A Book-Review Epiphany

The other day when Amy and I were driving home from Delaware, we were listening to an episode of Studio 360, a podcast about creativity and pop culture. We were on Lincoln Drive, alongside the Wissahickon, almost home, listening to an interview with James Hannaham, author of God Says No, a novel about a preacher’s attempt to become ex-gay.

To illustrate the story, they played some audio of a southern church ceremony wherein the congregation was working together to “cast out the homosexual demon” from some poor churchgoer. They were talking o the demon, calling it names, trying to draw it out. A woman explained that homosexuals were welcome to come to their church, as long as they submit to this process.

As that little vignette sunk in, we were on the last curve of Lincoln drive before home. As we turned up toward Germantown, I had an epiphany.

All these past 5 years, ever since I re-came out as bi, I’ve been thinking there’d be some moment where I’d come to some magical conclusion, some magical point where my love for Amy would cause me to turn into a lesbian, shut off the desire for men. I’d been half-hoping that I could configure my life, my self, my thinking in the right way, that I would come to peace and not be bi anymore.

But that idea is as ludicrous and dehumanizing as trying to call out some gay demon. That moment is never going to come. I’m going to be like this my whole life.

People have always found some way or another to encourage me to overcome my attraction to men. They give me meaningful glares whenever Amy is particularly awesome, as if I don’t know. As if I haven’t walked around all these years feeling like I don’t deserve her.

I can see, too, that people feel like I would be emotionally safer to be around if I was not sort of available. I wish I could feel as self-righteously angry about that as I do about homophobia.

How am I almost 36 years old and just now coming to terms with my sexuality? Where do I go from here? I think this epiphany is a good start.

Resolution # 2: Be More Out in Lots of Ways

For my adult life, I really didn’t give a lot of thought at all to being bi—I fell madly for whoever I fell for and didn’t concern myself with gender I believed the romantic idea that a bi person would just kind of develop a gender-preference upon falling in love.(Whereas I’m realizing just how many gender preferences are available…) After all, my relationship with Amy started after a marathon of Clerks: The Animated Series made me feel like I could do without dudes for a while.

The itch started in 2004 when the Red Sox were playing the Yankees in the World Series. Back before Johnny Damon became a Yankee, he was a shaggy haired hottie. I had a dream where I couldn’t believe I was getting to pal around with him, where I just kept keeping with him from place to place.

These days, it’s Mad Men making me go to bed kind of straight. Funny how I’m superpissed at anyone chauvinistic, but Don’s secretary-assignations drive me swoony.

Anyway, when I started feeling attracted to men again, I panicked. I kept having these dreams of almost kissing guys. I tried to make artistic metaphors for these, but sometimes kissing is just kissing. I fell for my guy friends, got crushes that panicked my soul. I thought I would have to get divorced.

Amy is very well loved. I definitely do not want to get divorced. She loves me so wholeheartedly, so loyally, and I’ve known that we’re soulmates all along. Our second date was a meteor shower, for crying out loud.

But.

It’s very frustrating and claustrophobic to have this side of me that is not expressed.

So we made a compromise—if I meet someone who I think is worth it, I can date him. It’s been like that for—5 years? I’ve met a few people I would take that risk for, but they’ve turned out to be unrequited. They turned into prolonged (sometimes years-long) crushes that were very fruitful in terms of yielding poems and paintings, and too many friends-locked LiveJournal posts to count.

The trouble is, I think, I’m pretty monogamous for a polyamorist. Even when I am with that person who is driving me to distraction, I can’t stop talking about Amy. If I go out without her, to be all free and meet new people, I miss her.

But there is a part of me that is not being expressed. It’s not the thing itself that’s missing, but it’s something. Is there a limit to how much sublimation a person can do in a lifetime? Probably not.

This spring I had kind of an interim therapist. She pretended to be all understanding, but in the end, she kind of threw me under the monogamy bus. She said , “You can’t live in two cites at once.” But I can visit. Or I can live in Philly and still miss Orange county. It’s a bad metaphor—plane tickets are pretty easy to save up for…

August Resolutions

Today’s resolutions were made at Saylor Grove. When I say “Meet me at the little wetland,” that’s where I mean. It’s right at the intersection of Rittenhouse St. and Lincoln Drive. Wetlands strain the toxins out of water, and this particular one has strained a fair amount of toxins out of me.

Here are August’s resolutions. They’re kind of more earthy than the previous months’ because I’m finding myself in need of some tangible progress, some solid ground:

1.Make friends with first and second gear, literally and metaphorically. (Though I of course prefer highway driving…)
2.Be more out in lots of ways.
3.Make myself at home.
4.Get some money and take care of it.
5.Find a good, fulfilling job.