perhaps what made acknowledging that attraction so easy—the low risk it ultimately presented.

Again, it wasn’t sexual; it was probably more aesthetic or emotional, and even a little romantic. Our deep conversation allowed for a space of vulnerability to open up, where it was safe to acknowledge that I was attracted to him. It’s a bit hazy who first admitted it, but it’s the first time I’d done that in a very long while.

It was kind of nice.

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There are moments when I miss sex, of being intimate with a guy. These are moments when I question if I’m truly on the asexual spectrum, but on further reflection, sex has always been secondary to connection, like a palpable extension of the emotional bond that exists between us. Of course, that’s only happened a handful of times, but it was always intense.

Those times also amounted to just a moment in the woods.

That’s part of what frightens me so much about attraction based on past experiences: their one-sidedness. What puzzles me about so many gay men is their casual attitudes towards sex, as if it were just another fun activity—one guy’s much like any other. To be fair, this is probably men in general, though exceptions (as usual) abound.

But, at least outwardly, there seems to be little ruminating or emotional fallout.

I get so caught up in what everything means, whether or not we mean something to each other now, the nature of the new context (if one exists), and if I’m ever going to even find someone with whom I’m compatible.

It’s all a bit of a mood and fun killer.

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A healthier, less tortured way of approaching last week’s flirtation may be as practice: just a simple step towards easing back into dating. Because if a partner and emotional connection is what I want, that won’t happen if I just complain about being lonely.

Learning to hear and acknowledge my inner voice’s worries and fears of disappointment would certainly help allay anxieties.

Approaching it in an experimental manner might also be healthier: setting aside biases, setting expectations low, and simply exploring what’s there rather than worrying about what might happen—not to mention trying to make something happen.

Plus, being less resistant to experiencing attraction sounds less tense. Simply noticing when it’s happening without judging it.

(It also makes me ponder whether I really need a boyfriend or if a small group of guys with whom I had an intensely close bond would be enough.)

There’s also knowledge of what didn’t work the first time around: that I was “trying” to be gay, following models set by others for how gay men were supposed to behave rather than following my intuition.

I can find my own way of “being gay.”