Late Lesbian Loser Moments

(An excerpt of a previous draft of “No Gold Star” – my one person play… part of this still made the cut.)

I feel like the 16 year old who still has’t got her period. Or the only virgin in the room. The other lesbians talk about the days of the L word, and how they saw the actors from the show when they were in the lesbian club that no longer exists. They mention their ex girlfriends in funny or interesting anecdotes and everyone nods in knowing agreement or appreciation. They share photos of themselves going to that lesbian concert wearing their out-of-date lesbian fashion. And they all laugh. They joke about the time they hooked up with their friend, reminiscing and giving critiques of how the other was in bed.

So what do I say?

Nothing. I don’t want to turn it into a therapy session, nor do I feel like joking about the time I hooked up with the guy in Mexico and afterwards he crossed himself…. Because I’m amazing… That story is hilarious for a straight woman audience, but it will taint my validity in this group. It’s hard to equate a lesbian as being good in bed with men. Hey, I had standards for myself – sex was much about ego for me – Also, I was making the best of what I had – before I was with women. But that’s not really a light conversation when you are just meeting people, when you are expected to blend. In fact, that story doesn’t really resonate for the straight posse either – it just furthers their belief that you aren’t actually gay – you’re just trying it on for size. And it would convince the bisexuals that you’re on their team… which isn’t the worst thing – but it’s not the truth. You’re just a specific kind of gay. So instead of getting into a whole speech about how you are a special kind of snowflake, you just nod, and laugh, and hope that the conversation shifts back to what everyone was up to last weekend.

Or you can tell your truth. You can find yourself in a new closet if you aren’t careful.

Unravelling the Gay

Raphael_Kirchner_Damen_bei_Toilette

Each time I have an “aha’ moment about my past. A clue that I “should have known” earlier; like choosing to play the trombone in grade 7 band, or only playing ‘doctor’ with girls, or feeling completely repulsed the first time a guy I had a crush on was about to make a move… why didn’t I want this? This is what I wanted, right? A boyfriend?…

These memories can both make me laugh at the truth of who I was/am, and at the same time can make me so so so angry that I didn’t know. Because how could I know? I didn’t have a chance of knowing. Lesbians didn’t exist in the real world. They were an insult or a warning. They weren’t living breathing people just like me. They were definitely not me. Me – a well brought up girl from a neighbourhood that didn’t house divorcees let alone Lesbians. A highland dancer and a ballerina. A recipient of a government scholarship for achieving high grades. No, if lesbians did in fact exist, they were about as far away from me as a super hero or a fairy princess, without the positive reviews.

So how to I rectify all that time lost? All those years making due with a false sexuality? All those passed opportunities – when I knew, I could feel that I was different – but being gay was not even an option. It wasn’t even a question I could sincerely ask myself.

I could have dated that girl in my improv class. I could have stayed best friends with that boyfriend from years ago, instead of dating him and then breaking his heart. I could have bypassed all or most of those awkward and unsatisfying hookups and crushes and relationships with the wrong gender. Could have avoided stretching my wavering sexual fluidity as far as it could reach in the direction of ‘straight’. I could have understood that my love for my male friends was just that – love for a friend. I could have kissed that girl and that girl and that girl and let myself love it – not had to pretend it was just for show. I could have made room for desire.

But now, I’m all the way over here. 37, not that old, but not that young either. I have a wonderful partner – one that I love, one I would be stupid to let go of. I went from married to a man, to realizing I was gay, to almost immediately falling in love and settling in with an amazing woman. The lesbian dream right? Well, the last bit. I remember watching the Tig documentary on Netflix and crying because I wanted what she and her partner had. It is the dream. I just can’t seem to let go of the grief from all the time and opportunities lost, passed over. The privilege of being able to explore and express my true sexuality from the time it started to bloom. The ability to learn and make mistakes and collect stories that I could actually own – rather than ones I borrowed or mimicked from the wrong examples shown to me. To have exes I can actually refer to when having normal conversations with my peers.

I funneled my anger and resentment toward the male – female relationship by trying to turn the tables and make men objects. I practiced then perfected it – taking mental notes from Sex and the City, which I worshiped. I twisted my own sexuality so far around in my head to justify the very blatant ways I did not fit in. The thoughts that shamed me the most I either ignored, denied or fetishized.

I’m still unraveling it. Still making sense of it. I have a late-blooming friend who once said to me “It took me two years to unravel all the lies I told myself.” She came out in her late twenties. I would expect it might take me a little bit longer. I meditate. I work on living in the moment. I try not to dwell. I count my blessings – I have so many. And I write, I share my story – hoping it might help someone else heal, or avoid the injury in the first place.

Coming Out. Again and again and again and….

It has been almost exactly two years since I told my now ex-husband that I “think I might be gay”. Not really that long when you think about it. I live in a new world now wearing a new pair of (comfortable) shoes. There is still the occasional stone that gets stuck in there which varies from being slightly annoying to extremely painful. I wrote about waves of grief. It seems that they go away, but really they just slow down… spread out… and when they hit they can knock me down or just lap at my feet. (I’m just full ofmetaphors today – it must be the rain.)

I have been home for just over a week after sharing my one-person show No Gold Star at the Halifax Fringe Festival. It was part of a double bill with my friends who showed their play Unexpectedly Trans and we named the performance “Out Late”. Doing this show is a wonderful challenge – a personal, emotional challenge. Coming out on stage to a new group of strangers every evening. Not knowing if I am in a supportive space or not on any given show. Not knowing how I will be judged or accepted for each concept and idea that comes out of my mouth. Being out there all vulnerable, especially the first performance, hit me hard like I was starting coming out all over again. Luckily I have an amazing support system that kept me going after night one.

To be completely honest – it’s not the most fun I’ve had performing. It is fun at parts but it is also scary. But it feels important, it feels purposeful. The amount of people who have said “Thank you for telling this story”. So onward I go. Grateful that I have this story-telling thing that I do, and hoping that it can reach as many people who need to hear it as possible.

OUTLate Cover

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.

Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen knew about some things

About the truth of subtle moments

The aching carried in small gestures.

I sing and am reminded of Toronto

There’s something that hangs in his words

about love and passion and longing

That reminds me of being in that city

And wanting to love someone

And loving a few

But knowing or hoping there was more.

So now I say I am gay.

The shoe fits.

But what was I before?

I don’t think I was lying

I just did not know

Most of the time.

The last time I saw you you looked so much older…

Time passes and friendships become chapters and stories.

Like when he touched the inside of my knee

And I thought I might be in love.

But that ship has sailed

And I am no longer built in that way

In a way that allows me to believe I could love a man.

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.

Shoes

She is like that pair of shoes.

I loved them, but they never went with anything.

I’d have to buy a whole new wardrobe –

Change my style.

Fuck though

I really liked those goddamn shoes.

nogoldstar

Tag: lgbt late in life