Tag: lgbtqa

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  They share photos of themselves going to that lesbian concert wearing their out-of-date lesbian fashion.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.

 

Gratitude

I’ve been doing an on line meditation practice for the past couple of weeks – part of my “self-care” resolution for 2017.  Within this practice, we are guided to write the things we are grateful for on that given day.  I am not a stranger to listing gratitudes, but in this practice we are encouraged to go a little deeper, “breathe them in”, and sometimes – to list one thing we struggle with/have struggled with and try to find gratitude for it.

This isn’t so easy.  It’s not terribly difficult for me to “look at the positives” in theory. To write it down on a piece of paper.  But to really feel it – that’s a bit more of a challenge.

I recently chose to find gratitude for the losses I’ve experienced through coming out and getting divorced.  Of course I am grateful for the benefits – but I still struggle with the feeling that I have wound back the clock on both my career and my finances – that I’ve lost all progress, and may or may not get it back.  That the big dream I was building for myself came crashing down, and there is no guarantee of repair. Prior to coming out, my artistic career was the most important thing to me.  Since coming out, it has had to take a back seat… which I knew would happen, but hoped it would be brief.

In the exercise I wrote something like “I am grateful for these losses and heartbreaks, because when I do succeed, it will feel that much sweeter”.  Right away I realized I was not feeling grateful for where I am now, but projecting toward something that I can’t control. I then wrote something like – ‘It has lead me to my present self’ – not quite understanding that statement fully.  Later in the day it sunk in for me.  I actually felt true gratitude for these losses – with the result being who I am today.  I have said these kinds of things before, but not understood them in my heart.  This is the thing:  If I hadn’t lost so much, I wouldn’t know that there is way more to life than my career goals.  I wouldn’t know that I would do it all over again – exactly the same way, suffering in the same way, and not knowing when or if or how my recovered career would come about.  I would not know the joy of loving myself – my true self – and allowing it all to be seen.  I wouldn’t know love for another person in the way I know it now.  And I wouldn’t know that this love for myself and for another person could be worth gambling all the rest of it.

I don’t have to choose anymore.  I may or may not get back some of what was lost.  I am working toward it, and receiving wonderful new gifts, strengths and experiences along the way.  Regardless of what happens in my career, I will always know that putting myself first was worth it.

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A beautiful image captured on one of the most exhausting, frustrating days of walking the Camino de Santiago, Portuguese route.  We were lost when I took this photo. Summer 2016.

 

I Care What People Think

One unhappy revelation that has come out of my coming out (ha) is the gross truth that I actually care what people think of me.  It’s human, don’t beat yourself up about it – that’s what my therapist says –  We all care.  But I don’t want to!! All my life I’ve prided myself on not caring what people think of me.  And that myth has been reinforced by friends and family.  I have often gotten “You know what I admire about you? You just do whatever you want – you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Guess what guys?  It’s a big lie!  I totally care.  I just have added an extra layer on top because I also want you to think that I don’t care what you think.  Which, I’ve done a pretty good job doing – I even fooled myself.  But not deep down.  Deep down I knew that I was motivated by my ego.  Wanting to seem carefree, independent, unharmed by other’s opinions, strong, unbreakable.  Turns out I’m just another effing human being.  Very upsetting.  I mean, why the hell would I have gone through so many relationships with men – even getting married – if deep down I didn’t give a rats ass?

I knew early on that I wanted to kiss girls.  But each time I made an effort I would get shut down, shamed or teased.  So I made a joke of it.  I could go from “I want to kiss you” to “Just Kidding!!” in two seconds flat.  Luckily I’m a bit funny so I always pulled that shit off.  And then I would overcompensate with how much I liked this guy or that guy.  The deeper I got into this routine, the harder it became to acknowledge my attraction to women.  Who would believe me?  I’ve done “straight” so convincingly.

Now I’m not reducing all my experiences with men to such cold and calculating choices – it runs deeper than that – it’s more complicated.  But absolutely – if I did not care what people thought I would have been seeking out women at a much younger age.

Oh well.  C’est la vie.  Lessons learned.  With my new knowledge – that I actually care – I am able to navigate my choices with more honesty – and hopefully  make better ones in the future.   Getting older and smarter, one day at a time.

Moments of Truth.

Coming out at 35 (including admitting to yourself/discovering for yourself that you are gay) can be a real mind fuck.  Excuse my language, but it’s the best descriptive I can think of at the moment.  Aside from all the things you might think are challenging – there’s also the thought “If I was wrong about that, what else was I wrong about?!”.

I find myself over a year past my  “aha!” moment.  The moment of truth.  It was after my first therapy session with my counsellor.  I went to her because I thought I “might be gay”.  After one session with her I was walking down the street and this surge went through my body, I nearly started laughing… or crying… or choking on the sheer “Oh My God” feeling when I said to myself “I am a Lesbian”.  Since then I’ve battled that truth, questioned it, tried to define every little detail of it – but at the end of the day, it just is.

This kind of epiphany makes me wonder what else I have been lying to myself about.  What other stories have I told myself to fit into one mould or the other.  It’s easy to go into spirals with this sort of thought pattern – and I have – but I’ve recently found some kind of peace in simply identifying this internal battle.  It almost keeps me more present… and it gives me something simple to pay attention to.  Moments of truth can’t all be bolts of lightning – to be honest I still am not sure how to identify what’s what – but I’m starting to listen, and that in itself has quieted a lot of the noise.

Writing the Truth in the Moment (and a link to my short film!)

I started keeping a journal when I was about 15 or 16 years old.  I embraced my writing at around 23.  Most of the work I’ve done has been self-reflective or inspired by what I have already experienced – ‘write what you know’.  Through this, I always thought of myself as fairly self-aware – able to point out my flaws and make fun, able to understand my inner workings.  This is much of the reason why coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality at 35 was such a jolt to my system – I thought I knew myself.

Looking back, I can see there were topics I shied away from.  For instance, I don’t have any written record of my feelings for the first woman I really fell for – even though I remember it so well.  I avoided.  I pushed it away – it was the kind of thing I couldn’t quite admit on paper.  Or maybe I didn’t want anyone to find out the deep truth.  I didn’t want evidence.  I am not sure.

I let those moments pass and carried forward with my ‘hetero life’, but the feelings stayed in the back of my head.  She stayed in the back of my head.  I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t figure it out.  The simple answer was too hard to admit.

About 5 or 6 years ago, I started working on a feature film screenplay about a closeted gay woman stuck in a marriage – this later would become the first feature I would produce (currently in post production and in need of funding) titled “Writing Kim”.  Prior to producing the feature, I  wrote, co-produced and performed in a short film with similar themes titled It’s Not About Kate.  When I watch this film now, I can see in my writing that I was too afraid to set the central character free.  I wasn’t ready to go there personally, and I wasn’t ready to go there as a writer.  I knew my truth lingered under the surface, and that frightened me.

I look forward to writing something where my protagonist allows herself to be.  Where she is queer, and it’s no longer an internal struggle.  However, for many, not being out is the reality – and I think there is a place for these stories – there is a place for the truth in the present moment.

 

 

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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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.

 

Me with You

You

You

You and I…

I won’t use four letter words that hold so much weight

So

What can I say?

I am infatuated.

Sounds so trite.

Why is it that the present can only be judged by the future.

Now

I am glad I did not end when I thought I could.

When I thought I was satisfied.

When I thought that there was no more

That I should express gratitude

That I shouldn’t complain

That emptiness was a privilege

And I forgot

Me.

Me

That amazing person that was me

is me

And there are sparkling lights

And your eyes burn in my mind.

I remember now

What the songs are about.

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.