What if you were wrong about...?

A friend asked me over brunch one day some time ago, "What if, just imagining, what if after you die, you find that life continues--you continue--and you're led to someone who explains that he's the Savior? How would you react?" It was a question I already had asked and answered myself, checking in with myself periodically to see if the answer was still the same.  It was then, and it is now.

I explained that despite the guilt-inducing stories of my Mormon social upbringing in which some rebellious character gets to the other side and is too ashamed to look Christ in the face, I don't have the sense that that would be my experience. I acknowledge that could change, depending on what perspective might open up to me at some point, but actually living it has given me a different conception.  I've lived as honestly and sincerely as I know how, and I fought for years to hold on to what beliefs or "testimony" I could and give myself ample time to come back around before heading off in any direction other than the one that had, for years in the past, seemed so trustworthy.  I've acted and prayed carefully for years.  I don't feel "rebellion" in my path.

I will not always get it right, and I don't want to mislead anyone or miss opportunities to help someone in the best way when I could have done so. But when it comes right down to it, I hope I will always find a way to let go of my own pride about how right I've been or egocentric pride about what kind of "example" I'm being and will instead humbly, deliberately, and actively seek to embrace truth in front of me.

And for that reason, the short answer to that ultimate question is really just three words: I would kneel. I still get choked up saying that, but I don't see any other way. My friend said he somehow knew that would be my response. I took that as a compliment. Sure, I don't expect that is what will happen, but I don't think I have it in me to be totally dismissive about the possibility, it having meant so much to me for so long. And sure, if it does happen, I might wonder how I had lost sight of it or how many souls I could have brought to the greater truth during my time wandering.  And I might have questions to ask and critical thinking to incorporate into or balance with faith, but in the end, I believe what ultimately matters is that when truth presents itself, no matter how scary or unexpected, I embrace it and try to do the best I can with it.  After all, that's how I've found the peace and perspective I have today, and I'm not so proud as to assume I've got it all figured out now. For that reason, I believe I would kneel, and I would ask, "What now?"

Denying a Child a Mother

I think one of the greatest spoken oppositions to same-sex adoption revolves around the "need" for children to be raised by both a mother and a father.  Some studies seem to indicate that children raised by a mother and father fair better, overall and generally, than children raised any other way.  I'm not sure if polygamous households are included in those studies (are children raised by 4 mothers and 1 father even better off?), but the claim seems to be that a male and female parent, whether biological parents or not, make the ideal parenting pair.  Some studies seem to indicate that children raised by two parents fair better, overall and generally, than children raised by one, and additionally that parental sex/gender is almost if not completely irrelevant.  But despite the touting of studies, I don't think research or statistics are the reasons most people determine their position on same-sex adoption.  And I think most opponents, including many gay dudes I've spoken with, oppose it partially because of supposed future teasing and discomfort of children (you know, like Mormons adopting in Mormon-unfriendly areas or inter-ethnic adoption) but even more because they know how much they loved their mothers and the softness and warmth they brought to their lives, and they hate the idea of denying that to a child.  And I won't lie: it tugs at my heartstrings, too.

The softness of a mother.  The way she smells so nice and looks so pretty.  The quiet lullabies in soothing, motherly tones.  The soft, gentle touch on the cheek.  The building and management of a clean and organized home, a comforting shelter, a cooperative micro-community.  The tenderness, the emotional expression, the mother bear protectiveness, the singing, the click clack of the heels, the hugs when you get a boo-boo, the gentle way she cleans up scrapes...

I don't know that I can say anything or any figure can fully replace a mother, or--maybe more accurately--nothing and no one could replace mine.  I wouldn't trade her for any.

Dads are awesome, too.  The providence, the strength, the discipline, the example, the humor, the slightly awkward but meaningful arms around you, the musky smell of cologne, the shoe shining, the ability to objectively assess a situation and help you work through it without getting overly emotionally involved or blinded.  Mom could teach aspects of manhood to me, but she couldn't personally model it like he could and did.  How could you deny that to a child, either?

But then I pause and can't keep certain thoughts and memories at bay.  I can't quite get away with overlaying them with popularly favored binary gender roles without something inside of me resonating with a "wait just a moment".

I have memories of tender moments with my father.  Sometimes, I was sure if we had an intruder, my mother would be the one to beat the crap out of them.  Sometimes, my father was the one more concerned with fashion sense.  My dad was rough getting splinters out, but he also taught peaceful resolution through quiet strength rather than combative conflict born of insecurity masquerading as fierceness.  My mom got overly emotional sometimes, but she also taught us to play sports and speak up for ourselves.  Dad sang to us, even if in occasionally grating tones, and cooked and cleaned.  Mom fixed stuff and worked and handled the finances.  I wasn't raised by completely stereotypical, binary gender roles.  I was raised by a mother and father who taught me different, same, and overlapping or complementary things.  Neither is replaceable because they are my parents, and they are what I know, not because one is a woman and the other is a man.

Don't get me wrong: I don't deny having a male and female role model and caretaker was beneficial and even integral for certain aspects of development of my identity.  I believe it was and is for most children.  In fact, I still suspect that, all else being equal, having a mother and father may be _generally_ ideal, the easiest solution to gender identity development for most children.  And gender is a pretty undeniably core aspect of identity and psychological and social development and adaptation.  Ethnicity is another aspect of identity that some adoptive parents simply cannot model for their children, and some dismiss the value or impact of ethnic background while others try to connect their adopted children with strong role models or family who can be a resource to them.  If I ever have a daughter, I really do hope she has a close female role model, someone who can not only explain the realities of becoming an adult woman, physiologically, psychologically, socially, etc, which I could probably do pretty well at, but who actually understands it firsthand and can  identify with her about it on a firsthand, "I get it" level.  I won't be able to do that.  If I have a son, I will teach him about becoming a man, but I would like him to have a meaningful female role model in his life who shows him, rather than just abstractly telling him, what qualities to look for in a potential future spouse, assuming he's heterosexual, which he most likely would be.  And there might come a time when talking with his dads about his dating life starts to feel a bit off, like there's a disconnect.  Because there very well may be: dating guys as a guy is not the same as dating girls as a guy.  But building a good, stable relationship with communication and respect and healthy choices...that carries over pretty well, in my experience, and I hope to know a thing or two about that to pass on to my children.

I had to figure out the whole gay thing on my own. I had to seek out my own role models, people to identify with, people to sort it all out with.  I didn't have role models at all for same-sex partnership.  But I did have role models for partnership.  It would be easier in many ways if I continued to just live within the bounds set before me: I know what "husband and wife" is supposed to look like and have had excellent role models for it.  But this whole boyfriend and boyfriend thing has aspects about it that I'm not sure translate directly from my parental role models.  So I recognize that if I raise heterosexual children, which is the highest likelihood, they may be in a somewhat similar position.  I would hope that their grandparents, aunts and uncles, and our married friends will be all around them as models and will hopefully be people they can talk to.  I plan to not raise my children in a gay vacuum, or a white vacuum, or a Mormon vacuum, or an agnostic vacuum, or a male vacuum, or a Utah vacuum, or a middle class vacuum.

I guess that's where it really started to break down for me.  I cherish the softness of a mother and benefited from the discipline of a father, but let's be honest, there's enough fierceness, tenderness, protectiveness, singing, emotional expression, cool objectivity, and other traits to go around in my current relationship, and they're not contrived or unnatural: they're just us.  Neither of us has soft shoulders to snuggle into, it's true.  Neither of us has long, silky hair or wears perfume and heels.  If we had children, our children would miss out on that from their parents.  Some kids don't have physically active parents, or parents who communicate well, or educated parents, or emotionally stable parents, or funny parents, or socially connected parents, or principled parents, or culturally aware parents, or parents who respect individuality as well as social integration, or good-looking parents, or healthy parents, or rich parents, or politically powerful parents, or parents who care about cultural heritage, or parents who can take them all over the world, or parents of their ethnicity...  We probably couldn't give a child all of those things, and we couldn't give a child a mother, but we could give a child many of the positive traits, attention, behaviors, and lessons a typical mother offers as well as a good number of things an orphan might hope for, and we could give love from parents who went to great lengths and expense to bring that child into our family to be our son or daughter.

For me, the single biggest hesitation in feeling comfortable with going ahead with adoption has been the realization that though my child would definitely have a father, I would be, in a way, deliberately denying a child the exact kinds of motherly memories I treasured.  And that's not something to be casually shrugged off.  My mom is certainly irreplaceable, and there are memories of her I just couldn't duplicate with my children.  I would just try to make sure they have them as similarly as we can, or in a different but significant form, or with trusted and present, if not parental, loved ones.  Ultimately, I can only hope that if I ever did have children with a male partner that they would grow up as happy, productive, and fulfilled as any, that they would one day reflect back and find that though another parent or a mother might have offered something we couldn't, they can't imagine having to choose one of their irreplaceable dads to deny their children of.

We can debate til the end of time...

Acceptance should not negate conviction.  The good news is that it doesn't have to.  If you struggle to wrap your mind and heart around that, you may do well to soften your heart, open your ears, and relax your neck.

Don't get me wrong: I _will_ challenge and push back and ask questions and retain skepticism.  Crucial conversations must take place regarding the consequences of our actions on each other and on people we care about in our political, social, and personal lives.  Understanding and solutions come from such conversations, through the conflict, not by avoiding it.  Conflict is bound to arise from people of varying convictions pursuing what they believe is right and good.  And some people in pursuit of power, self aggrandizement, or justification will destroy peace around us if we are too busy holding hands to stand against them and do anything about it.  Not all views of either spirituality or secularism include a love of peace or prioritize harmony, reconciliation, and self-determination.  But I think humanity generally craves them enough that they can and will be fostered and magnified by example.



If I love you, I am going to care about your happiness and will be concerned when I see you choosing what seem like destructive beliefs and decisions.  I think we should be honest with each other.  But there are respectful, mutually beneficial ways to approaching those concerns, and there are tyrannical, stiffnecked, or defensive ways to approach them.  We know where we fundamentally disagree, and we're not likely to change each other's mind, especially not by reminding each other of disapproval at every opportunity without being ever willing to hear each other out.  And if I turn out to have been slightly short of full understanding of truth, or just plain wrong about someone's decisions, will I have destroyed good friendships to defend my own flawed understanding?  If I'm certain I'm right, and they're certain they're right, am I proud enough to staunchly believe I am the right one?  Am I arrogant enough to let that sense of righteousness alone justify behavior or treatment of others that I would consider wrong from anyone else?  No, and I don't think I have to.  I have my beliefs, but I don't know all things or the depths and breadth of anyone's heart and experience.  I try to keep this perspective ever present when approaching and having conversations about controversial or difficult subjects I might more easily rail against or rant about than attempt to understand.

That's why I think I'd change one lyric in this song: "We can debate til the end of time who's wrong and who is right, yet I can honor your choices and you can honor mine."

I believe that debate can only get us so far.  At some point, I think each of us has to accept that there's no way we can keep up with each other, or there's no way I can fully articulate every nuance of every thought and experience I have, let alone do it in a way that would be convincing to everyone or even anyone.  I may have a higher tolerance for tension and debate than others.  And I still do and will rant sometimes.  I do still think we can and should have productive, even if conflict-born, conversation.  But I will nonetheless commit and re-commit, and strive to honor your choices, even when I don't understand or agree with them (which is often, let's just be honest *wink*), and after some rigorous testing, I've found that even though in some cases we agree less than ever, I can generally expect the same of my truest friends, for which I'm grateful.

It gets better. ...If.

OK, it just gets better.  From adolescence, things get better even for the vast majority of those who could see no light at the end of the tunnel.  There are things that will happen totally without your effort, such as a gradual balancing of hormones.  Don't scoff: that's huge. ;-)  Environment will change.  Minds will adapt and open.  But for some, it might not happen readily, and it might not happen quickly, and it might not happen to any great degree.

But I think it will more likely get better if:

• you don't wait around for everything around you to change and magically "get better"
• you really work at emotional authenticity, honesty, and integrity
• you learn to separate true criticism from blind bigotry
• you talk with someone who can help you sort through things
• you are honest about who you are, starting with being honest to yourself, then to others with care
• you remove yourself, when possible and with good judgment, from abusive situations
• you refuse to be a victim of circumstance and start planning your response to your situation
• you carefully seek others who understand and have more than their own self interest in mind
• you figure out your options and prepare to choose
• you remind yourself that you have no idea what ten years from now will bring, and 50 years of happiness will be worth a few years of difficulty
• you consider your situation to be a challenge rather than an oppression
• you find the right medications to balance your chemical levels and bring you to a more optimal level of functioning
• you avoid enslaving your judgment and cognitive abilities to addictive substances
• you avoid enslaving your emotional fulfillment and stability to addictive or abusive behaviors
• you remember that there is so much more that makes you who you are, and foster the parts that make you feel productive and strong
• you take time to meditate, ponder, pray, or otherwise focus both inward and on something greater than yourself of which you are a part
• you keep in mind that you are not truly alone, even if you haven't yet found those who understand
• you make an effort to help others in their need, since you are not the only one struggling with something
• you don't push away all unpleasant conversations or questions out of fear of having to face something
• you work on recognizing that you are just as worthy of love and understanding as anyone
• you let people compliment you and consider and take in their feedback at least as much as the douchebag who doesn't actually know you
• you forgive others and know you are worthy of forgiveness
• you just hang in there long enough to let some of this stuff work out, even if it takes years.

Meanwhile, those of us in more stable, secure places will do our part to change the environment for you.  We will reach out to build understanding both ways.  We will watch for people struggling like you are.  We will work to give you a better playing field in which to work through whatever you need to work through.  We will listen.  We will offer our ears and shoulders at times.  But it will take time, we might not yet know how to change your environment, and we may not have time and strength to personally reach out to every one.  We're working on it, but in the meantime, until the world is a safer, more understanding place for you to work through whatever you're working through, or until you find someone else who clearly 'gets it' better than I do and can offer you hope in a way I can't despite wishing I knew how, the one with the most power for you is you.

It will probably get better, but you'll make it much more likely to get better if you work at making it better.  And I attest that it's worth the effort. I don't know you, I don't know every aspect of what you're going through, and I have different brain function, chemistry, family life, life experience, social placement, religious background, personality, and coping mechanisms than you do.  But I hope something here is helpful, and I do think you can make it better by working at it if you can find the strength to just begin to do so, to begin to trust that it could conceivably get better even if you can't see how right now.  Hang in there.

Please do not hinge your hope on "change"

When the researcher admits validity of criticism and expressly requests to retract his former conclusions, it's time to reconsider: http://wthrockmorton.com/2012/04/11/robert-spitzer-retracts-2001-ex-gay-study/.

None of this should change your freedom to choose how to respond to your attractions, but my direct observation of and personal conversations with dozens and dozens confirms what a long-time ex-gay leader recently said about the popular claim among certain organizations and groups that "change is possible": http://wthrockmorton.com/2011/10/10/former-love-in-action-director-i%E2%80%99ve-never-met-a-man-who-experienced-a-change-from-homosexual-to-heterosexual/.

I've noticed a subtle and gradual (if not somewhat disingenuous-seeming) shift in the usage of the word "change" in organizations like Evergreen and Exodus, apparently to sidestep or move away from discussion of reversing orientation, as more voices come out in testimony that few if any people actually change in the way the word has traditionally been used in that setting. There are still organizations like NARTH which endeavor to amass evidence in support of eradicating "sexualized" same-sex attraction in favor of an emerging heterosexual orientation, so it's not like this was the last leg, as some are claiming, but when foundational voices are retracting their conclusions, it certainly raises questions.

After about eight years involved in support groups and gay Mormon social circles, the only two people I've met who claim to have changed from homo- to heterosexual are Journey Into Manhood founders, and I haven't sat down for a real, personal conversation with them to find out if that's even what they really mean when they say they "identify as a straight male", though they know very well how vulnerable, conflicted men will hear it and yearn for it.  The claims of those I know of but haven't met are such that any retraction from them would mean loss of therapy fees, book royalties, speaking fees, and the public pride and championing of activist loved ones, so I see a strong incentive for them to convince themselves and others.  But I have little or no justification to claim they're just bald-faced liars, and if I could sit down with one, I would listen and try to understand what they mean or have experienced.  They might mean that when the temptation to look at erotic images arises, the images tempting them are of women.  Maybe they mean men are no longer interesting to them, and they feel magnetically drawn to women now.  They might mean they're attracted to men primarily but express that attraction in only friendly ways and deny or refuse to entertain, in any way, the romantic or sexual yearnings that occasionally arise, or call them something else.  They may mean they have directed, suppressed, and "re-framed" their attractions to such an extent that they genuinely hardly think about it anymore and live a contentedly "straight" life.  But even if they mean the latter, I know few, if any, who achieve that stably before marrying a woman, or before their early thirties, so I'm left wondering how much of that is personal effort and how much is decreased libido and more present priorities and stresses.  Unfortunately, those who claim to have changed are understandably guarded, having been verbally assaulted and publicly mocked, so I don't expect to be able to sit down with one.

Some people I personally know have temporarily claimed, in snapshot testimonials, to have eradicated most or all of their same-sex attraction while increasing opposite-sex attraction.  But they later privately admitted they'd over-interpreted a decrease in overall sex drive, or increased opposite-sex curiosity or openness (not attraction), or behavioral changes and relationship improvements.  They'd mistaken relative absence of obsession and impulsion for lack of same-sex attraction.  Nonetheless, saying I've never seen anyone actually change from homosexual to heterosexual is not the same as saying it's absolutely impossible.  And I can only speak from my own experience and what others have told me about theirs.  I just have never seen anyone "change" in the popularly understood and deliberately intended marketing use of the word, and others who have been on the front lines of larger efforts have periodically made public admissions of similar observation.

Those who speak out in support of "change" use such cleverly crafted wording to make the intended meaning of "change" so nebulous as to obscure any distinction between their change and the sexual, spiritual growth of my straight friends.  Heterosexual friends have, seemingly likewise, reached points in their lives when they were no longer troubled by thoughts contrary to their belief system and dominated by obsessive drooling.  They've learned emotional intimacy and authenticity and learned not to act on every sexual urge.  They're no less "straight": they just...matured.

I don't point this out to keep people from taking a path I chose not to take or to defend my own.  I don't point this out to slander individuals.  I don't point this out to push legalization of marriage for same-sex couples.  I point this out because I've watched friends repeatedly engage in an exhausting effort to change their orientation which led to isolation, depression, emotional dishonesty and detachment, all of which they were convinced would be worth it.  But they haven't changed in the ways they hoped, even if they denied they hoped it.  I point this out also because I personally know what it's like to see no good to be gained from casting doubt on an ideal goal just because I and everybody I knew hadn't reached it, when in reality nobody among us had reached the legendary goal.  I point this out because I believe getting caught up in the ideal of being "fully released from the temptation of same-sex attraction" completely distracts from the truer, more practical and helpful discussion of "whether or not it ever changes, what now?"  

If hope is only found in eradication of same-sex attraction, then I know nobody who has real hope.  I concede in a theoretical way that it can possibly change for some, but if so, it's very, very few.  Not one person among the dozens I know has changed their orientation, not after Journey Into Manhood, years of therapy, years of quietly doing their own thing, or years of being married to a woman.  You might want hope it can change.  But for most of you, even among those who believe you must never engage in same-sex romantic or sexual relationships, it just won't.  Other things will change.  Your ability to cope.  Your openness to a relationship without the sexual chemistry you yearn for.  Your openness to finding real attraction with just the right person to make it work.  Your emotional stability.  Your social network and support system.  Your religious beliefs.  Your communication skills.  Your relationship intimacy.  Your emotional intelligence.  Your decisions.  Your goals.  There's a lot of hope to be found in those kinds of changes.

Maybe one day, someone will figure out a reproducible way to eradicate erotic, romantic, or sexual same-sex attraction, and political pressure will not stifle it.  Maybe some day, neurology will advance enough to re-wire anyone for heterosexuality for those who want it (I wonder how many people would choose to become bisexual to increase their options...huh...oh, right: topic at hand).  It's conceivable that there will be a way to turn same-sex attraction into opposite-sex attraction.  But today, it's just not happening for at least most people, probably all but a very select few, and possibly not for anyone.  Maybe a few have changed.  Maybe they're more righteous and hard-working.  Maybe they wanted it more.  Maybe they had just the right combination of therapy, support, desire, belief, chemistry, diligence, divine intervention, and experience.  Or maybe they're just an anomaly who understandably think their coincidental effort and desire earned or caused the change.  Maybe they're more adept at self-deception or repression.  Maybe they're twisting words to make a buck.  I don't know, and I don't much care.  I just know my friends--the people I personally care about--haven't experienced the coveted 180 degree orientation change...or even 100.  And I gave up on assuming it might be due to their supposed "lack of" anything.

Hope, I believe, is not found in the message that your "orientation" can and must "change", or that you can and should attempt to eradicate your same-sex attraction or even make opposite-sex attraction stronger than your same-sex attraction.  I believe hope is found in being told you are free to choose to live what you believe and want and that there are ways to make the best of a difficult situation.  Hope is found in recognizing the challenges ahead and trusting that you have the strength and support of people who care, not only to endure but to find fullness and joy in life.  Hope is being assured you are not a simpering victim of the lions of gay corruption or religious tyranny.  My hope was found in facing a tough probability or potential reality--that this might not completely change--dealing with it head-on, being open to what changes might be possible, and refusing to hinge my happiness and spiritual confidence on a specific kind of change that frankly does not come to most despite years of effort.  Try to change, if you feel you must, but please, please do not hinge your success, happiness, or self image on eradicating all homosexual feelings.

Change or not, you can do this, and you can find truth and happiness.  Something may have to give.  You may have to reevaluate the way you look at some things, what you believe to be true, what challenges you're willing to take on, how you see yourself, what attachments you might need to let go of, or what you most want.  But hang in there, and know that no matter if you're celibate, married in the temple, adopting children with your same sex partner, an all-around slut, or anywhere in between, you're in really good company if you still and always will most often feel something more instinctual and attractive for a hottie of the same sex walking down the street than a hottie of the opposite sex.

Obedience as the first law of heaven

Ha, cleaning up files today, I found a letter I wrote to a friend who was serving a mission in 2003.  I don't remember all of the context, but apparently I was responding to something he'd written to me.  If I remember right, he sent me e-mails because it was easier than writing hand-written mail, and this was back in the day when missionaries were newly allowed to use e-mail, but only for writing immediate family.  I remember shaking my head and thinking he should be more obedient, but I also smirked and shrugged it off because I figured we were good enough friends that I could let it slide.  It's interesting to read this now, with different perspective, but being able to remember and sympathize with the thoughts of 9-years-ago me.  Without further ado, please enjoy this sermon on obedience from the pre-heathen O-Mo.

**********

I do not say there are no exceptions.  Just look at the examples of the shewbread and the apparent exceptions Christ made.  The Mosaic Law had been added to by mounds of man-made rules and regulations, void of the inspiration of God.  And even the Mosaic law was fulfilled in Christ.  There was a reason for change.  Jehovah, himself, was here to command men and guide them.  He can change things up whenever he wants to.  We can't.  Look where that got the Pharisees.  So I guess the question is where your mission rules come from.  Did they come from God, or were they the uninspired creations of a frustrated mission president?  I guess they could be either.  But I do know one thing: if you obey, you will be blessed, and so will the people you teach, EVEN IF IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, OR YOU CAN'T SEE HOW IT WORKS, simply because of your attitude of humility towards the Lord and desire to serve His people His way.  That's something way too many missionaries never get through their thick skulls.  They think the way that makes most sense to them must be the right way. 

If you obey, with the right reasons (submission to God and his inspired leaders, desire to provide an example for those you teach), your obedience will not be destructive.  There may be times when other missionaries trying to villainize you for being strict WILL be destructive, but that's not your fault.  Exceptions will come.  You will know them.  They will be obvious.  The Spirit will guide you if you go into those situations with an attitude of obedience and love for the Savior and the people you teach.  Nephi didn't decide, on his own, that if it were someday necessary, he would kill a man.  He was committed not to.  But in an hour of need, the Spirit prompted him, SEVERAL TIMES, that an exception must be made.

Christ was perfectly obedient to the will of the Father.  He had _fulfilled_ (was not 'disobedient to') the Mosaic Law—and I would recommend your ZL not use the word ‘disobedient’ in conjunction with Christ again; it sounds like subtle craftiness J.  With his arrival and atonement, the Spirit played a larger role—it gave life to the commandments.  Most of Christianity would have us believe we have no more commandments.  They see the 'law' as merely a way of showing us how imperfect we are and how incapable of meeting its demands.  There is truth in that, but we are still expected to strive, and sometimes the only way of knowing whether we are willing to submit in all things is to obey a seemingly stupid rule.  If you have a concern regarding a rule, talk to your mission president.  I got so sick of hearing elders say they 'didn't want to bother the president with stupid questions.'  For most missionaries, that was a copout, in my opinion.  It takes less than a minute to ask him about a rule and get a quick reply.  If he tells you certain rules are flexible and that he trusts you more than other missionaries to make the right choices, so be it!  If he tells you the rules are inflexible, then so be it.

Human love is flawed.  Human love is jealous.  Human love is clouded by limited vision.  Human love wants everything rosy, even at the expense of learning and building of character.  Human love is frequently motivated by guilt or selfishness (looking good to others or needing affection).  The love of Christ is, to me, very different from human love.  It is perfect, unconditional, serving, and wants the best for its recipient, even at the expense of their affection or praise.  Charity, the pure love of Christ, comes from a testimony of Christ and familiarity with the way God deals with His children.  That’s what I meant when I said charity fosters obedience: we love our Heavenly Father and our Savior and want to do things his way because his love is perfect, and we care enough about those around us to do what he asks. 

OK, I'm REALLY long-winded.  I'll try to wrap up.  There are rules, yes, that can make some things less convenient.  I say get over it and adjust the work to fit the guidelines you've been given rather than trying to adjust the guidelines to how you think the work should be done.  If you honestly feel the Spirit--that is, the Lord himself--is telling you to do it a certain way, and the rules conflict with it, then what more can I say?  But unless you receive revelation or spiritual confirmation regarding your own situation, then a disregard for any rule is an UNINSPIRED disobedience, no matter how logical it may seem. 

There is danger in trying to be 100% obedient so you can be ZL, or so you can prove something to yourself, or so you can be praised of men.  There is also danger in disregarding 100% obedience because some people do it for the wrong reasons.  For me, I believe in obeying a rule, and showing the Lord my willingness to do it, and following the guidance of the Spirit should an exception arrive(though not determining beforehand what constitutes an exception).  I loved the people.  I tried for 100% obedience (in fact, I was famous for it...or infamous).  My love didn't always show the way people expected.  I do wish I had made my love for the people more obvious.  I could have softened up on my strictness some.  But I know I loved the people, and I know I did my best to be obedient, to serve them the Lord's way and as well as I knew how.  I don't know where missionaries get the idea that loving the people and obeying the rules are contradictory.  We're commanded to do both, and the Lord provides a way for all his commandments.

Is there Celestial glory in store for all who love?  Is there Celestial glory in store for all who are obedient?  I would submit the answer to both questions is 'no.'  Does that mean I should love halfway or obey halfway as a compromise?  Not at all.  We can and need to strive for both.  It's a package deal that can really only come with the Atonement of Christ.  When he says, 'Be ye therefore perfect,' I think that means to strive for perfection in every way, and allow him to make up the huge gap that will still be left.  He was the only perfect man to walk this earth.  He said to follow him and do the will of his father.  Paul tells us that without charity, the PURE love of Christ, simply going through the motions is useless.

My advice: strive.  Prove to your Heavenly Father that you're willing to do even that which doesn't completely make sense to you and which is hard.  Love the people with the pure love of Christ.  Let it show.  I think if you honestly strive, you’ll find an acceptable balance.

**********

Wide-eyed wonder

I remember a night my world changed forever. I was tucked cozily into bed, and Mom was saying goodnight when I mustered the question I'd been mulling over in my youthful brain: "Is Santa Claus really real?"

I may have held on longer than many children to belief in the jolly old elf who chutes down the chimney to leave presents and fill stockings. Some kids had tried to tell me he wasn't real, but only a mean-spirited person would bother to say such a thing, so they were clearly not people I should listen to. One kid said it's all a story, another said she saw her mom and dad putting the presents under the tree and eating the cookies and milk. I thought they might be lying, or they might have been mistaken, or maybe they were naughty, and their mom and dad had to fill in for Santa because he wasn't about to hop down their chimney. There was surely an explanation because he'd been to my house and eaten the cookies I left for him. My parents had clearly indicated it must have been Santa, and good parents don't lie, and my parents were good. I'd seen unhappy, grumpy people in movies who didn't believe in Santa, and when they let the Christmas spirit in, they could finally see him, and he'd been there all along. That's how it worked. I saw their eyes light up as they let the magic in. I would believe.

As I grew older, some question arose. How could he get to every house in the world? Wasn't that a lot of houses? Movies and stories showed me ideas of how time might slow down for him. I thought the explanations were fair enough for a magical guy, and I pushed away the doubts. Why doubt what was such a happy thing?

What about Santa at the mall? He couldn't be in every mall at once, could he? I mean, even for a magical person, it seemed a stretch. I asked my parents about this and was told Santa had helpers, and I had taken pictures with what were probably his helpers who passed children's messages on to the real Santa. I wondered if I had ever met the real Santa or if they had all been helpers, and I felt a little disappointed, but it did make sense. After all, I had seen people in Santa costumes and knew some of the beards seemed fake, but I had refused to let that register before I had a satisfactory explanation other than the sad and unappealing, "Santa's not real". Besides, why wouldn't you just believe? Disbelieving could not only result in Santa not visiting but would also be insulting to Santa if he were real.

But the questions had added up. I wasn't one to go with the crowd in most ways, but I was surrounded by peers who had apparently stopped believing, and I couldn't help but notice that Santa's handwriting seemed somewhat familiar... The biggest tip-off came not from those who loudly said he was fake but from those who had quietly stopped defending him.

So on this night, I had finally asked the question those who believe in the magic of Christmas don't ask. As my mom's expression told me she was arranging the words in her head to make the answer as easy as possible on me, I already knew the answer was not simply "yes". I felt a knot in my stomach.

She handled it in expert parental fashion. She told me about a kind man with a generous spirit who gave to others and of a spirit of goodwill and sharing that became the legend of Santa. The magical Santa Claus who left me presents was not real after all, at least not in the literal sense. I felt a little silly for having stood up for Santa after many of my friends already knew. I felt mournful over the loss of the most magical part of every year. It did help to hear that he had been a real person, and it helped to focus not on what wasn't real but rather on what was real: the magical spirit of Christmas I felt and saw in people's eyes every winter. With a tender kiss, I was left in the dark with teary eyes to come to terms with a new loss of innocence as I tried to hold on to the spirit of Santa in my heart while mourning his death centuries after he was said to be laid to rest.

"What will next Christmas be like?" I wondered. It seemed so sad and empty without the magic of Santa. Maybe she's well-intended but wrong? Maybe we'll experience a Christmas miracle, and we'll all see him flying away in his sleigh...? No. Something told me to let go, that this was right. I knew Christmas was about celebrating Jesus' birth, so it would still have its main meaning, even if it would be years before that inspired me more than Santa ever again could. And the Muppets and The Grinch had taught me Christmas was also about love, kindness, hope, purification of hearts, generosity, and friends and family. I let these ideas fill in the void where Santa used to be. But it took time and deliberate self-reminders to focus on what Christmas was and not what it now wasn't.

I wanted to let everyone know I knew better, and I even felt a desire to tell others so they could avoid feeling more silly when they finally found out. I did let friends know I was finally in on the secret, sometimes when asked delicately, "Do you still believe in Santa?" I no longer needed to prove I had the Christmas spirit by saying yes, though I still tried to vocalize the positive. I didn't become the newest anti-Santa crusader. What for? I had seen the truth when I was ready for it, and others would, too. Besides, what's the harm in holding on to the magical feeling of Christmas and that glimmering "what if"? How would it feel to go around making sure everyone knows Santa isn't "real"? Is that something I could do with bright-eyed excitement, even to someone who was angry at others for not believing in Santa? Wouldn't it feel kind of sinister to go around saying it, even if it was the truth? Wouldn't it feel better to focus on the meaning of Christmas and the spirit of Santa even if I no longer believed in the literal story?

Rather than resenting the cruel trick or becoming bitter about the holiday because I'd been duped, I recognized that, Santa or no Santa, it was still an undeniably magical time of year...for me, at the very least. I could either become Scrooge, or I could be inspired and buoyed by the seasonal change in my own heart and in others as we shared magical stories, gave and helped a little more, remembered what was most important in our lives, ate some great food, and remembered the birth of a Savior, whom I understood to be central to the entire purpose of our existence.

Yes, the magic I had loved so much as a child was lost, and that took some getting used to. But as I chose to hold on to the spirit of that magic, something present and persisting remained. Once I was past the sadness and defensiveness towards the stories about Santa which I had previously believed quite literally, I was able to see them with a resurrected twinkle in my eye as if to say, "Wouldn't it be wonderful?"

Why I've chosen to test, not abandon, friendships

When I realized I no longer believed in the tenets and doctrines of the LDS Church as I used to (the stories and explanations, not the values, which I still mostly share), or that I wasn't sure I believed in them at all anymore, many crises presented themselves, not least of which was a complete shift in my social interactions and change in my relationships among those closest to me.

I was going from, "I have so much respect for the fact that even if it's not always comfortable, you continue in the church and take each day on faith. I don't know if I'd get through what you're going through with such faith, and it's so inspiring that you do," to, "I'm so sad and disappointed that you've given up. You're forfeiting celestial glory and eternal life by overthinking your way out of the church. It's just hard to see you throwing it all away instead of hanging in there." I also went from sharing this part of my life which had been most important to me to not relating on this new level with most people I was close to and not knowing who to talk with about it. I wondered if I was necessarily going to eventually be pretty sure most people in my life believed a fantasy. How would our relationships adapt to this new dissonance?

Since late high school, my social life and friendship circles were developed within the church and its many programs and organizations. I worked at various places, and I volunteered with other organizations, but I had so many friends within the church that I never felt much need to seek friendships elsewhere, and I didn't. Over 90% of my Facebook friends are or have been LDS. My closest friends were active in the church, and not just the active-by-default kind or the "you can't take it all too seriously" kind but the deliberately active and consciously engaged kind. As much as I wanted to make sure I wouldn't leave the church as the result of social issues or interpersonal conflict ("the people are imperfect, not the doctrine," I always said), I realized that I was at a turning point where if I were to stay in the church, the reasons would be primarily social. I had a very difficult decision to make, but I had put off the doubts and tried to quell them for many years, and the reality of that hit hard.

I resigned any leadership in church-affirming or church-affiliated organizations as soon as I realized this. I was not about to cling to the feeling that I was useful and contributing while quietly disagreeing with mission and values statements and wondering if I even believed in God anything like the way I always had, or at all. I was not going to try to change any organization into what I thought it should be when my beliefs were increasingly in conflict with those the organizations had espoused all along. And I didn't want to cause some scandal by being an apostate in leadership and thereby unduly discredit those organizations in any way. I'd rather leave some distance between the time I stopped serving and the time I really walked away, if that's where I was headed. I believed I needed to diminish for a time while wrestling with these questions and determining my way forward without unnecessary political and social expectations and external pressures. I'd moved along with those quite long enough to satisfy myself that they were not going to keep me afloat, that I had internal conflicts to resolve now with or without those attachments. In my case, I believe integrity demanded I step down and step back.

Similarly, a temptation was to isolate completely from those who still subscribed to church doctrine. I no longer belonged among them or shared what we'd always shared, and my presence would be regarded as a "negative influence" by some. Additionally, I knew what my 8-years-ago self would tell my today-self, and I didn't care to hear it from everyone else trying to talk some spiritual sense into me. I also didn't want to unnecessarily affect anyone else. What if, a year or four from now, I decided I was wrong and went back to the church? What if, during that time, I had "led many astray" by my example and doubts and might later regret it? No, better to keep it mostly internal except when pressed. After all, I felt like the kind of clarity and epiphanies I was having were sparked by others who sincerely shared with me what they'd been going through. I had been a missionary and tried to help people gain a conviction of LDS doctrine. Did I regret that? Maybe in a way, but it's what I honestly believed, so it's hard to really regret something I did in full sincerity. "OK, then," I thought, "as long as I'm being honest and sincere about it, I'll share when asked." But I didn't want to have the conversation constantly, so I was careful how I talked about it to avoid eliciting probing questions unnecessarily.

It really was a "spiritual walkabout" of sorts, and I found most people respected that and didn't try to interfere. Some did, probably out of a desire to save me from withering as a coal removed from the fire, but it fell flat. Their language and demeanor reflected a lack of real understanding of what I was going through. Those who seemed to "get it", even if they'd become faithful again, understood that I knew the arguments against what I was doing and had made them effectively, myself, and this was my journey alone to navigate. Typically, their preaching amounted to, "Don't shut out the Spirit. Stay open." I could handle that.

It was challenging, at first, to maintain contact with my LDS friends. When you're going through a transition in life or trying to make changes you believe are positive and necessary, and the people you've surrounded yourself with are not on board, they can hold you back from that process, especially if they've never been through it quite the way you have. The easy answer is to push them all away, freeing yourself up to pursue your new direction without the baggage and weight of opposition and emotional pleas to "come back to the fold" and be saved. But I saw a problem in that notion.

If I was truly making the right choice, then I should not be threatened by opposing views. And if I alienated all of them, I'd be left quite alone and therefore either artificially lonely and sad (which would be a product of the social isolation but would conveniently be explained by some as 'spiritual decay') or needing social interaction so badly that I might fill the void with shallower, shinier friendships with people who may or may not actually care about my personal welfare. At my age, starting all friendships from scratch seems a really unpleasant endeavor and one I'd rather not undertake. Besides, if I was going in a good direction, and my relationships were built on more than certain common beliefs but were actually personal, intimate connections, they should be able to weather these changes. If I was going in a bad direction, I wouldn't have alienated everyone who would be there to help me get back up and dust myself off. And maybe there's value in letting them see more of the journey rather than fleeing and making it easy for those left behind to assume the wicked cannot abide the company of the righteous, or my conscience couldn't withstand the reminders. Maybe there's value in acknowledging that if this is right, they might benefit from seeing that I'm still me and still happy, and if it's wrong, I might benefit from knowing they'll be able to call my B.S. if I try to put on a happy mask. Besides, I cared about my friends, still, and believed they cared about me. So though I did withdraw from a few social circles where the group bonding was stronger than my individual relationships within the group, I chose to test my closer friendships rather than abandon them, even if I did distance myself in some ways for at least a time. I'm happy to say my close friendships have persisted.

That's not to say it's been easy. Hay-ul no, not nearly. Even though it was painful for me to see people hurt over my decisions and beliefs, and they were clearly struggling to adjust to a new way of viewing me, I was happy to find that most of the people I considered true friends walked with me when possible, and still allowed me to walk with them, and we've made the adjustments together, sometimes smoothly, sometimes roughly. Many are still adjusting. A few not-as-close friendships haven't weathered the change. I harbor relatively few hard feelings for those: I knew what those friendships were all along, and they weren't the kind of relationship to weather this, so I couldn't expect anything different.

The pleasant surprise has been that some have quietly come to me confessing that they've been through similar, and we've rekindled old bonds. Some have come to me confessing that they've never told anyone this, but they've not believed for years but carry on playing the role because that's what they contracted to do when they married, and they don't want to upset their children's lives unnecessarily by risking divorce or rocking the boat. Some friends of other belief systems have come back, and I've been able to see more completely beyond the "non-LDS" barricade I didn't realize I had put up. Many, more than I expected, have admitted to being somewhat or very "agnostic" in their faith, admitting they don't "know" it's true but hope it is, or that they firmly believe in the core of the gospel and very much see an evolving doctrine around that core, and many of these have "come out agnostic".

It's been stressful, which is another topic I intend to post about. But it's been good. And I feel more stable and "at peace" than maybe ever, despite obvious stresses in my life. That may be because I've stubbornly eliminated a doctrinal framework that conflicts with my natural man, and it may be because the world and universe make more sense to me now than ever or that I'm not trying to cling to false beliefs, and new or conflicting ideas don't cause the tension in me that they used to. Come what may, I hope to find and embrace truth. I'm no fount of bubbly happiness, but I feel as happy as ever. Perhaps it's not an "eternal joy" of the kind I used to experience and have, over the years, forgotten as a distant memory. Or perhaps it's a more sustainable joy from within and not based on what may be myth. Maybe I've learned a kind of happiness that I needed to, and one day I'll bring the LDS "gospel" back into the picture, and the combination will be greater joy than I've ever known. Or maybe I'll find a wonderful man and adopt children and have more joy than I thought possible. Who knows? Not me, and not you. But we can probably still be friends.

"Would you take him back?"

A few people have asked me this. I met up with someone recently for lunch, and as part of the get-to-know-you, I mentioned the brief dating relationship I was in last summer and the breakup due to his sudden decision to "fight it". The fellow I was speaking with shook his head and said he knows so many cases like that, and almost all of them have eventually realized the futility of the effort, so surely he'll regret having broken up with me. Most gay guys I talk to about it say this. I said I understand that's what happens with many, but it's not always so simple, and he may have needed this effort of "fighting it" regardless of his eventual decision, and I have at least a friend or two who have probably dumped people similarly to how I was dumped and who are now happily married to women. I said even if he does eventually drop whatever effort he may be engaged in, I can't wait around to find out, nor do I think it's likely to happen soon if at all for a few reasons, and I can't place my hope in it, for my sake and for his. I can't tease my heart, and I can't disrespect his decision. Then he asked a question others have also asked and which always gives me pause, "Would you take him back if he ever did change his mind?"

My reply has been a simple one in most cases, "I would want to. If it happened now, I would definitely want to." I've been afraid to vocalize the second part of that, though, lest it should ever get back to him, that I don't think I could. Why did I not want him to know I'd said that? Part of it is that I wouldn't want him thinking I was vindictive or didn't truly, deeply highly regard him (as much as I knew him when we were together) and what I felt for him. But did I actually want him to ask to try again? Was I only saying I couldn't out of defensiveness to keep myself deluded into believing I wouldn't take him back to avoid the pain of knowing I still do want him back? Was I afraid I actually would take him back despite objectively believing I "shouldn't", that I'd lack the strength to stick to some resolve? Was I just keeping my options open? Screw it, I decided, I'll say it: "I don't think I could. Not without at least some changes and maturity in him, things which weren't there before." And as I said it, it seemed to solidify my resolve, and I thought, "No...no, I wouldn't." Testimony is found in the bearing of it, after all.

I was trying to "hold on to my heart" while we were together because I knew the risks, the likelihood that it was going to end in pain if I let go. I didn't realize how deeply I wanted to see if "we" would go somewhere until he suddenly went cold, and there was no longer a need for me to keep the brakes on, no need to keep things moving at a measured pace when there was nothing to move.

But looking back, I know there were things about him that concerned me, and while I hoped we could grow through those together, and they weren't dealbreakers (with the possible exception of one main thing), I don't know how I could trust his stability or self awareness at this point, having already had my concerns confirmed once, and right after I'd begun to...stop holding on to my heart. But regardless--and this may seem harsh--judging from his one, short response to a heartfelt (even if seemingly overindulgent) e-mail I sent, I don't respect or like some big parts of the person he has chosen to become, or the traits he has nurtured, and while I still would love to believe I knew him as he truly was, I've admitted to myself that even if I did, I just don't know who he is anymore, and there is no picking up where we left off. If we were to "try again," it would be from scratch, and facing that reality, trying again is not appealing to me right now. Looking back, and from what little I know of his current life, I'm actually quite turned off by some significant things, and though I felt so readily connected with him, so naturally "fitted" with him, I can't help but wonder if someone like him is totally wrong for me, if I wouldn't lose patience with and respect for such a person over time as the blinding influence of the initial affection wore down.

And yet...I love him still, in some way. I care about him as a friend. I love the memory of him. I love 'us' as we were. I love the person I saw in his eyes, heard in his voice, and felt in his touch. I love how I felt towards and with him. I still respect the traits which drew me to him. But he's a mere memory to me now. In the worst case scenario, he was intentionally using me as an experiment to satisfy his curiosity and intentionally deceiving me to try a beta relationship on for size before choosing social security and family approval and tossing me aside as the plaything I was, someone he never really cared about except to flatter his own ego or satisfy his curiosity. In the best case scenario, if others are right to speculate that he surely has had trouble getting over feelings and can only move on by completely disconnecting, then he has chosen defensiveness, detachment, and callousness over vulnerability, openness, and sensitivity, which is the opposite of what I thought I saw and valued so much in him and which, though understandable and expected from someone of his age and situation, reflects a type of emotional functioning I don't care to deal with in a potential partner. Either way, he's gone, if he ever was as I imagined, a fact I accepted pretty quickly after his last message to me.

I expect I'll never know familiarity with him again. Most of the time, that's just a fact I acknowledge and shrug at since I can't change it. But a couple of weeks ago, as I was not far north of his hometown and not too far from where he lives now, I found myself dozing off at the wheel and was startled to realize I had just fallen asleep for an instant, and I was grateful it was on a straight stretch, and I hadn't flown off the road. In my melodramatic drowsiness, I wondered which hospital I might have been taken to, who would get news of my critical condition, and who would come visit me when they heard. And if my condition were critical, would he visit me before the chance was gone? Would he even care? Amid these thoughts, I wept a little, which I knew was a sign that I will probably always love him in some way, whether or not I 'like' what he's chosen or what traits he has magnified or stifled. I didn't know if he would ever again care about me, but I knew without a doubt that if he were ever in critical condition, unless I was explicitly forbidden, I would be at his side in a heartbeat, as an old friend who never stopped caring even though I had to move on from the romantic attachment or feelings for my own well-being.

Knowing I care and may always care and not knowing whether he has convinced himself to hate me, the temptation is to decide to convince myself I don't care. That's the pop culture cry: be strong and stop caring! No, I think there's better: to fully acknowledge I care, and let it hurt a little now and then, but to let go of the desire to know whether he cares, to let go of my own desire for affirmation. I definitely believe pining away for what was is not an option, nor is hanging on to some hope that he and I will change in all the ways we need to and will magically be together someday to justify my feelings of fondness for the time we were together, but I think to convince myself defensively that I don't care or that I shouldn't remember whatever we had fondly would be the weaker choice, and dishonest.

So why write all of this? I've recently had a couple of conversations with people regarding exes and found that my questions and pain are not exactly unique. I've also found that many people do downplay past feelings or relationships either to quell pain or to validate current relationships as if you have to demean the old to value the new. What a tragedy. Parents don't have to love dead children less to love their living ones, though they do have to "let go" of them. I don't have to invalidate an entire friendship just because we grew apart, as if feeling affection for what we had demeans my current friendship with a "best friend". I don't have to poo-poo what I felt to be open to someone else.

And yet...I've been trying to figure out whether I'm ready to trust someone again, whether I'm emotionally available. The fact that I've been trying to figure it out tells me I'm not but am trying to convince myself I am. Talking about it still induces tender emotions sometimes. Just this morning, a train of thought had me on the verge of tears and simultaneously frustrated that I could possibly still be so affected. But there's no sense in denying it. I just have to figure out what to do with it, and how to keep moving on and letting go.

I may even still be in love with the version of [him] in my memory even though I believe I'm not in love with the [him] who now exists. But he has made his choice, and I have accepted it, and though I would gladly be loyal if there were a relationship to be loyal to, I can't healthily hold myself emotionally hostage to a pipe dream. What has concerned me is that I can't honestly promise any of my current potential interests that I could never conceivably love [him] again if he came back changed and more ready for the kind of relationship I thought we could have, even if I could tell him that I just am not willing to do it again. As I consider some other present potential interests, I at least want to be able to tell them, with confidence, that if he came back now, wanting to try again, I'd tell him, "No, I have someone now, and what we have is worth more to me than trying to pick up where you and I left off." I suppose it would be poetic justice, in a way, but that would certainly not be my aim because, as I said, I care about him and always have, and emotional revenge isn't strength.

Right now, I intellectually am firm in my resolve to move on, to find fulfillment and happiness elsewhere, and to put away whatever we had. But emotionally, when I'm really honest with myself, I haven't yet found someone or something in front of me which is clearly a better option than the fantasy possibility of him coming back and proving undeniably that he has changed in all the ways I'd need him to have changed, and he has matured intellectually and emotionally, and he wants a relationship with me, and me believing it's actually possible. What am I supposed to do with that? Even believing that will almost certainly not happen, what am I supposed to do with the knowledge that even though a new prospect is growing more interested in me, and I in them, if that fantasy scenario occurred, my choice would likely be to 'take him back' in a heartbeat? I don't want anyone to be a consolation prize, but I don't want to stifle what could become better than that fantasy option if pursued. I know that the scenario is only a fantasy. He couldn't prove to me that he has changed enough to make me trust him again right away. And the probability that he'd want round two with me even in the off-chance that he did decide to be open to a relationship with a guy is anything but high. I guess my answer is that I let go of that scenario, too. "What ifs" are pretty useless in that sense.

So I choose to recognize that I still care about him and have feelings for him beyond a casual acquaintance, and I probably always will, even though he has clearly stated he wants to retain no form of friendship whatsoever. And I learn from the experience what I can and focus on what's present and what's to come. I explore other options without comparing them to my time with the guy I thought I knew but increasingly understand I know very little, which is difficult at times but surprisingly natural most of the time. I accept that I wish things had worked out differently but remind myself that they probably had to work out this way, and he and I are both the type to try to make it work out for the best. I remember the things I loved about us so that I can help myself not settle for less but remind myself that if whatever we did have were perfect, we would still be together, and other people will have traits and strengths and values he didn't and will complement mine in ways he couldn't, as is always the case. And in a turn towards the extraordinarily sappy, when I think of him, I send a little love and light, and I let go a little more and look ahead.

Confessions of a Nurtured Homo, Part 3

<< Part 2


Sometimes, guys at school had traits I was attracted to, like confidence, being outgoing, and being really comfortable with themselves in a way I wasn't sure I understood but wanted to because I felt really inhibited and reserved and didn't always like that. I found myself drawn to them in a way I couldn't put my finger on but figured I wanted to observe and learn from them, and I accordingly made efforts to emulate the positive traits I observed however I could. I thought if I could incorporate admirable traits into my life, it would resolve the fascination, and I found it to work pretty well. I never thought of that as wanting to be with them. I remember catching myself watching one such guy in a high school class a little too intently, wondering what made him so confident and at ease, and figuring if anyone caught me looking, they'd think I had a crush on him or something. So I stopped looking and thought, "That's not gay or anything: he's not even the physical type I'm most...*ahem*...jealous of. I just want to emulate some of his traits." Only later did the possibility of being "attracted" on more than an admiration level come into my paradigm, and I still wouldn't be wholly attracted to this guy I'm thinking of even if I had been open to that possibility at the time. I've always believed you're drawn to some people because of who they are, not because you want to "be with" them. But because I'm looking for trends, here, and because I do know that it got confusing, for a while after I started acknowledging my homosexuality, to discern which guys I was attracted to for their traits and which I was actually _attracted_ to on a romantic/sexual/personal level, I'll go ahead and add this to the list. Sexualization of admiration: check.

I always had high standards for myself and wanted to do something perfectly or not at all, in the things I cared about, that is. I would stay inside during recess to get my math homework painstakingly finished and triple-checked. I would draw every individual blade of grass on my scenic drawings in first grade. I buttoned my shirt all the way up and tucked it in neatly and combed every last hair perfectly flat to my head. Every stuffed animal had a name and personality. Music in grade school and primary had to be sung precisely, the motions memorized and performed perfectly, or I'd be embarrassed. While playing piano, if I messed up, I would go back to the beginning of the piece to play it from the beginning because I knew I could do it perfectly, and I would settle for nothing less. Perfectionism: check.

As a kid, I would sometimes skip cracks in the pavement. No biggy, right? We all did that sometimes. But I would sometimes actually get frustrated if I had to alter my pace to compensate and miss a crack. I wanted to find a pattern of steps which would work, and it stressed me out to be trying to do that and keep having to adjust, even though I knew it was a game. Or when I was really little, I'd think, "Well, I don't see how stepping on a crack would actually break my mother's back, but if I step on the crack, it's almost like I don't care if it actually did..." I'd also adjust volume in round numbers. I liked round and even numbers and didn't like leaving volume or timers on odd numbers. Of course, I didn't feel like anything bad would happen if I didn't, but I would feel somewhat uneasy if I had to leave it somewhere I didn't want it. In addition, I would occasionally daydream about not being able to stop bouncing. I'd try to absorb the bounce or grab something anchored to stay put on the ground, but I couldn't stop bouncing. I wouldn't just distract myself and go do something else to get my mind off of it: I had to learn to force myself to stop the thought and gain control of it, but I couldn't. Obsessive/compulsive thoughts: check.


Gosh, is that all? On the surface, my life does seem to fit the pattern of a classic homo, and if I bought into reparative theory and similar theories of developmental causes of homosexuality, I suppose I'd believe these things all contributed to the unnatural development of homosexual inclinations. If I felt emotionally vulnerable or driven to eradicate homosexuality from my life, and I were looking for someone who seems to "understand it" and who was offering solutions, I dare say I would feel a strong pull to plop these puzzle pieces into place and not question them further since they clearly fit on at least a superficial level. But the theories, and the stories of those who think they fit into their lives, never rang true with me, even when I thought it would be nice if they did, and I think there's more to the story than the theories focus on, not least of which is the conundrum: even if there is a correlation (and in many of these points, research shows there is), how is causation determined, and what causes what? Maybe I'll get to that in another post...

Confessions of a Nurtured Homo, Part 2

<< Part 1


I have no recollection of ever having been sexually abused, and nobody has ever reported seeing signs of sexual abuse in me. But in early grade school, I had a nearly traumatic, shame-filled encounter with a little female friend my age who wanted to get naked in her bedroom and asked me to lie down on my back. She then got on top of me, naked, and sort of laid there. I wasn't aroused or anything and had no idea what her aim was. I just felt like this was something we weren't supposed to do, and I was more awkwardly curious and ashamed than anything. I don't remember if it was that time or another, but I lost my shirt, and her mom had to help us find it. I was so mortified that her mom would realize that we'd been doing things we weren't supposed to, and I was sad to be moving away from that friend but glad I wouldn't have to deal with that again. Even when I saw her a few years later during a visit, I felt uncomfortable about the emotions seeing her brought back despite wanting us to just be friends without the awkwardness. As I remember, she didn't seem to give it a second thought. My number one wish for my baptism at 8 years of age was to have that incident wiped clean and never, ever do anything that shameful again. I felt dirty, unclean, and unworthy until my baptism, when I was able to finish the process of "repenting" for that sin and have it washed away. I haven't given that incident much thought since adolescence, but I remember feeling scarred and sinful as a young child. Traumatic sexual experience: check.

I just didn't relate to guys my age and thought they were neanderthals, boring, interested in things I wasn't interested in, kind of stupid, immature, crude, rough, unkind, mean to girls (since I generally heard the girls' perspectives of situations), etc. I had mostly female friends. I didn't think of myself as girly, but I was mocked for not being one of the boys. I didn't want to be. I didn't want to be a woman, but I didn't want to be a man if it meant being a prick. I decided I just was going to be me, but I couldn't deny I was affected by being so 'different' and sometimes wished there were more people like me (I'm not sure I ever really wished I were more like others...perhaps narcissism should be added to my list of things that have made me gay). I always had one main male friend at a time, three or four growing up. When I was really young, I played a sort of intellectually dominating role in the friendship and was bossy and probably not the best for his self-image. Late grade school, I made another friend I could relate to who also seemed to relate better to girls but again was a bit of a jerk to him. I made fun of traits I called girly and gave him a hard time for his weight. When I found out, in college, that he'd come out as gay, I feared that my bullying might have contributed to making him that way. Now I think...birds of a feather...and I love this guy and hope I'm forgiven for having been a jerk so many years ago. And he's not girly or overweight. *wink* General masculine detachment: check.

Throughout adolescence, I had a strong aversion to playing team sports. I enjoyed games involving basketballs but not the sport itself, individual games as long as super-competitive (trash-talking) people weren't playing. I enjoyed volleyball with friends. I liked baseball in my yard with friends. I was never into football or soccer and avoided playing them, if I could, in P.E. in secondary school. Boys were absurdly aggressive and mean about sports, and I wanted no part of the childish trash talk and mean-spirited criticism of those who were trying but just didn't have the athletic ability of the boys who seemed to think life was about sports. It wasn't worth it. I didn't enjoy it much in the first place, so to put up with that and be around it didn't make sense to me. I did, however, really enjoy lacrosse, gymnastics, archery, random made-up team games using hockey sticks... Team sports aversion: check.

In junior high, the boys and girls were separated, and boys would play "shirts and skins" football or soccer, and I never once played skins, and if I was going to have to, I opted to run laps instead. I didn't have the physique the other boys had, and I had acne problems, and I was ashamed of my body in general. Body shame: check.

I would see guys with cut, trim, or lean physiques and find myself trying very hard not to look at them, or not to get caught looking at them. I felt jealous of their good looks. I wanted to be more like that. I didn't want their personality traits, too, if they were jerks, but I wished I looked like they did. I told myself this was why I was so interested. It only made sense. I was skinny, without muscle, a weakling, and I wanted to be like them. When I found myself aroused by them, I scorned myself for perverting what was surely a natural jealousy and admiration and making it sexual. I found myself wanting to look at pictures, so I wouldn't get caught gawking, so I'd look in fitness magazines or underwear catalogs. Surely it was a curiosity which would just pass. But then I'd hit myself upside the head for having looked at pictures of attractive men and getting aroused because I must only be making the "problem" worse. Body envy: check.


[...]

"Masculine" Rites of Passage

I never did see much point in arbitrary rites of passage. Even as a kid, I'd watch a documentary TV show about a tribe in Africa and see the boys all lined up for their group circumcision or their war games or whatever it was, waiting to pass through an ordeal or test of strength in order to become "men" in the eyes of their tribe, and I thought, "They are no different after the ritual than they were before. Just because they won a fight or got their penis snipped, it does not mean they're more 'men' now than they were before. They're still 15 years old and probably quite emotionally immature but will now think they have some authority or wisdom they didn't have before: I've seen it in American culture, too, and it's laughable when it's not dangerous. To me, being a man means being a mature, well-adjusted, well-rounded person who recognizes his strengths and weaknesses and is working on becoming better and who takes care of his family and treats people with kindness and is emotionally strong whether or not his body is physiologically strong or muscular and emulates Jesus the best he knows how...not someone who went through some ordeal to prove some arbitrary notions about what men are supposed to be like, or who wins a test of muscular strength, or who has had sex with a woman, or who has proven himself to be more aggressive than other men, or who has said the right words in conjunction with some ceremony...how silly."

When I received awards at scouting ceremonies, my first impulse was to roll my eyes at the formalities and hand shakes and token signs and scripts. But I thought, "There must be a good reason for it, and it's kind of fun, in a way, to be part of something official and formal: I just wish people didn't take it so very seriously because--aside from looking kind of silly to me when they're so serious about something that really didn't require any heroic effort on my part--what matters isn't the ceremony but the stuff I learned and accomplished, which isn't changed by whether I do the right salute or say the right phrase. I guess they just want to make sure we remember certain things by memorizing them, so that's OK."

And I think that's the point of ritual to me. I guess I appreciate the probability that most people are more responsive to things like fraternal orders and ceremonial formalities than I am. They just never made a lot of sense to me except as arbitrary ways of helping us remember and recognize principles and, for those who look forward to the recognition or formality, motivation to progress within certain systems of advancement usually tied to particular ideological and cultural ideals and templates. I just wasn't motivated by looking forward to another painfully formalized and pompous ceremony, so I found rites of passage to be almost a deterrent. But I appreciated the symbolism and reminders they offered. I appreciated rewards and awards but didn't want the ceremonial recognition. I was very shy, so that definitely came into play, but there was more to it on an intellectual level. Oddly, I still remember aspects of my arrow of light ceremony, which I remember thinking was overwrought, but I was still proud that I'd 'earned' it. The funny thing: I don't remember what I did to earn it or what it meant. So much for being a reminder. It probably worked at the time, for the time.

On the other hand, I remember the temple ceremony quite well and can probably recite the memorized parts but, of course, choose not to out of respect for what it is believed to mean by those who still participate in it. Somehow, the temple ceremony was different for me. I still saw it as somewhat arbitrary rites and phrases chosen to represent a deeper meaning and symbolic representation of gospel principles. I knew the ceremony had been changed over the years and that it may or may not be 100% dictated directly by God. But though most people are really weirded out by the ritual of it when they first go through, I wasn't. It seemed fine to me, not outlandish or odd. I'd been to a Catholic mass, I'd casually studied ancient religious traditions, I'd taken the stake temple prep class one-on-one, and I knew ritual was a way of engaging the adherent in a whole-body representation of the beliefs and principles taught, an interactive experience which went beyond mere spoken instruction to a more proactive kind of internalization of the ideas taught. I felt like the temple ceremony made me really think in an impacting way about what living the gospel was all about and why we make the commitments we do, and I felt like I was stepping up a bit more, manning up a bit more to a higher level of commitment than I had previously done if only by virtue of the fact that someone was now bothering to say, "Do you actively promise to dedicate yourself to X and Y?" and I was given the opportunity to explicitly state my intent and to follow through. Again, it wasn't the ritual or ceremony which mattered but what it represented, and I found personal motivation and meaning in it. Maybe part of what I appreciated about the temple as opposed to other ceremonies I'd been involved in or witnessed was that everything was very personal, not done with fanfare and individual recognition but sort of privately, one-on-one, as part of many who were doing the same rather than having any individual "recognition" beyond very private interactions I believed were meant to represent my direct relationship and connection with God.

In addition, when I 'received' the Aaronic priesthood when 12, I didn't consider myself to somehow be more of a man, but I did consider it an opportunity to learn a new level of service and to begin to learn to exercise the authority and power of God through my worthiness and dedication to the principles of the priesthood, an effort to become more like God in an eternal, steady process. It wasn't that I was becoming more of a man: it was that I was accepting the opportunity to grow personally and step up. It's a subtle difference, maybe, but a paradigm I think is tragically overlooked and ignored by many or most young men in the church who seem more fixated on the idea that they're being given some kind of badge or stripes each time they 'advance' in the priesthood or are called to serve a mission.

It's understandable, I guess, from an emotional standpoint: men are supposed to want and deserve validation as 'men' (in the social belonging sense of identifying with those who generally share similar traits as distinct from other groups, even if there are amazing, good men whose qualities are not the same as the socially traditionally ideal template), rites of passage into manhood (social recognition that they are maturing and reaching socially or culturally defined milestones which traditionally entitle them to rights and privileges not previously offered, arbitrary though they may be), affirmation and recognition for their accomplishments and learned strengths (both to motivate future progress in him being recognized, assuming he's motivated by social recognition, and to motivate others to want to work to earn the same recognition through their own personal progress), etc.

This all came up because I was reading some material on Evergreen's web site, an article by a somewhat popular author within EG circles about masculine identity (one day, maybe I'll dig into my disagreement with such people's conclusions despite my agreement with many aspects of what they say). Within various sexual orientation change circles, there's a strong trend towards masculine identification exercises and what I think is regarded as a return to a sort of primal, tribal brotherhood notion. I find it all a bit overwrought still, as if those pushing it believe it's the only or best way to motivate and bring accountability into men's lives. I may not feel a drive to be involved with ritualistic or fraternal order groups, but I recognize that we all have formal and informal social systems and that, generally speaking, most people are happiest when they have social order and structure in their lives and tend to progress more steadily with accountability and incentive in place, including social recognition and reinforcement through formal ceremony. I also recognize that a key way values and principles have been maintained and preserved throughout history is through established ritual and symbolic ceremony, regardless of whether I think there are or should be better ways. So I don't have a problem with formalized or fraternal "orders" which engage in more or less formal "ritual" as long as they're recognized for what they are--a social mechanism and symbolic representation of underlying principles--and not given magical importance in and of themselves, used to emotionally manipulate those who aren't cognitively aware of why they feel so "affirmed" and "strengthened" but just assume that everything being taught to them is right because of how good it feels to them to be a part of some grand brotherhood of men, or given free license to commit grave errors of action and thought because their members fear to lose the camaraderie should they challenge the status quo.

Unfortunately, I think fraternal orders almost always have more of that influence than I'm comfortable with, and I don't believe the benefits typically outweigh that effect. But then, I'm not the kind of man they draw to begin with...

The homely truth about O-Mo

There are a few things I think people sometimes misperceive about me and a few tidbits which seem to surprise people when they find them out. I've probably thought of some of these because of the new people I've been meeting and spending time with and the questions they come up with along the way. It makes me wonder what perceptions people have of me and when they'll see past their self-told stories about me based on initial impressions. So by way of clarification:

• I'm interesting and fun to certain people, but I'm often terribly boring to people who "like to have fun" in the dancing, partying sense or frustrating to those who are especially action-oriented or hardcore.
  
• I know a few people genuinely and deeply care about me and say they're glad to have me around, but I occasionally still feel completely useless to everyone, like my total absence wouldn't make any notable difference.
  
• While I sometimes let the previous feeling motivate me to want to live in a way that would be more impacting, I sometimes instead wish I could just vanish away to stop using up resources and people's energy for my piddly life and concerns.
  
• I am often confident about many things, but I'm also insecure sometimes about others. Being confident or having conviction about some things does not eliminate insecurities or uncertainty about others.
  
• I have an abundance of love and affection to offer, but I nevertheless often think that the strongest and most animating affection and love I have felt will be homeless, and I'll be better off alone or am unfit to really match up with anyone in a meaningful, lasting way unless I shut down significant parts of my personality and cognition which most people find difficult to deal with or share...
  
• I have a lot of beliefs and conviction, but those have been gained through or proven by questions and doubts.
  
• I want to make the most of my life and really contribute something but often move on to another idea or lose practical interest before the follow-through. It's not that I don't have ambition or don't care, it's that I may need external help to channel and invest and don't easily identify that help.
  
• I fall into intellectual laziness sometimes, failing to exercise my mental muscles or remember why I've incorporated certain principles, and emotional attachments or desires sneak in to draw me in directions I don't believe are ultimately best but which "feel good" at the time. Fortunately, I'm also slow to act, so I typically have time to realize my potential direction and remember the reasons before I've done anything "rash" (like going to church in a moment of wishing for the sense of community or simplicity of just playing along but without believing it, or fooling around with someone who's hot and seems willing but with whom I don't want a romantic relationship and whom I don't trust enough to know that they're disease-free or know for sure where they're coming from emotionally). This lends an air of stability which is pretty accurate but is not necessarily the whole story: there's still messiness behind the stability--it just typically gets processed internally.
  
• I'm intelligent but easily distracted from learning about things by shiny, newer things or old hobby interests.
  
• I like good books but rarely read because I'm a very slow reader and don't feel satisfied by skimming.
  
• I am once again without a job and am, in fact, looking for employment but not nearly to the degree I probably "should" be because I hate job-hunting and let myself get very easily distracted by...blogging, for example. Or dates. Or movie nights with the boys. Or a long, hot bath. Or working out. Or cleaning my room. Or manscaping. Or cooking. Or editing wedding photos I have to get done. ...and then I procrastinate the photo editing because once it's done, I know I'll be out of good excuses to put off job-hunting...crap...
  
• I chew the skin around my fingernails. A lot. Especially when I'm reading blogs and formulating my own entries. Then once I've done it a little, I have to keep going until there are no rough edges. This often means I've made a meal of my own skin after a couple of hours before I force myself to stop. It's pretty disgusting when I think about it. I don't consider it a "nervous habit", just a lost-in-thought one, but one I should probably kick nonetheless.
  
• I care about people's feelings, but I have a threshold to how much I can hear complaints about the same thing repeatedly, and I can become insensitive when I get especially pragmatic with other people's trials. This is 'ironical' because my journals and blogs show a pattern of talking about the same things many different ways...and sometimes the same ways...
  
• Even though I wish more people were more direct with me about what they perceive as my shortcomings (whether or not I'll agree), I'm also sometimes afraid to ask direct questions or realize I just don't care about someone's opinion on something.
  
• I feel a desire to be more, to do more, to contribute more, but I also value just enjoying the company of those I care about and making happy memories together from what we have, even if it's not much. Of course, I can't help but wonder if I am a slothful, apathetic person because I'm not so goal- and accomplishment-oriented as some of my friends. Part of me thinks there's more to it than that, that there's a fundamental personality difference that I have yet to tap into to find my place, but another part of me wonders if I really am just lazy, or if my priorities are not lined up for my happiness, even if I don't think they should be lined up the way others around me line theirs up...which I don't. *shrug*
  

Hey, the first step is admitting the problem, right? On the other hand, I didn't write these for y'all to confirm or deny them. Almost every time I write or say something like this, someone says something they think I meant, and I didn't, and I disagree, and then they think I'm just stubborn and rebellious for not agreeing with their own interpretation of or spin on what I said. Ha, whatev.

On a related note, there are those things which are, I believe, not so problematic (at least not anymore) but "just are":

• I rarely remember references or quotations, and I rarely repeat information or pretend to know something about something until it's been confirmed in some reliable way, or else I'll repeat it but make clear that I don't know its validity. I used to worry this made me sound less intelligent. I no longer worry about it, even if it's true.
  
• I'm a fairly good-looking guy, but I'm heavily acne-scarred on my face and shoulders and upper back, and it took me years to first get over the shame and then come to terms with it pretty thoroughly. I used to hate the thought of disgusting people with my ugly back and zit-covered face and couldn't keep from worrying about it in many situations. Now it rarely occurs to me, not because I'm naive to the fact that some people will be disgusted but because I no longer am. One step in that process was having someone I cared about and was attracted to look right at my acne-scarred shoulders, touch them, and even kiss them without apparent reservation years ago. I sometimes forget how meaningful that was to me at the time.
  
• I've been accused of being a bit of an exhibitionist in certain circles (only among trusted gay friends, really), but I was painfully modest for over a decade and was really uncomfortable about being seen shirtless, so it's possibly an overcompensation...though I'm really not a nekkidness freak or anything.
  
• I have what some might regard as a few refined tastes, but I also unabashedly like some things which seem to invite the response, "Really? I think I just lost a little respect for you." Like watching The Bachelor. *wink* I pay little attention to such juvenile judgments.
  
• I'm a jack of a few trades, master of none. I thought of myself as talentless for years. I now think of myself as having a talent or two, albeit very underdeveloped because I can't seem to maintain interest in one long enough to really excel. I'm no renaissance man compared to some I know, and I may be OK with that.
  
• I fart. A lot. No, seriously. Like, more than is probably healthy for any normal human. But I'm OK with it. It's everyone else who seems bent out of shape by it. Weird.
  

Somehow, I felt like this post was going to feel more...exposing than it does. But I guess it's nothing huge, just those things I've noticed people seem to overlook or be surprised by. I suppose my blog readership has a very different view of me than a person I met on a dating web site, so I'm probably misdirecting this energy, but ah, well. It's been an interesting exploration for me, at least. :-)