Tag Archives: Gay

Post Gay, Post Apathy

13 Monday Jun 2016

Posted by in Barak Obama, DADT, Diversity, Family, Life & Living, Obama, Politics, Racism, Republican Party, Spirituality & Recovery

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I once wrote sometime ago about the topic of Post Gay. It was this concept back in the late 90s and early 2000’s regarding an apathy-like state where folks were expressing ‘fatigue’, for lack of a better descriptor, about the state of affairs as it relates to activism for LGBT causes.

There was a section of our community that was giving a shrug at the idea that activism was even necessary. Many had gone on from their teens, and 20’s into their thirties, with sights changed and moving on with family/partnering and getting on with the business of careers, accumulating material wealth, paying taxes and dying.

I, moving from my 30s into 40s at the time could certainly understand this sentiment, although I cautioned against it during the time during an interview with the media on the topic. At the time, I was the interim Director of the LGBT Resource Center at UC Davis, and the reporter wanted to talk about this idea that simply made her aghast. (To be fair, she was a 20 something, so I could see how this might be perceived).

In our discussions with college students at the time, it sparked heated discussions about what is being resigned, versus moving on to advocacy from an evolved or mature perspective and what is apathy, or just plain “sloth”. These are all intelligent questions for comparison but elicited, from younger members of our group, outrage at the lack of outrage.

We even invited a dignitary from state government to come speak with us on activism and how he assisted our state governor on remaining abreast of issues facing the California citizenry and what he should advocate for.

Now, because most of us don’t have a press secretary, we have to decide on our own on what is pertinent, important and worth leaving the couch for. I would assert that it might be actually harder in the modern age with all manner of media resource. We are bombarded by reputable, and far less reputable outlets of information hitting us with stories from every angle. It used to be that if it were the “Star” or the “Enquirer” you’d likely raise an eyebrow with skepticism about the level of truth in reporting. Now with Fox, and other outlets all putting their less and not so less obvious spins on reporting, it’s hard to garner what is trustworthy information. It becomes even harder so when the old-school traditional sources of NBC, CBS, ABC and to a lesser extent CNN all have news stories that are marked “promoted” right on the same page as the “legitimate” news. Heaven forbid you mis-click and you’ll be reading about why the country has gone crazy for a new anti-wrinkle skin cream written in the style of legitimate breaking-news.

There was a time when advertising was kept completely separate from the news. Having worked in the media (old school newspaper) during the advent of the Internet, that line was becoming blurry. Now, some might argue, it just doesn’t plain exist. The old-school media brands protected their reliability and perception of being trusted purveyors of news with all the fierceness that a dog would protect the proverbial bone. Being a trusted source of information was everything. Now, everything is open to suspicion. Whether because of the corporatization of the media, or the competition to drive people to their sites with clicks, rather than doorstep delivery, the media goes to great lengths to get you to visit their URL.

To our detriment, we are bombarded. Which, could conceivably, exacerbate our fatigue and apathy.

I don’t think this has happened so much in the LGBT community as it might have. We constantly have a flow of energized and outraged community members who keep up the fight, and advocacy on all issues. Our most recent and long-fought for prize being gay marriage, now known in our household simply as “marriage”. In our glee, we paused to catch our breath. We collectively sighed a sigh of relief. We slapped each other on the back, raised our glasses to toast our work – find whatever metaphor works for you, we’ve taken our eye off the underlying oppression that exists in this country and around the world.

There are simply people who don’t accept us, and never will.

That statement might sound defeatist. I assure you, it is the opposite. It is with newfound energy and vigor that I’ve arrived at this newest stage in my association with my role in the community as an activist.

My speaking engagements have dried up. I was afore invited to speak to large groups of young people. Please sir. Tell us of homophobia in your day as a young person? What was it like to be gay BEFORE don’t ask don’t tell? What? You were arrested? For Homosexuality? Is that a thing? And, energize our outrage with your tales of disparage you’ve endured, the discrimination you face every day as a couple together for 20 years (at the time) and unable to enjoy all the benefits associated with being a straight married couple. How can that be?

Truth. Gays now serve. (Out. They’ve always served). Even our neighbors have lost their interest in our novelty of being a gay-married couple on our street. (There are now four other couples, and folks have discovered we’re as boring as they are).

In the interim, Transgender has become the new Gay. In novelty terms, folks want Transgender speakers, or representation of the “T” on their board. What? You’re not intersexed? Um. Never mind.

This is neither a complaint, nor an indictment. It’s actually a wonderful thing. Trans friends certainly are the underrepresented in the group of the underrepresented. Nothing pleases me more than seeing the spotlight shined on their struggle (Well. Except Caitlyn Jenner. You can dim that spotlight. But, let’s not go there).

The events of two days ago in Orlando Florida; the largest mass shooting in America. 49 people killed.

There are folks who will say horrific things coming from a place of hate, which I would argue is fear. Fear of what they don’t understand, fear of the questioning of their role in our society and the challenge of the long-standing perceptions of normal and the perceived question of their self-superiority. Horrible things said.

Even politicians or would be politicians claiming that the true tragedy is that our President won’t say a string of words “Radical Islamic Terrorist”. I have yet to hear one of these folks attempt to call-out our president for not referring to Dylann Roof, perpetrator of the Charleston Church Massacre as a “Radical Christian White-Supremacist Terrorist”. No, their hate (fear) of Islam ranks right up their with their homophobia. So, it’s not likely they’d apply the same argument, which might reflect on a group they’d belong to. So, it’s why I don’t take them seriously.

And, herein lies my point to this writing. Advocacy comes in many forms. Some march, and shout, block traffic, blow whistles and otherwise bring literal attention to a matter. I applaud them. Any manner in which you can constructively argue peacefully your point, I support – even if it’s opposite of mine. The entire cause of dialogue starts with you conveying your point and allowing me to respond. Unfortunately, dialogue in this country doesn’t occur so easily.

The other form is to blow things up, incite riots and violence or otherwise bring harm to people and property. This I can’t support. Even if it’s for a cause I believe in. My fear isn’t as much as the bigoted (fearful) people who are exclaiming queers get what they deserve, it’s that in each instance of rhetoric it seems to escalate.

It’s escalated now to a point that the (by the numbers alone) is the most heinous act of massacre has been committed in America. There. But, I don’t believe it couldn’t become more terrible.

So, I examine my own response. All day I’ve been in conversation with folks and friends here in Texas an all over the country. Some angered. Some saddened. Some vowing to a new found verve for advocacy. Some resigned to stay in bed this Monday and not work, or look outside.

I for one will likely do what I continue to do…

Being an example of what it is to live as an American. To go to work. Go come home and kiss my spouse, and make a cup of tea. To give to causes which are important through monetary resource, or more importantly (and becoming more precious with each passing year) my time and effort. Administering to people who are sick and suffering with the disease of addiction is my passion, I’m not likely to forget they need help even with headlines printed in large print next to the latest celebrity gossip, which may or not be a promoted story on this info-tainment-news site.

As I sit and write this, my dog is snoring next to me, my husband is listening to Captain and Tennille (oldies for most of you) while he clips family photos for a Fathers day collage he’s working on. I’m at my laptop typing away while I let out a yawn at the end of the day. A normal day. An average day – – for me. Not for our friends and family in Orlando Florida. I grieve for them. I was saddened to the point of disgust looking at the photos of lost lives and learning their back-story, but in summary it comes to this.

What I want most from the bigoted (afraid) masses, from those who don’t like me, agree with me, or may even despise me is acceptance. Acceptance for me just the way I am. They don’t have to like me. Sure, it’d be great to be embraced, but I’d settle for tolerance. My experience tells me that there isn’t a way to get much more than that from some of these people.

But here’s the deal. If I want that from them, I’m going to have be willing to provide the same. Otherwise, I’m quite likely the hypocrite and have the same disingenuous motives that I sometimes readily spout that I despise them for. I can’t expect something from them, that I am not ready to deliver myself. That’s just selfish – which is not an attractive human trait no matter how you view the world.

So, while I may not have the power to change the entire view of the world, or even America, or even Texas, or even Austin in the time I have left on earth, I will focus on the neighbors I have right here in Copperfield neighborhood. It starts here by demonstrating to them that I have ideals of what is important in my life and the life of my family – ideals of community, faith, love and support.

It’s been my experience in in this life and my work with sick and suffering addicts and alcoholics that anything I do or demonstration I provide, is far-far more powerful than anything that comes out of my mouth.

 

A Follow Up to the Post Gay Blog

01 Monday Dec 2014

Posted by in Diversity, Houston, Life & Living

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After a weekend of fun in Houston and going out to several night clubs (I rarely night club any longer. It holds no fascination and unless I’m dancing, or karaoke-ing there’s not much going on for me), it was interesting to see the mix of folks at at least 5 places we hopped to.

These were all ‘gay’ establishments. Places known to be gay bars, or where gay folks predominately mingle.

Except.. where were the gays? They were there to be sure, but hard to pick out among the heterosexual couples and the bride-and-her-maids parties. It sparked a conversation with one of my travel companions about the disparaging state of night club gatherings.

My argument was this. We can’t have it both ways. Sure, we can long for the days when a gay bar, was a gay bar. But, we would be up in arms if a night club labeled itself ‘straight’ and discouraged gay customers from entering. Such is the reciprocity in a post gay world. Bars are just.. bars.

Sure, there will be establishments that cater to a gay clientele but it probably won’t be much bigger a distinction than this one plays hip hop music, and this one plays electronica.

I suppose it will make it more challenging for those who go to bars to make a love connection, but I can assure you – the pickings there have always been slim. Now, they’ll just be slimmer 🙂

Post Gay and the Freedom to be H

24 Monday Nov 2014

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Sometimes, we are ahead of our time.

I’m revisiting a topic that first came up over a decade ago. While researching this subject, I was surprised when I entered in the term Post Gay into the google machine, one of the items that came up was a quote from me in the media. That always trips one out, and it would appear that it was a topic that told of a future of living a life beyond the definition of sexuality. I would now argue 12 years after that quote we have caught up to that foretelling and are entering a new era in the evolution of civil rights for the LGBTQIA Community.

Here’s the link to that original story from my days living with Rob, in Citrus Heights, CA when I was the Director of the LGBT Resource Center at the University of California Davis. A lifetime ago!

 http://www.newsreview.com/sacramento/post-gay/content?oid=10951

 If you don’t have time to read through the whole article, here was the part that was attributed to me:

“Eagan and Kennedy are openly gay. But must all gays be committed to changing the views of others, to contributing to progress, as defined by the gay activist community? Yes, said Christopher Solis, coordinator of the LGBT resource center at UC Davis. He’s currently organizing a leadership retreat focusing on the topic of apathy in activism. He’s heard of the post-gay movement, and views it as a symptom of the very apathy he’s trying to fight.

“It sort of describes their emotions, that gays are tired,” he said. “They’re tired of being in the LGBT community. They want to blend into mainstream society.”

Solis admitted that the LGBT community has become, by definition, fragmented. “Allowing people to self-identify has benefits and drawbacks,” he said. “We could get to the point where we have letters for everyone.” He also identified with the post-gay notion of not being defined by sexual preference alone.

“I’m not just about sexual orientation,” he said. “I have a career, cats, a family, religion. To be constantly bombarded by the sex thing is challenging at times.” For instance, he and his partner of 12 years are thinking about adopting children, but Solis has gay friends who say such family values are incompatible with homosexuality.”

What’s most fascinating about revisiting a topic is the hindsight of how much one changes over the years and evolves. Even though I wouldn’t go far as to slap 1999 Solis (I was Christopher Solis then), I wouldn’t have said this quote today.

 To be fair, at that time I was surrounded by a demographic half my age, and my struggle was to infuse in them the reason to care about the civil rights movement. To those who know me personally, you might guess, that apathy as defined by inaction is an affront to my personal values. Much of my life has been defined as being a ‘do-er’, and so those who choose to sit on the sidelines and reap the benefits of others struggles and efforts have always offended me. Oh, I agree with their right to do so – I just suspect we have little in common. (ß Insert shrug here).

But in my memory when this reporter had called me that day, I couldn’t even really envision the idea of Post Gay. For clarity let me define what I mean, when I speak of Post Gay:

Post-Gay: The era where LGBTQIA community members are predominately viewed or identify by affiliations other than their sexual identity.

So, the reason I view us entering into this new phase of the civil rights evolution is the personal reaction I and Rob receive as a couple, or the reaction I get when the topic of family comes up in introductions or among newly introduced folks.

The proliferation of Gay marriage in the U.S. across the country has given the general population a sense of lessened anxiety about the subject – about living alongside LGBT people in general.

All of a sudden, I find my role as a member of the community being more of providing educational moments when they arise, or continued efforts at dispelling stereo types, but this is far from issues of basic human dignity and acknowledgement.

Certainly there will be ongoing education.

If I were to take an informal poll of my co-workers at the University of Texas, a group I consider to be highly intelligent and educated, many would still assert that because Rob and I are married in New York, certainly Texas recognizes that marriage, right? Wrong. But that’s because it’s common sense that we would. But because they are not confronted with these legal obstacles and it’s not in their direct vision but rather on the periphery, they can be forgiven for such naivety.

It’s been a while now since someone cocked their head at my use of an unexpected pronoun, or correcting someone when they ask if I’m married and they ask me a simple question about what is my Wife’s name and I respond my Husband’s name is Rob.

Basically the idea of Post Gay is an idea that we live in a time that topics that were such a big deal for such a long time, just aren’t as big a deal any longer.

I for one – am THRILLED with this evolution.

However I see others in my community who struggle with this new found identity – the identity of freedom.

It would be natural to think that after years and for some, a lifetime, of struggle for simple acknowledgement should be happy that in many ways we’ve achieved that. Now the challenge is to self-determine what now defines us. That is the identity of freedom I speak of.

The drawbacks I spoke of in 2002 were the fracturing of our society by the freedom to self-identify into sub-segments of one large community. Are you an L? G? B? T? I? Or an A? The benefits I spoke of are the acknowledgement that I fit somewhere in that community and thus can cross-advocate for others.

Certainly the aforementioned strides do not include the same degree of progress in areas such as Transgender freedoms, which means there’s plenty of work to do. But the idea that I can now focus my energies and efforts on advocating for animal rights, lower taxes, improved government, solving homelessness and other social ills and just being plain free (mostly) from harm and bullying is by itself cause for celebration.

So, while this transition that lies out before us seems daunting and scary. The principles behind self-identification still apply. Now I get to self-identify what matters to me beyond the boundaries of sexual identity.

I’m not advocating anytime soon the dismantling the acronyms we use or the term queer as an umbrella term, but maybe I’ve evolved to be just an “H” – for Human. I’ve never felt like such a smaller part of a larger whole.

Worth the “Weight”

26 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by in Family, Life & Living, Rob Rough, Spirituality & Recovery

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For many years, my husband Rob and I have had a running joke. At times – during mock distress – I’ve exclaimed “well, if I had a ringgg, I’d take you seriously” – or something of the ilk.

In years spent together, it’s been our (mostly) private source of a grin as many a picture of us were snapped together with me holding my left hand over his chest. He wondered many years ago, why I often posed that way and I informed him “to mark the years I’m going without this ring – of course”.

 

We had rings that I purchased for us years ago, as part of our wedding ceremony – but even that I was able to hold over him in a jovial manner, that I had a ring, but that I had to present it to myself.

My time together with Rob has been more valuable than a ring, or even more treasured than any significance that the presentation of a precious metal might bring. As we approach our 25th anniversary I suspected one might be coming because he had begun his annual inquiry about my ring size. This has been the 25-year long game of cat and mouse, I pretend I really want one, when it holds not as much significance as I pretend, and he pretends he’ll get me one, but mostly in a feeble attempt to raise my anticipation for one. Truth be told, we’ve gotten far more fun and mileage out of the joke than the actual ring might have brought.

But this year, our 25th year, I suspected his joke might be backed up with an actual ring. But the surprise truly was on me, when he presented it last night instead of waiting. And, I must say – it is beautiful. It’s particularly special because he designed it and had it custom made when he was staying in New York over the summer. In it he had a triangle cut diamond placed in the center, set into a white gold circle to signify something very important to both of us.

 

“It truly wasn’t necessary.”

But, that being said, having it is such a treasure. Something I’ll always cherish and will always make me smile and think of Rob whenever I look at it. It’s a wonderful gesture that while may bring this particular joke and banter to an end, I’m sure we’ll find something else to humor ourselves with. Such is the nature of our relationship. I often tell my friends who wonder what characteristics might make a good life partner – at the top of the list, I implore, please find someone who is funny! Someone who is funny can take you through life and walk you through even the darkest times lighting the way with their laughter.

With humor you can reminisce about the worst of times and laugh that they are the past. You can lay in bed and in unison look at the ceiling and giggle when those tough times are something you’re currently experiencing because you know someday (hopefully soon) you’ll have walked through the other side of them. The light heartedness that comes from having a fun or funny disposition is far more valuable than any carat weight, or platinum.

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This ring signifies not that we will stand the test of time, but that we already have. And, in that regard, it’s was definitely worth the wait. And, now I suppose I’ll have to continue to pose with one hand over Rob’s heart to show that the ring exists.

 

What the F is cool anyway.

03 Saturday May 2014

Posted by in Diversity, Fun, Life & Living, Spirituality & Recovery

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Right handed.  Brown eyes. Uncool. As time goes on and I’ve seen my hair move from brown to ash, and I see these lines form across my forehead I’ve accepted certain things about myself there once were, that are not now.

It’s harder sometimes though to accept things that were not then, nor now, nor likely ever to be.  Cool is one of those things.

I suppose it’s hard to define, and I imagine most people believe they are not (cool). Some folks certainly do though. And, to a degree, they may be correct. Perhaps it’s an air one carries, or the ability to set a trend, or that mystic quality people are naturally drawn to – I possess none of those things.

It’s all right. I’m not in self-pity about it. Not entirely anyway. It’s probably a good indicator that if you’ve been striving to be cool, you probably aren’t. Much like the aforementioned disposition of right handed versus left, you either are or you aren’t. Ambidextrous assertions aside, cool is a state of being that is difficult to define. It has no precise measurement or characteristic. But, you know it when you see it.

Growing up with perpetually low self-esteem, one can find they always feel like they are on the outside looking in.  Even over the years, developing friends, associates and loved ones who bring a sense of worth and purpose, cool still remains elusive.

It bothers one less and less I suppose, until you experience a reversion. A step back into the painful memories of what it was like to be distinctly uncool.  Awkwardness, lankiness, sense of out of place is often left behind with adolescence. But, not always. Sometimes being in an atmosphere that harkens to those days can bring about all those feelings once again. It wasn’t fun the first time around; it’s no more so in succeeding times.

Sometimes in my dreams I would be at a high school dance, and noting that everyone was laughing at me. This was actually welcome to a small degree as it was a step up from them yelling or sneering. But, in the imagined scenario, I look down to see myself in a cotta over cassock, altar boy outfit. I feel like such a nerd, and outcast.

Growing up trying to be good – Catholic was what I imagined I was supposed to do. But it appears at times it was another reason to be segregated from others as weird or different. This was not my goal. Well, I suppose it’s no ones goal really. Even Goth kids in school or those professing the intentionally manufactured attempt to be different clearly displayed the hurt, which comes from being an outsider.

Sometimes going into a bar atmosphere, especially one where gear, leather or other garment accouterment are preferred, I feel like I’m in a cassock. I’ve not really embraced that subculture and as a result am excluded. The question becomes is it important to feel ‘included’? To what degree? At what cost? I’m pretty sure someone who is important to me has friends that don’t think I’m cool.

Service in recovery, much like service in the church from my earliest recollections of being an altar boy, and in the catholic youth organization has always made me feel good when I was doing it. It feels like what I am supposed to be doing., what God would have me do.

I think sometimes folks feel like do-gooders, aren’t cool.

So, I’ll pray about it. Maybe God thinks I’m cool. Maybe that’s really the ‘in crowd’.

 

Watching Time Pass. Watching Years Pass. Watching Friends Pass.

10 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by in Family, Ganso, Life & Living, Spirituality & Recovery

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I’ve been having lessons in acceptance throughout my life. Much of it, has been a struggle. Mostly because somewhere along the way I adopted a confused thought. (This is not uncommon. I have many confused thoughts).

  • Acceptance does not = Liking.

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Somewhere along the way, I confused acceptance with “liking” something.

There is war. There is poverty. Crime and harm done others. While I don’t like any of these, I accept that they are the reality. As sad as they make me. As cruel as they come across. Injustice perpetuated by others is not something any of use will ever like. And, by acceptance, I’m not resigned to inaction. I can become an advocate for any cause. No, acceptance merely equates to my acknowledgement that it exists. It’s true. Even if it’s horrible – or stupid.

It’s like I think that the my realization of the truth somehow equates to my condoning. This is a typical un-humble thought. I’m full of those. (This idea that somehow my endorsement of something is a requirement  before something becomes truth).

Simple = Good

I have been thinking on the topic of this late after the passing of my friend, self-proclaimed ding-a-ling and always-laughing Tom Delgado. Or, as I knew him.. simply.. Marissa-Endora-Carol-La Luna-Tome. (So named for the string of drag numbers and icons, no less memorable than Tom himself).

I don’t know if it was because we were the same age. Or, that I just saw him on my last trip to California – or that it happened so fast. One day he was with us. The next day he was not with us.

I’ve experienced death of those I love. You can’t have been on earth as long as I have and not have this as part of your experience. But, it never gets easier.

  • To the contrary – I suspect it will get much harder.

It’s an inverse equation. Although I’ve had a long enough time on earth to get used to the idea of death, it’s also because I’ve had these folks in my life for an extended period that it hurts that much harder.

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Of course, all this reminds me of the subject no one ever really wants to talk about. The idea that my own mortality is finite. That none of us really knows that if we go to bed this evening if we’ll wake to greet the morning. And for the last few evenings, those have been my thoughts as I drift off to sleep. What if this were the last time I moved the puppy Ganso because he’s hogging my pillow and snoring in my ear? What if this were the last time I’d reach over and grab Rob’s hand only to have him grunt, roll over and mention how hot the room is? Have I done all that I hoped to do by now? Are my affairs in order? What about that proverbial ‘bucket list’?

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No. Acceptance in this instance is that I will NEVER have my affairs in “order”. I will NEVER have completed all that I hoped to accomplish. I will never have an empty bucket list. These are as futile at this moment while I lay in bed typing as Ganso no longer keeping my pillow from me. Some things just are.

Tom showed me that rather striving to seek an enlightened approach, perhaps it was just as good to seek the simplest one – because often times they are one in the same. Many times in meditation and spiritual conversation we often wax on about big concepts, and complex notions. But the truth often is, simple is best.

It’s like a conversation I had with Ms. Delgado right after she was sprung from jail for hitting a pedestrian (to be fair, the pedestrian ‘refused’ to move, and Ms. Delgado warned her). It seemed to be the peak of Tom’s streak of rage. And, we talked openly how we hoped that this was the cherry on his anger cake and that he could find peace through God and letting go.

Tom devised his own approach to anger management. He decided that whenever he got angry, he would sing a song. Any song. (He knew lots, he was a music trivia and karaoke master!). But, he favored show tunes and anything Ethel Merman might sing. Because his simple thought was you cannot hang on to anger, AND sing a show tune at the same time. It just wasn’t possible. And prior to that conversation I hadn’t thought of that simple idea. Tom described it as ding-a-ling. I would say inspired.

So sing that song. Anger is anger. Injustice is injustice. Pain is pain. Accept it. Move on, or get into action to change it. But until it’s changed – it just ‘is’.

Spending the 4th of July Weekend… At a Demonstration

02 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by in Family, Life & Living, Rob Rough, Spirituality & Recovery

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Hunting Crabs in the Sand, Duck, North Carolina, July 2012

Hunting Crabs in the Sand, Duck, North Carolina, July 2012

We find ourselves in North Carolina a week after the U.S. Supreme Court decision to dismantle DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act). While some of our friends have migrated to City Hall’s across either coast to either confirm their commitment or celelebrate in colorful parade, we are here enjoying a quiet (well, as quiet as it can be with two pre-teen nephews running amok) time with family in North Carolina. After spending a few days in California with the other side of the family. While we would have loved to drop things and run to the coasts to formalize and legalize a ceremony that was already held years ago, we don’t imagine there’s much reason to rush.

  • Family isn’t determined by a certificate. Family is created through love and dedication.

Those that we are enjoying this time with already consider us family in a manner that no additional adjudication from a court, church, civil act or even legislation could determine. I guess that is why I have not gotten as riled up as some of my contemporaries around the subject of marriage. I mean ‘gay’ marriage, although I suspect in another decade or so, that may become an unnecessary qualifying term. It’s because I fully expect in this lifetime I will see a simple civil ceremony (we already had the big-to-do-one) with Rob and I, perhaps with just family and close friends to confirm what we’ve already established long ago. That we love one another. That we plan to support one another through good times and bad. And, that we are a family unit.

Denouncing your family does nothing to lift my family up. And, is that really the values i’d like my family to establish?

So looking out on the beach and watching my husband Rob, stand and look out over the Atlantic with his brother Ted, while nephew brothers Ryley and Grady sit off a short distance looking for crabs and at the ocean – I see multi-generations of love. I am confounded why others, who have different political or religious, or inhuman beliefs are incapable of seeing the same thing I do on this lovely sunny sand-filled day. But on a day like today none of that matters I suppose. Life is simply too short for each day to be a battle. Today my e-mails are piling up (I see them out of the corner of my eye). My text messages are mostly going unanswered, there’s no TV on – only the distant sound of Aretha Franklin singing in the background next to my cold lemonade, sunblock, sun glasses and favorite magazine. My legs are drying because Ryley just splashed me in a tempt to rile me. I feigned being shocked by the welcome cold water.

  • These moments cannot be recaptured. There’s flight. There’s fight. There’s .. enjoy

So today, while groups argue about the state or non-state of matrimony – the nation mourns the tragic passing of 19 firefighters in Arizona, and friends ponder why I’m not marching somewhere this fourth of July weekend. I’m here, where I want to be, where it’s most important to be. Talking about family, and the hierarchy of life that I often espouse, isn’t just believing in a concept about the value of family. Like the oft cited phrase, “faith without works is dead” – having a value is meaningless without action. Which is to say, if we say family is important, it’s necessary to follow that up with demonstration. So – with that – I am at my own demonstration of sorts. Not a political one. Not one in the streets with rainbow flags and flashy revelers – but a practical one. Spending time with family is a demonstration of life, love, and commitment to family – in it’s most basic form.

Being Married

28 Tuesday May 2013

Posted by in Family, Life & Living, Rob Rough, Spirituality & Recovery

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October will mark Rob and my 24th Anniversary together as a couple. As time goes on, we find others who seek our guidance or suggestion on how to find a partner, be in a partnership, and ultimately keep a partnership.

These are difficult questions to be sure. We all are so different, we want different things. We have different values and place greater importance on some values over others. Thus, we are left with no quid pro quo, no ‘formula’ for finding your soul-mate and no guarantee step-by-step to keeping it once you’ve found it.

I can tell you several things that have helped me along the way. Maybe some of these may help you.

  • Don’t be convinced that you must outline what you’re looking for, before you find it.

Ok. Certainly some values are non-negotiable. Honesty, Integrity, Fidelity. But when one gets into the nitty-gritty such as… I like surfing… so he has to like surfing too. It begins a slippery slope. A slope wherein what I’m saying unconsciously is I want “me”. Other attributes too such as he must be taller than me, or have blue eyes – are just missing the point of finding a good and honest human being qualified of being a good partner.

Finding someone precisely like me who I can share my interests with is nice, yes – but, I consider that a bonus, rather than a must-have. The truth is, Rob and I had very little in common when we met. So much so, that with my limited vision, I could not see compatibility. He liked visiting art museums (ugh). I liked car shows. He was trying to perfect his water color brush strokes, I was trying to perfect the timing on breaking down my rifle and qualifying as a marksman. He was a democrat, I was not. Truth was at each turn of our conversation we found we could discuss little with regards to mutual interest. But, here’s what I found exciting. When he talked about museum art pieces, his passion exuded in his voice and eyes. He was excited about life and art. You could see he really loved art, and that passion was somewhat contagious. Today I will accompany him to a museum, because it makes him happy – and I get to see him enjoying life. And, he will even go to the occasional car show with me. His special job is to rate the cup-holders J

 Once you do find him – don’t freak out.

There is an invisible line. It’s different for everyone. 6-months, 9-months, someday – you wake up and realize. Holy shit! – I’m in a relationship! Panic ensues and all manner of irritability comes forth. That’s sort of our natural defenses warning of us of ‘intruder alert’ – someone getting close to the heart. These may flare up several times during the course of the first year and maybe even into the second year.

For us, it was a microwave. We bought one together because we were living together and well… we needed one. But this singular purchase represented a milestone. Because it was no longer your stuff and my stuff. OMG – if we break up, WHO GET’S THE MICROWAVE? This subversive mentality is constantly running in the back of my mind, because I want the other person to be as committed as I am. And, how do you really know? You can ask them, but if they say ‘yes’, isn’t that what  person who wants you to think they are committed – but isn’t really, would say?

On that day, after an argument ensued, the best suggestion Rob received from his close spiritual advisor was “Do you love him today?” – “Yes, but…” “NO BUTS. Stop. Enjoy the day with the one you love today. Wake up tomorrow – ask yourself the same question. On the day your inquiry comes back with a question mark, seek counseling. The morning  your question comes back “no”, then there’s a problem – until then – no problem. Let go, let God. Trying to run my own life, even in the areas of relationships has always had disastrous consequences. Here, more than anywhere else I need a spiritual advisor and a friend who will have coffee with me at a moment’s notice and just listen.

  • Commitment = Departure is not an option.

One of the biggest drawbacks of Gays not being able to be married is that it’s so easy to break up. There’s no formality in our coming together, and the departure can be just as informal. You can see why we are already inherently insecure about committing to a relationship where there’s no obligation really on either of our parts to stick with it.

Thus I had to approach this like my sobriety. This, is to say, drinking is not an option.  No matter how bad my day is, or what tragedy may befall me, lost jobs, lost cars, and lost finances. No reason at all. Truth is there are a million excuses to drink and not one good reason. Applying this thinking to my marriage was key to providing me the security to become the person my potential promised. So, leaving the relationship is not an option. Now granted, there are some instances where this rule would not work. Such as an abusive relationship, etc.

But, I am a delicate creature. One who has had a history of taking anything, or furthermore EVERTYHING personally. So, keeping in mind that my previous experience with relationships was just to resort to the FYIDNY nuclear option (Fuck You I Don’t Need You) and leave – this relationship would be have to be handled differently. Rob and I are committed to discussing each and every disagreement we have. In 24 years, there have been many. Some small – but others we each walked away from our discussion shaking our heads wondering how we’d get through this one. But you do. If you remember that departure is just not an option. Commitment for a lifetime means just that. Even when it’s hard. Even when you’re frustrated. Even when you don’t want to be in the same room with the one you love. It all blows over.

Once I read in a blue book “we have in inability to form a true partnership with another human being”. I took that as a condemning sentence that I’d never have a relationship. What it really spoke to is because of my inherent and consuming selfishness and self-centeredness it is not likely I’d be able to realize that true partnership that comes from putting another first. I practice this as often as I can in my relationship with Rob. Sometimes I fall short. I’m now glad he tells me when I’m falling short rather than holding resentment over it. It allows me to correct my course. He “IS” the primary relationship in my life. This means if other relationships are creeping in before him, I have to reassess my priorities. That’s part of my commitment to keeping my relationship happy and healthy.

None of us do this perfect. I certainly do not.

We sat the other day reminiscing about something or other from back in the early 90s and it occurred to us that each of us has spent nearly half our lives with each other. If you’d asked us in the beginning what was one of our greatest fears it likely would have been – growing old. Doing that with each other has turned out to be the biggest gifts I never saw coming.

23 Years. How did This Much Time Pass?

21 Friday Sep 2012

Posted by in Uncategorized & Miscellaneous

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Rob and I celebrated 23 years this year. How we arrived at this point I’ll never know. Time does fly and 23 years would have passed with our without my notice.

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What’s been great this year is the opportunity to look back as we not have before. With so much history together, it’s clear now we have a lengthy reservoir of memories to draw upon. Much like our very first date, we reprised with a visit to a theatre (there’s no drive ins anymore like that first time) and to a restaurant after. (The restaurant has gone up significantly in star rating too).

I believe we laughed together (the main ingredient in our ability to endure times where it’s difficult to find humor in the circumstances) all the way from first course to last. We spent time quizzing one another one what our favorite, and least favorite memories were. This turned out to be a very powerful exercise in examining the years through the kaleidoscope of amazement. True shock that we survived some trials, and admiration for one another for making it through the very roughest ones.

I don’t know anyone with more tolerance, patience and love. He has truly shown me how to be a wonderful human being.

To Thine Own Self…

15 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by in Austin, Dallas, Houston, People & Celebrities, Places, San Antonio, Spirituality & Recovery, Texas

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Each of us has the power of changing the world around us. I mean that in all sincerity. Not in the way that some of us envisioned. Perhaps not in the way we plan. Or maybe we have a vision and it comes out completely different than what our imagined reality would look like. But we still have the ability to provide that ingredient that still changes the world for others.

Sometimes perhaps it comes in grand accomplishment or gesture. Or, maybe it can come in the simplest manner possible. The simplest manner of course, would be just be just acting in a way that is true to ourselves.

Who would think that change could be effected by just “being ourselves”?

That was a lesson or insight that one of Austin’s most eccentric characters bestowed upon me. Without formal declaration, or sitting me down and saying “listen to this”. That’s the beauty of this particular lesson. The teacher wasn’t a self-professed teacher. It wasn’t even perhaps his goal or stated mission.

What Leslie Cochran reminded me, is that sometimes eccentricity can be portrayed in a way that  doesn’t have to be threatening or frightening. That crazy can sometimes elicit a giggle. That anger, directed at authority or bureaucracies can have a grace that is more ridiculous than intimidating and yet it still can be taken seriously. That outrageous can have its own impact.

When I first was deciding about whether I could live in Texas, I was faced with many questions. Some of them were perplexities. I wasn’t sure if I’d be safe. Californians, particularly Northern Californians, have an insulated way of looking at cultures. There’s San Francisco liberal, and there’s everywhere else… conservative. We sometimes look at the world this way because SF and much of Northern California in general is ground zero for liberal thought.

Everywhere else is just a remote measurement to the “Ten” that is Berkeley.

Certainly, I thought, Texas, even Austin, would be somewhere down the scale – perhaps a five? Four? I dreaded to go lower.

After all, even though Sacramento is probably an eight to the Bay Area ten, certainly in Texas I’d have to subtract digits from the baseline of the 8 I was used to living in. Rob and I arrived for the sole purpose of finding out where on the scale the various cities in Texas fell.

Houston was wonderful. We loved Houston. But, much how we love cities like Los Angeles and SF. It’s a metropolis. It has museums. It has culture. Arts, all of it. Along with it, it has people. Lots of em. Loads of em in fact. We never have had a desire to live in a place where we felt we’d need to acclimate to a culture by blending into obscurity with it. Big cities make us feel that way. Thank God, Rob and I are like minded in this regard. I don’t know if we could survive a relationship where we were drawn to different cultural living experiences like a push-me-pull-you. Houston 7.5

Dallas is wonderful. We liked Dallas. But, Dallas is like West Hollywood. We feel an undercurrent of competitiveness. Like we could spend the rest of our lives loving living in Dallas provided that we were willing to compromise certain aspects of our lives. Like we’d have to acclimate to a certain materialism that pervades, like leftover aura from the TV show Dallas era. I hope my friends in Dallas don’t read this as a judgment. It’s not that really. I think most would agree Dallas is a unique city in Texas. I once saw it summed up on a T-shirt which read “Keep Austin Weird”. On the reverse side? “Keep Dallas Pretentious”. But we still like Dallas. Dallas 7.

San Antonio was nice. It has an old cities charm. It is in fact one of the oldest cities in America. Thus, the architecture in some areas reflects this. It has a Spanish overtone which makes it seem other worldly, and then the River Walk of course, lends a unique character to it all. The problem we found is when we looked at homes outside of downtown proper it seem to fit more of what our idea of traditional Texas looked like. That is… dry, tan, and flat. In defense of San Antonio, it was August however. San Antonio 6.5

This left Austin. After exploring these other offerings, we were seeking an oasis. There was a reason I left Austin for last. Of the cities I’d visited prior to this important trip, (important because it was one of the checklists for our making a decision, and because it was our honeymoon) Austin was my favorite. I consciously and subconsciously wanted it to be Rob’s favorite too.

It was at once exciting, alive and unique. It was weird with its liberal bent and artistic in a bohemian way that for all of Houston’s money, culture and museums couldn’t muster. It was exciting to be here. To meet the friendly people. To meet with a realtor. And, it was exciting to dream that we could live here.

Then there was the dreaded scale question. We found ourselves walking down 6th street, one of the more touristy and grungy parts of downtown. It’s kitschy what with its souvenir shops and Esther’s Follies, etc. But it wasn’t the best place to answer the scale question.

Could I be safe here? Could I be me? I wondered if I could acclimate. How would I fit in? It was answered in one fell swoop. Upon turning a corner onto congress. Rob snapped a picture that I wish I’d been able to dig up. If I do at a later date, I’ll add it here. But, it was of Leslie Cochran of Congress Street and Austin fame. Leslie in all his fabulous, feather boa, thong, high heels and all.

We didn’t know who he was. We didn’t know what role he played in this cast of characters or that he was even a fixture. I just know I was face to face with the first ever transgendered and from-appearances, homeless person I’d seen. This person, Leslie as I would learn upon a later date introduction was a spectacle. But a peaceful one. And, one that seemed to gracefully blend into the canvas of weirdness. He neither raised eyebrows, or terse reaction. He didn’t receive reproach from passerby for his antics or risqué dress.

I knew in one moment – I’d be ok. I knew on that August day in 2006 that I’d be ok. That I fit Austin. Austin fit me. That I came to judge Austin on a scale. I was used to living in an 8. It hadn’t occurred to me that “I” might have to be willing to move. Could I live in a city at a 9 or even a 10? Yes!

I didn’t expect that. And, in that simple way on this one random day – Leslie Cochran impacted my life. I was later to learn that he impacted many more.

As I would later come across Leslie many times later, once I moved here, Leslie was fascinating to watch. Whether he was posing with his fans or passerby for photos and collecting the occasional dollar. Or whether he was checking the runs in his fishnet stockings in a storefront reflection. Or thumbing for a ride up and down congress. Or peeking into a nearby trashcan, he seemed at once aware of all that was going on around him and oblivious at the same time.

The only time he displayed brashness was at the occasional authority figure (he’d had his own collected experiences with law enforcement and city officials that may have justified is own opinions on this matter).

And on the day of his death, the community came out. In wigs. In tiaras. In mustache. And in the park we let pink balloons fly. Some wiped tears, some wore thongs and heels.

And, I realized that Leslie Cochran had carved out impact in his own little corner of the weird world. Austin.

All he did was be himself.

Himself was enough.