Elizabeth G and Me

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, recently came out on Facebook.  I’m sure most of you have already heard the basics: Her long time friend was diagnosed with terminal cancer – this pushed her to realize she didn’t just ‘love’ her friend,  she was ‘in love’ with her.  Crisis can often trigger our deep truths.

My first nano-second of a thought was “What?!”, followed by “Maybe she’s bi or fluid” to “Wait a second – she might be just like me!”.  The situation surrounding Gilbert’s “coming out” is tragic – but her choice to come out publicly brought me a kind of reassurance.  I know there are a good handful of “out” celebrities, but most of their stories don’t quite align with mine.  This can often make me feel like I’m not quite gay in the “right” kind of way.

After this past year or so of my own coming out process – I have often wrestled with my odd circumstances.  I identify as gay and/or lesbian and/or queer.  I don’t identify as bisexual.  I acknowledge there is some wiggle room or fluidity for me – but I don’t really identify as fluid.  From an outside perspective however, one would most likely tag me as fluid or bisexual – given my history with men.

The thing is – [Side note: I have no idea how Elizabeth Gilbert identifies, what her deep personal experience has been, and whether or not she cares for labels. I know this is simply my perception of her.] – reading about her coming out made me go “Yes!  I get it!”  I am a writer.  I have written plays and blogs from my previously self-assumed heterosexual perspective.  I related to Gilbert’s writing.  Before I was with a woman, I didn’t fully understand what it was that was missing.  I approached relationships intellectually and emotionally.  I loved.  I enjoyed the companionship of men.  I had sex.  I learned how to have what I assumed was “good sex”.  But I didn’t understand connection.  I didn’t understand desire.  I didn’t understand what it was to be “in love” vs. “in love with the idea of being in love”.  I was acting.  I was acting with a mostly committed heart and mind.  I enjoyed some of it, for a certain amount of time.  I was as sincere as I knew how to be… I had everything under control.

So here’s my thought about people like myself, and maybe like Elizabeth Gilbert.  I think there is a difference between fluidity and being game.  Between fluidity and being willing and interested in trying something new.  Between fluidity and genuinely working to make the most out of a unique connection with someone.  I thought sex was interesting.  I thought relationships were fascinating.  I wanted to be good at both.  I wanted to be successful as an open minded heterosexual woman.  I thought it was best to be straight if I could manage it, as being gay would be a difficult path, and would be hard for my family to understand and adjust.  I tried, and I tried to remain positive.  It wasn’t so bad.  Until it was – and then it was awful and suffocating.

That happened for me when I was 35.  A little late in my opinion.  Maybe this has happened for Gilbert just now.  Or maybe I am making grand assumptions about her.  In any case, her story has helped me to understand my story a little bit better – and for that I am grateful.

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Everything and nothing has changed

I love her.

It’s hard to sit into my feelings for her when my brain is all over the place – when I am just finding my footing – when at times none of this seems at all real.

My life.  Like I am living in an alternate reality.  Like all the cells in my body have changed and I am actually a whole new person housing the same old soul.  As if my childhood up to last year was an entirely different life – and I actually did die on my way to my first date with her, or perhaps even earlier.

It is like a Murakami novel.  Almost real – but not quite.  Subtle changes that indicate a large shift.  And blatant changes that can only be dealt with my acting as though they are normal.

Sitting on this balcony now seems like an entirely different place than 10 months ago.  I sat out here the last days of June – 2am when no one was around – and I looked out.  Knowing that everything would change.

Only a couple of weeks later was my first time with a woman.  Not the woman I love, but my catalyst.  I am grateful for her – bold and unapologetic.  In many ways she was a bad idea – but she’s the best bad idea I have ever had, as she set me free from my self made prison and lead me to where I am now.  Sitting on my balcony – in love – as my whole self.

white picket fence

Is there a scenario where this ends well?

 

I think I have been turned.  I have turned myself.

My imagination isn’t holding up so well anymore.

 

So what now?

How long do I wait and see?

I didn’t like that

I was pretending

I did not like that

I was lying

For love

For self preservation.

 

 

Art imitates life.

Art has blown the top off of life.

What is true.

The chicken or the egg.

 

 

I try to live for – or with integrity.

She lives with purpose

I don’t know if the means justifies the ends.

She is all about the end

She plays this game so well

I think she will win

Nice guys finish last.

 

“You have secrets”.  He said it in passing.  He said it in passing.  He said it in passing.  He said it as a challenge cloaked in a joke cloaked in “I don’t care” and hidden behind “What?  I didn’t say anything.”

I don’t trust her.  I maybe did once.  For a day or two.  When it felt like we were in it together.

Water is healing.  I am myself – whoever that is.

I am still angry.

I think he can tell.

But we aren’t good at talking.

Not about the real stuff, anyway.

 

It’s only been 5 days since I’ve seen her.

I think I was using her.

I think we were using eachother.

 

Her brown eyes invite me to a world I have only imagined.

But I cannot reach her through this white picket fence.

 

Is this for real

Perhaps the dramatic me never left the building

Perhaps the wild me was simply me

An animal can be tamed, but do they ever lose their instincts.

What kind of damage would I cause this time.

 

That heat has not lived inside me for so long.

There is ritual

There is tradition

There is the game

And there is the truth.

All the world is a stage.

Unravelling

 

It is and it isn’t.  It’s a loop hole.  It’s an exception.  Maybe.  It’s an excuse.  It’s an opportunity.  It’s a choice.  It’s a thing.

 

Maybe I should have just one glass of wine.  I went swimming.  He got high.  We are travelling in slightly different directions.

 

The smoke filled air

Creates a haze

Erasing the smell of her