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.

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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.

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Queens and priestesses

Misogyny in the temple was never a huge concern for me. But for many, there's a troubling, even overwhelming sense of sexism built into and permeating the entire temple ceremony. Some are concerned by aspects of the temple ceremony: men and women are separated in the ceremonial rooms to opposite sides of the room. Ceremonial elements and covenants center around the representative male-female pairing relationship as a foundation for family and eternal progress, the men representing Adam in his dealings with God, and the women representing Eve in her dealings with...Adam? Adam and God? Adam-God?

But to me, as an orthodox but self-identified open-minded member, I figured that at some point, order or structure is arbitrary. God might have assigned priesthood authority and head-of-houseness to women, and then the dynamic might be reversed, with men crying sexism and a few being troubled with why men don't have the priesthood but others being content to support their families humbly and serving under women because women bore the sacred mantle of child birth and priesthood. I figured maybe God knew something about the nature of the beings he created, and he knew that giving men the priesthood would, despite kinks introduced by the weakness and evil designs among humans, be the best-working solution to establish order and structure in families and in the kingdom. Perhaps men needed the responsibility to give them something as sacred and powerful as child birth and motherhood is to women? I couldn't say, because my understanding was that of a spiritual infant. But the temple brought a new paradigm of equality to me.

To me, men and women being referred to as kings and queens, priests and priestesses was a beautiful declaration of shared glory and responsibility within the order of heaven. I wondered if there might be an extension of priesthood authority to women in store when human society and culture had developed to a point where we were ready to receive it without losing a sense of order and while maintaining mutual respect without constant power clashes. Maybe we needed to be ready enough to ask, I thought, as had happened with people of African descent, but it wasn't mine to know, so I let it go and trusted that the Lord would work it out through his appointed channels in the long run.

I never felt like submitting to or hearkening unto God was a demeaning or humiliating act but was a humbling covenant of mutual respect and love. So in turn, even though I was, in the back of my mind, troubled with language used in reference to women submitting unto their husbands in church culture and the talks of past prophets, when it came to the temple ceremony, I figured faithful LDS woman would not get caught up in the cultural baggage of hearkening as a demeaning thing. The way I saw it, I, as a future husband, was taking on a very delicate and sacred responsibility to be that much closer to the Spirit, that much more aligned with the will of God, because I would one day have a wife who would likely bring great perspective and spiritual power to the marriage, and if she was going to be able to trust me in exercising my priesthood, I would need to have my crap together.

To me, the priesthood was not my "right" as a male. To me, for whatever reason, males were assigned to be the bearers of the priesthood, at least for now, and even then only after showing they value it by living in accordance with God's commands and exercising the atonement of Christ. The priesthood didn't make me any more noble than anyone else. It didn't make me the boss of anyone. It was a charge and a sacred responsibility to use God's power to serve others and build the kingdom in a specific way, not to wield power or dominion in any way. And it could be taken from me in a snap if I wasn't living worthy of it and using it with care, tenderness, righteousness, and selflessness. There was no room in my understanding of the gospel and of the priesthood for tyranny or insistence on my family "submitting" to me as the head of the house merely because I'd been given a charge to metaphorically wash the feet of others, to confer blessings of health or comfort, or to visit the homes of others to offer messages of hope and to let them know someone cares.

In that light, I never thought of myself as being the future "head of the household" in an absolute or concrete way. I was raised by a mother who respected my father but taught me that they made decisions together, and they didn't make any big decisions or parenting decisions without consulting each other. In my view, men were not the head of their homes by virtue of being male. They were the "head" as a matter of order and because they had been authorized to exercise the power of God in official ways. Therefore, I saw the "hearken" covenant as being about mutual respect, responsibility, and order, not actually hierarchy or superiority.

I figured that the only time the man, as the head of the house, would need to be hearkened to is when both spouses have prayed about something, can't seem to agree, and a decision needs to be made. But I knew that I, personally, was not comfortable assuming the role of "decision-maker" every time there's a disagreement just because I held the priesthood. I knew, firsthand, that having the priesthood was no guarantee of having the best answer to any given situation, so I decided that I could not and would not subject my future wife to deferring to my opinion every time we have a disagreement, priesthood or not. I decided that exercising my priesthood responsibly included admitting when I wasn't sure what the answer was rather than pretending I knew just because I was "supposed to". Honoring the priesthood meant admitting when I hadn't had any divine revelation on a topic and telling my future wife, "Well, my opinion is this, but I'm not sure that's from God, and we can't seem to agree, so you make the decision this time, and next time we're in this situation, I'll make the decision. Can we trust each other that way and agree to respect each other's decisions?"

I set aside the understandably extrapolated notion that men are supposed to be to women as God is to men. That just seemed like poppycock, that I would be my wife's god or mediator, so surely that's not what was intended. It was maybe more an arbitrary chain of authority out of necessity for order's sake, or possibly something inherent in the order of heaven which I didn't comprehend. But one thing I was sure of: women were not "less than" men, nor were they weaker or less inspired than men, nor were they to hearken to men in _any_ instance where the man was not fully aligned with God's will, which I figured for myself was probably as often as any other faithful, sincere, Spirit-centered member of the church.

That, to me, was the kicker: women were to hearken to their husbands "as their husbands hearkened to God". This wording, to me, did NOT mean, "Women, your husband is to you as God is to your husband, which is to say the final authority, to be obeyed in all things." It meant, "Women, your husband has just been charged with aligning his will with God's and responding to God's commands. He will discuss matters with God, and as this yields answers, you are to hearken unto your husband when he has truly done so with God. And you have a right and responsibility to consult God about it directly through personal revelation and inspiration. And when there is a disagreement, where both of you are convinced, the responsibility defaults to him. You are also to hearken to God, understanding your husband is the one among you who is authorized to officially exercise the priesthood and certain keys thereof."

Did it place men as intermediaries between their wives and God? I didn't think so. Women were still responsible for speaking with God as Eve had in the garden, so "intermediary" wasn't an accurate word. But even if it was so, and I had yet to understand it in its profundity, it wasn't because men were better. It was based on the priesthood. And since I believed that could conceivably be extended to women someday, I didn't see men as being inherently superior or more authoritative than women. I saw the priesthood as being the divinely appointed channel for God's work, and that happened to be given to men, so for now, yes, men are representatives of God in ways women are not, only because of the priesthood. And should that ever change, those clownish men who think they're hot stuff just because they have "authority" to do things women don't will be put in their place. I kind of looked forward to that day, actually.

I wondered how some women might interpret or respond to the language of the temple ceremony, and I wondered how I would respond if I were a woman. I decided that through the eyes of understanding, it was not a deeply troubling concept and would likely become more clear in future years, or maybe after this life. I decided this because I was confident it, as with all doctrines and ordinances of the church, was of God and therefore had a good explanation, whether or not our limited mortal perspective was able to grasp it completely now.

I did consider that maybe women weren't denied the priesthood for reasons I'd heard thrown around. I considered that maybe men aren't any less inherently spiritual or righteous than women and therefore in need of the priesthood to whip them into shape. I considered that maybe men didn't need to be sandwiched between God and the beautifully sacred daughters of God to keep the men in line or give them purpose. But I put those thoughts on the back burner as mere speculation. After all, thousands of years of such gender-based order had to be justified somehow. There must have been some reason it was set up that way, even if those weren't it. A logical test I've used is to imagine the alternative: in this case, women having the priesthood and men not. Then women are giving birth and breastfeeding and raising children throughout history AND tasked with running the affairs of the church and counseling with members? Goodness, that's a lot to ask, and it would make men pretty darn subservient, mere sperm donors and money-makers while the women bear and nurture and raise children (newly arrived-in-mortality spirits) and manage the affairs of the kingdom of God. But why not give the priesthood to both and just assign different responsibilities, I wondered? But it came back to, "Surely there's some reason, and maybe we'll understand it in the next life if not this one." It was a matter of faith, awaiting further light and knowledge.

In short, I had a different perspective from many on the whole "sexism in the temple" thing. But I understand the concerns of many women and men in the church about the inherent separation of women and men and the roles which do have built-in orders of authority. And I understand, now, that my interpretation of the division of sexes was partially doctrine but also partially my own convictions, experience, and perspective. I found a way to make enough sense of it to accept not having all of the answers, but that included the necessary, "Perhaps someday it will be made clearer" and, "If only everyone saw it how I do, there would be no room for sexist tyranny in the church". The church's leadership could make the answers clearer if I was right. They could speak more concretely or clearly in defense of the perspective that husbands and wives are equals even if they have distinct roles. I do, to be fair, remember conference talks along those lines. And I appreciate those talks immensely. But I see an undercurrent in the culture which is not changing and if anything is re-entrenching in response to perceived threats on the stability of family structure. So those talks which might be intended as clarion calls to higher perspective feel more like token efforts to quell feminists. They seem less like a change and more like isolated voices which are almost "take it or leave it" peripheral ideas out of the mouth of only one witness. An occasional token reference in a conference talk doesn't stack up well against deeply ingrained social patterns and the regularly-experienced temple ceremony which is as official as any church teaching can possibly be. So personal interpretations of it become very cemented in the minds of members.

I admittedly wish women would just be given (and receive) the priesthood already. And I'm under no illusion that most who attend the temple see it the way I saw it. Even if there's nothing inherently sexist about the priesthood structure, I think too many men puff themselves up in their "authority", even if subtly, and some women who have suffered under tyranny of priesthood holders are reminded of terrible experiences every time they agree to hearken unto their husbands unless they understand the wording the way I did. I would like to see more explicit explanations of equality (even in distinct roles) among genders. And I have a pipe dream of a church which acknowledges personal adaptation of roles and relationships, even within the framework of doctrines and principles of the gospel. Even though I don't think I got caught up in misogynistic cultural interpretations, I recognized that many messages in the temple and in Mormon culture can and will be easily "misinterpreted", as I saw it, as supporting or condoning sexism or misogyny. I think the Church still has a lot of work ahead to help its members overcome the tendency to interpret doctrine and priesthood roles in sexist ways if the truth is, in fact, anything like my perspective was. But maybe my interpretation was just a preliminary cafeteria mormonism, a nice attempt to smooth over something inherently sexist and irreconcilable. Either way, it's not mine to wrestle with anymore. Best wishes to those of you still engaged in that endeavor.

Bygone love letter

I still feel a flicker. It's dim and very occasionally offers brief waves of warmth. Sometimes, an echo of what I felt for you glances off of another memory shrinking in the distance behind me. I can't help but compare what I feel with others today and what I felt with you back then, though that comparison becomes more hazy with distance, which is sometimes frustrating, other times relieving. Sometimes, a place, a person, or a song reminds me of something about you, and for a crystal clear instant, I remember what it felt like. I smile at the joy I felt and fondly embrace the scene...to give it a hug goodbye. I think of you still, but I feel at peace with moving forward. It feels right. We've grown apart, and there is no starting where we left off, if there is ever any kind of relationship at all in store.

Goodness knows I see things, including you, differently now than I did when I hoped so fully that you were the one. Call it irreconcilable differences. But that doesn't change the fact that you--the version of you I perceived--are woven into my psyche, and I see no need to defensively extract you from my fabric. I may always be a little in love. I don't know how much time must pass before my eyes stop occasionally moistening at the wish that you had been the one, the thought of how at home I used to feel with you. I try not to ask myself "what if," a mostly successful effort. I felt what I felt, which seemed right at the time. I don't need to justify those feelings or explain them away. And I'm distant enough now that I can look back without defensively leaning away or longing for what was.

I could try to prove my old feelings right by clinging to what I hoped they meant, against evidence or reason. I accept that what I felt filled a need in my life and gave me something to invest in, belong to, hope for, serve, and be lifted by. It made sense with what I knew at the time. It animated me with a feeling that whatever else happened, what mattered most was being with you. Now that I've lost what I once thought I most wanted, I'm re-learning what I want and need and how to find it. I'm determining whether I can expect to feel that again or whether it's a beautiful but illusory memory which I should not even want to repeat. Is it foolish to hope for the same feelings but with something which proves itself? Is it a loss of faith to move forward more soberly without expecting the same emotional experience?

I'll just move forward and cope without pretending I can completely shut you out. My friendships remind me of you. My journal reminds me of you. Who I am today reminds me of you and how you imprinted my life, for better and for worse. Sometimes I'll almost instinctively say something I picked up from you, and I'll smirk that you're still in my head that little bit. But I wasn't one to leave when staying was hard, and I'm not one to go back when nostalgia pricks a tear duct. I accept the feelings, but I choose not to fight for you because you do not want to be fought for, and you are not, on paper, what I need or want.

I will not be a doormat and pretend you did nothing wrong, but I also believe you were doing your best. We grew apart. Maybe I'm wrong and should have changed. Maybe you're wrong and should have changed. But we came together under a certain agreement, knowing what each other was, and in time, it became clear that it wasn't a fit. I could try to stay and change you, but I saw that was not your goal, so I said my piece and forced myself away on reluctant, trudging feet. I have since gained clarity and insight to what I believe and want, so even though I loved what I felt with you, and would love to feel that again and be satisfied with what we had, there could be no going back even if you did somehow change. I'm afraid if you tried to bend as far as I'd need, you'd break entirely.

The you I thought existed might not ever have been quite real, but the you I believed in was good, and our relationship was good for me in many ways. It gave me opportunities to serve and grow and love and learn, and I felt like I was part of something special. I believe that even though we ended up disagreeing and parted on somewhat cold, detached terms, you generally mean well and are good-hearted, and I appreciate our relationship for the good it brought and the lessons I learned.

So let's acknowledge the experiences, the memories, the ways we impacted each other and what we learned from it, and move on towards our separate horizons. I don't agree with everything you do or believe, as you don't agree with me, but I will probably always have a bit of a tender spot for you, what I once felt for you, and what I still do feel for you. If I feel anger or resentment towards you at times, it probably comes from a pain which can only be inflicted by those I've cared about. You were once my home, and though I don't want us to disrespect each other by "holding on" to what is bygone, that's not something I can bring myself to fully disregard as part of the whole of myself and yourself. I wish you well on your quest for truth and joy. I'll see you when I see you.

How not to become the next boy-renting NARTH officer

Hey, listen, it's time to stop fooling yourself. When you're cuddling compulsively (e.g. you can't seem to get enough or are fighting a persistent urge to rip off clothing), that cuddling is most likely a substitute for sex. Sorry to break it to you, but when cuddling is about natural affection and trust in a secure friendship, it's not something you do in lieu of prohibited naked fun. And if you have a perma-stiffy, you might consider either going ahead and just making out (call a spade a spade) or stopping that particular cuddle session before it catches up with you. Blueballing is only one small probable negative consequence. Warping a relationship is another, especially when boundaries and meaning ascribed to the cuddling aren't clearly agreed upon between both parties. But what's most concerning me is learning to justify behavior in a way that masks underlying motives with idealized but inaccurate motives, a skill not smiled upon in politicians or ex-gay therapists caught in sex scandals.

"Well, who's to say one motive is stronger than another? You don't know me."

Come on. Be honest with yourself. You know the difference between cuddling with a child, for example, or a pet, or a friend of the opposite sex, or a friend of the same sex with whom the idea of sex is either comical or extremely awkward, and cuddling with someone you're physically attracted to.

"Well of course it's going to be different, especially if I have unmet emotional needs related to men and can find intimacy and connection in male friendships. Stop trying to sexualize everything. Besides, just because I might get aroused for a moment doesn't mean I actually wanna go at it."

Fair enough. Like I said, only you really know the difference. Just ask yourself: if you're so sure you're just sharing healthy affection with other men, do you have as strong a desire to share that healthy affection with men who are not your type whom you trust and feel close to?

"But what if that's part of my healing? What if I need affirmation from men I find attractive?"

Do you really believe that's what it's about?

"...I'd like to...maybe...OK, probably not."

Thought so.

"But it's really nice, and it's not just a substitute for sex."

No, it's not just a substitute for sex. But look, if you thought it was OK to make out, would you rather be doing that than only cuddling and caressing?

"...No, because I'd have to have a relationship with someone to do that. I've never even kissed someone."

Oh, that's right. Speaking of your incredible ability to not kiss someone even though you've cuddled with someone in nothing but your garment bottoms...

"Hey, how do you know...?"

Oh, honey, let's just say I know very well. It's maybe a little embarrassing, but it's OK. Mohos are amazing at pushing the envelope in creatively chaste ways. Anyway, that caressing business you do: I get that it's sometimes completely benign and purely affectionate (e.g. arms, hands, scalp massage, back tickling). But when you're caressing each other's inner thigh or bare chest and teasing the underwear waistband by slipping your fingers barely under the edge...well, let me just put it this way: would you do that to your female friend?

"Well, you can't honestly expect me to draw a direct comparison. There are things guys just 'get', and we know each other, and they don't have anything I don't. I mean, I wouldn't shower with my female friends, but that doesn't mean showering with my male friends is sexual."

OK, then maybe consider whether you'd be at all disturbed if you saw two brothers doing it? Anyway, here, let me show you what I know now with another four years of physical intimacy experience under my belt...eh, you know what I mean. OK, now you've kissed someone and all that jazz. What's your answer about whether you'd rather be making out if you thought it were OK?

"Hm...yeah, OK, when I'm honest with myself, I probably would want to make out with at least these two cuddle buddies..."

I'm not saying that any time you get briefly aroused, it means you're just after sex. And I'm not saying you should merely obey your body's lusts. I believe it's good and right to learn to rein your appetites. I believe that particular member sometimes briefly responds to stimuli in its own way. And I certainly don't believe every attraction or affection has a raging undercurrent of sexual desire. I'm just saying the next time you're being physically affectionate with someone you find attractive, consider thinking, "Hey, do we have a close enough friendship for this cuddling to be genuinely trust- and affection-based? If we thought it was OK, would we go for it? If you were absolutely not my type, would I still want to cuddle? Am I mostly kinda hot to trot, and your body feels nice against mine?" There's nothing wrong with admitting it's mostly a physical thing, but I think your cuddle partner should be on the same page to avoid probable messes...pardon the wording.

I'm just concerned that the longer you keep basically using cuddling as a substitute for 'more', the less likely you'll be to really, honestly identify your motives in potentially conflicting situations. I'm worried that some or much of your caressing and holding is an expression of your desire for romantic and sexual intimacy, but you're refusing to recognize that and masking it with an effort to revolutionize male intimacy. That's probably very true for certain of your friendships, but by projecting the innocence of some cases onto all, you may make abnormal behavior or behavior inconsistent with a relationship into something normal in your head, and that's troublesome territory.

I'm also afraid you run the risk of using cuddling and caressing in a way which isn't 'breaking any commandments' but mostly just puts off actually making a decision about what you're going to do with all of this homosexuality and religion conflict you have. It's like you're keeping the religion part and following the rules but in a way that is partially lust behind a mask of affection and intimacy, the exact opposite of what you actually think you're accomplishing.

Short version: I think you're becoming a cuddle slut.

"OK, OK, I see what you're getting at. I do generally want to cuddle the hottest guys the most, and if we both believed differently, I'd probably just wanna go at it sometimes, so I'll try to be more aware of that. But...I have some friends who are totally physically attractive, but I'm not at all attracted to them in 'that' way. Can I still cuddle them?"

Of course. I remember what it's like to believe you're never going to be allowed sexual 'fun' with another guy and how much that can affect your desire to have what physical affection you can, no matter how sexually repressed the motives. Besides...y'know...none of us is perfect.

"Wait...have you cuddled with someone you mainly wanted to get freaky with or didn't necessarily have reason to trust intimately?"

...Yeah, cuddle...um...we're not talking about me. We're talking about you.

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.

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. :-)

Bitchelorettes and my mission dynamics

Remember how I said, in the comments on my post, that I've known women who remind me of Michelle on The Bachelor, and I think she was intense and manipulative and got caught up in playing up the drama when interviewing but probably was hiding some insecurities and might actually be pretty lovable? Yeah...OK, so I didn't spell it all out, but that's what I've thought.

Part of me actually thought I might really like her and wanted to get past the exterior shell and defense mechanisms to see what was past those. I don't think her breakdown on this week's "The women tell all" episode was an act. And I think Jackie and Stacey (and maybe that blonde girl whose name I don't care to look up) are far more bitchy than Michelle ever was, and they always have been unapologetically so. I also think more people forgive their brand of bitchy because it's more socially standard. More people are like them than are like Michelle, so they get a free ride on the guilt of the masses. I can't stand their self-protective, superiority-grasping snarls and scoffs. Jackie wears a perma-sneer I've always wanted to slap right off of her face. I had a strongly negative impression of these girls from the first episode: yes, girls, not women. I had quick impressions of Michelle, too: high-maintenance, overbearing, but potentially very interesting because she immediately reminded me of a person or two I really like... As I see it, if anyone was putting on airs and being two-faced in classic mean-girl fashion, it was the girls attacking Michelle. The way they looked at each other to affirm each other in their attacks was obvious. The way they clearly criticized her in roundabout ways and tried to deny it was deceptive and hypocritical. Michelle was over-the-top aggressive and made biting comments, but she's not pointing the finger and kicking someone while she's down: they are.

But then...if I'm going to be fair in the way they refuse to be with Michelle, I have to acknowledge that they're probably operating from within their own limited paradigms, they don't understand what Michelle means when she says she's "easily misunderstood". They don't understand her particular brand of self-defense or coping mechanisms, so her tears don't make sense to them except as a ploy, and I saw in their faces a look that seemed sincerely flabbergasted that anyone was buying into her "sob story" or showing sympathy, maybe because they figured that's exactly her design. But I am open to the possibility, or probability, that she was very much genuine in that moment. Even if, mind you, it doesn't "make sense" rationally when you put everything externally observable together, it's the unseen, internal factors that may incite sincere and very real emotion in her and make sense of what she's trying to say. So even if she will look back five years from now and think, "Wow, I was kind of a mess and had some things to figure out, and I probably shouldn't have been so bent out of shape and shouldn't have said some of the things I said on the show," (incidentally, she already has admitted that much) that doesn't mean she was being fake. But I don't expect everyone to have known the people I've known and understand the same people I understand, so I have to acknowledge that these women's hard faces and defensive glares might be no more indicators of their badness than Michelle's comments on the show were of hers. Jackie's perma-sneer notwithstanding, she might be a very good person in many ways I don't readily perceive because I struggle to get past her prickly demeanor. And I must admit, she saved some face towards the end, when she backed off a bit...but she still had that blasted expression of false superiority...

Here's the thing: I identify with Michelle. That's probably no real shocker. Of course, I'm not aggressive in the way she is, but I just...I guess I'm just one of those who saw past her words to her, as she put it, dry, sarcastic sense of humor. I got a good laugh when others were gasping at some of the things she said. I imagined her smirking a bit inside as she said some of the things she said because she knew how intense they were but was hamming it up during the camera interviews. I got a kick out of the editing to ramp up the "stalker" factor with brief shots and creepy music. I figured, "OK, she might be a bit of a creeper, but I suspect she's just...a bit intense and coping in her own quirky way." When she didn't take the other women's bait to engage in a cat fight but briefly defended herself and apologized and broke down, I saw the side of her I suspected had always been there, not shocked as the host said.

On my mission, just a couple of missionaries seemed to "get me" in the sense that they saw past what I was only in the process of realizing were prickly personality traits and barriers I had up. In some ways, I was an a-hole to most companions and unnecessarily rigid, but I sincerely didn't mean to be unkind or dismissive of anyone as a person, and I didn't know how to be any different while upholding my standards and defending my values, and I wasn't acting out of spite for anyone but out of desire to maintain my own beliefs and principles above all else. I've never been just like everyone else, personality-wise, and learning to adapt and put people at ease or engage in certain arbitrary social tokens has always been a bit challenging or tiring for me, to be honest. I find directness so refreshing, but most people find it uncomfortable. I most often challenge my own ideas internally before vocalizing them, but when I challenge someone else's, even in what I think is a benign way in order to understand how they arrived at something, all they often hear is, "I disagree and think your ideas aren't worth accepting and would rather do it my way."

I suspect many missionaries believed that they "saw through" my poise and "quiet dignity" to a selfish a-hole who didn't give a rip about anyone else, believing my "righteousness" to be an act to save face or appear respectable and gain approval from authority. But some saw what I believe was my intent and seemed to love me despite my thorns, and even then, I had an inkling that there were things I'd need to learn if I was going to keep from alienating people my whole life, and I wanted to learn them but couldn't as long as people just pushed back against what they perceived as me being an a-hole rather than loving me and showing me by example or kindly offering constructive criticism in the right moments.

See? This is an example of the stuff that goes through my head while I'm watching The Bachelor. I know: kinda intense and analytical, hm? But that's me, baby. Of course, I also simply enjoy the train wreck factor and the melodrama sometimes. :-)

Change of heart

This post is mostly not about recent BYU drama, but it was sparked by thoughts related to it. As I read a post about gay BYU students being "transferred" to UVU, I thought, "Well, if that's true, and BYU is somehow cleansing itself, strapping on a pair, or somehow trying to show integrity in holding students accountable, then I expect to see a cleansing of the football team, too."

Don't get me wrong: I'm sure there are great guys on the football team, and I'd probably be tired of people singling them out if I were one of them, but I've known enough people, over the course of several years, who have reported abundant alcohol abuse and sexual promiscuity, not to mention dishonest academic practices, among specifically the football players that I'm pretty confident they can take on the theater department in a contest of transgression. I await the transfers of the football players by popular demand of the righteous masses and indignant administration. You know, for integrity's sake.

Then I thought maybe the conservative football players are extremely penitent every time they intoxicate themselves or penetrate a daughter of God, whereas the theater gays are brashly defiant and stubbornly liberal, and that's where the difference is. Truth be told, I've only heard from one first-person source about the theater department cleansing, so I don't even know the details, and this might all be conjecture, but let's just say it fits church culture perfectly.

And that brings me to my point: the popular LDS notion that it's "what's in his heart" that matters. Even those who seem to recognize a dissonance of sorts and express a sort of sympathetic, "Yeah, I can see where you're coming from," seem more patient with the constantly, repeatedly 'penitent' sinner than with the person who commits the same sins far less frequently but doesn't share the belief in the gravity of the sin, if they even believe it's a sin at all, because one is at least "trying" and "has his heart in the right place."

At least, that's how I used to think, even though I didn't fully realize that's how I thought at the time. The frustrating part is how thoroughly I understand the point of view I'm describing because it was mine. I know not every LDS person shares it, but I know many--maybe even most--do. In a way, it's completely understandable: if what matters is one's 'heart', or one's 'faith' in certain beliefs or deity, and if there's an 'atonement' which washes away sin, then certainly the point when you stop making it effective in your life is the point you have 'given up', and to over-abuse it is better than to waste it or ignore it...or something like that. Besides, without Christ, you are nothing, and we're supposed to forgive until seventy times seven, so...under those assumptions, it just makes sense to be more patient with the constant but penitent sinner...or does it? Not in my book.

"Trying". The word hypocrites bank on. The word which ignores the damage done and runs away from consequences because they have to keep their eye single...until the next time. Seriously, folks, if you're committing the same 'sin' over and over, at some point I think you have to acknowledge that your 'heart' is not, in fact, "in the right place," and that you are no more 'righteous' than any other common sinner who is not acting against their professed beliefs. You HAVE to, if you have a shred of integrity.

I submit that to be happy, you must stop destroying your integrity more and more each time you 'slip up' by pretending you're not going to do it again but not really changing anything, and that this pattern is absolutely, completely no better than the unrepentant sinner who doesn't believe what they're doing is wrong. I submit that to be happier, whether we're talking about 'sin' or 'bad habits' or 'changes you want to make in your life', we each must:

• A) admit that you don't really believe what you're doing is wrong or harmful to anyone including yourself (and admit that your secrecy is an attempt to save face by living what you want while wearing a facade to deceive others--yes, to deceive, not to avoid drama, not because it's none of their business, but to deceive), and either recognize that the drive to change is not due to a true problem in your life but to external pressures or demands you don't actually believe are right or true for whatever reason (whether or not others seem to think you "should"), or
• B) stop making excuses and exonerating yourself based on your 'heart', stop pretending you should get some kind of free pass because of your 'intent' no matter how many pandering authorities are letting you off the hook because they need to validate themselves or need something from you or don't want to believe you could be as imperfect as you are, recognize that your integrity depends on bringing your actions and beliefs or goals into alignment, recognize your behavior is harmful and find out why to integrate beliefs and understanding that will actually foster and motivate change, be kind to yourself when you do fall short (as we all do, especially when striving for something beyond "normal" or "average"), and do something (break cycles, ask for help and accountability, whatever is required) to truly avoid repeating the error, if it is one.

I say this to myself as well as to my readers because as I have implemented these perspectives in my life, I've been happier with myself and more at peace with myself and with others. I've been kinder, more patient, more humble, more longsuffering, and more receptive to truth by gradually letting go of the fear of being wrong and what implications that may bring to my life. Aside from clearly not being a paragon of achieved human potential, I'm not perfect at even this idea I'm preaching by any means, but I believe it to be a simple but impacting truth. I still have goals and desires for myself that I want but don't always diligently work towards. In addition to clearly disappointing many people around me in certain ways, I sometimes fall short of my own expectations, as I always have. But increasing levels of honesty with myself have helped me recognize that sometimes, my failure to "change" has been because I'm just not convinced I need to, not yet, not completely, or not at all, and I'm learning to own it.

Sometimes, I haven't realized a need for change until someone explained how my actions or attitudes have affected them personally, which they might not know to do unless I admitted I didn't see a need to change. Since I care about harming others, I've had the opportunity to respond, though is is harder some times than others, or understanding the 'why' has been a challenge, and admitting that rather than sweeping it all under the rug can be difficult because I might look clueless or might have to change. Sometimes, I do want to change and have received a quiet nudge or a slap in the face to wake me up to a need to break patterns and cycles, and I've made another step towards progress until the next "lesson learned". Other times, I recognize that I do want to change, but I admit I have bigger fish to fry, and I have priorities, and they may not be the same as someone else's.

But the point is to improve. To really try. To strive for better today than yesterday in some way. There will be backslides, sidetracks, colossal mistakes, putting things on the back burner, and moments where you feel some things never seem to change. There will also be triumphs, joys, leaps forward, picking up again where you left off, and moments where you read a journal entry from twelve years ago and realize, "Wow, have I really come that far in that regard?"

I just don't buy this "his heart is in the right place" business. Isn't that what "change of heart" is all about? Whether you believe a "change of heart" is a spiritual manifestation of the goodness of God in purifying and aligning your will through the atonement of his son or an otherwise originated epiphany of clarity, resolution, and recognition of your own capability and motivation to live in a way that will be meaningful and leave an impact, I think we all have to, at some point, stop fooling ourselves with comforting masks or accountability-erasing balm because truth--or God, if you prefer--is not gullible. While mercy or ignorance may clean the slate of accountability for each of us, integrity--happiness--demands something internal, something nobody can force upon us, and something no amount of "acting like everything is fine" will ever bring about: a change of heart, and steps to truly align our actions with our beliefs, whether that means admitting our beliefs and priority of values don't match those of others or acknowledging that our actions are not excusable and do need to change to some degree, or both.

Man up, men, and let's all try a little harder to stand and be counted as we are, unafraid, in the light, accountable, courageous, honest about our beliefs and fears and hopes. It's scary, it's hard, it's vulnerable, it's likely to upset someone, and none of us is perfect at it or ever will be...but it's productive, it's ennobling and empowering to ourselves and to others, it fosters truth-finding, it promotes understanding and intimacy in ways secrecy never will, and...OK, actually, I'm just trying to get you all to admit your dirt, so we can have a big ol' gossip fest and point and laugh at the weirdos and scorn the filthy sinners.

Ha, is that what some are afraid of? Probably with good reason. Scary stuff, being exposed by admitting either your beliefs or actions are not what you've let everyone, including yourself, think they are, and letting that be the start of a true, lasting "change of heart" (you can't truly fix something you won't even admit is broken). Is there a limit or balance to how open you should be about such things? Probably...but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say most people could take several steps towards openness, ownership, and integrity (integrating rather than compartmentalizing their lives and actions and beliefs) and would find themselves happier for having done so. Take it or leave it, but don't expect me to shut up about it. :-)

Do all the real men go for women?

I sometimes wonder if the emotionally healthiest gay guys (or the ones whose perspectives best align with my ideals about relationships) most recognize (or believe) that much or most of what really matters in a relationship can be found in a relationship with a woman and are consequently inclined to seek it with a woman for social and/or religious reasons. Maybe they believe it to be genuinely not selfish if it's done openly because everyone brings baggage and emotional reservations to a relationship, and if a woman is willing to take this challenge on, they're both making sacrifices for a relationship they believe in and want, and to refuse to allow her to choose that is to demean her ability to decide what's best for her. Maybe the concern about not being able to return certain vulnerabilities and kinds of passion or investment is inconsequential, and every pairing is uneven in some way, so getting caught up in that is a cop-out when you can have open communication, emotional connection, and deliberate investment, which are what a lasting relationship is built on.

Maybe this is all correct, and only those with the emotionally healthiest perspective on relationships or who have the most mature outlook--the 'real men'--realize it, and therefore very few of the healthiest gay men end up on the market for other men, so those men who are left seeking same-sex companionship mostly include those who don't understand or grasp it, compounding the problems of relationships in popular gay culture. I mean no offense to those of you in great same-sex relationships. I'm just wondering if you're the exceptions rather than anything even remotely like the rule, not because same-sex-attracted men are inherently worse at relationships than opposite-sex-attracted men, and not just because of self-perpetuating unhealthiness in aspects of popular gay culture or society's official rejection of same-sex partnership commitment, but because gay men who see beyond dogmatic homosexuality or who can't stop wanting certain things for their lives see, in all probability, significant trade-offs no matter what they choose.

Some such guys might fully recognize and accept that, all else being equal, they'd rather be with a man, but they also believe all else is not equal socially, religiously, eternally, culturally, personally, or biologically, so all things considered, they might just as well take on the specific challenges and sacrifices of a mixed-sex relationship as take on the specific challenges and sacrifices and social or legal limitations of a same-sex relationship. ...Or maybe I'm only projecting my own skepticism.

I wonder if the men who most easily pass for straight are most likely to try to pass for straight. Maybe for a more "effeminate" guy, he's not going to fool anyone, so he will likely always deal with whispers of his probable homosexuality and people telling him to be himself. He might fear his sons, if he has any, will have a girly-man for a dad. He might have to "act" more "masculine" to play the role most women want. But for the already-"masculine" gay man, the one who enjoys sports and can fix a car, or the one who most people don't suspect until they find out he's only seriously dated one or two girls in his thirty years of life, playing the part of a typical, standard husband might seem more natural in certain ways than it would to the man with fewer traits generally regarded as belonging to masculinity.

I wonder if the guys I would be most attracted to and who want what I want are the least likely to be available to me because they're busy keeping everyone clueless that they're even gay by dating and marrying women because it just makes social sense to take the path of less resistance. Jerks.

But it's natural. Most of us don't exactly relish the idea of being social crusaders or living against the grain if we don't have to. Most of us don't really critically examine our beliefs until they're challenged thoroughly, or other beliefs seem not only more plausible but emotionally fulfilling. Most of us don't question roles and systems until something about them really doesn't fit or stops working. I certainly don't claim to be the most traditionally 'masculine' of men, nor the most understanding of relationships or women, but sometimes I wonder if I'd rather just give up on pioneering paths for the sake of intellectual integrity or making reality of conceptions and rejoin the trodden trails of normality...

Sacred, not secret, union

I've been thinking a bit, lately, about the reality of marrying or committing myself for life to a man I love someday. If I ever do find such a man, or even if I find such a woman, I intend to hold such a commitment (whether called 'marriage' or 'union') sacred and meaningful, and I have been thinking I may have to make some difficult decisions. I may decide to purify the experience and avoid sullying it by inviting, to the ceremony, only those who would be fully, truly supportive. Then we could have a reception for everyone, including those who couldn't wholeheartedly support whatever ceremony represents our union but who want to wish us well.

I might not allow the presence of those who do not hold sacred the covenants I make and the relationship into which I enter. I would do this not because I don't love them and not because they don't care but because some people just don't or won't understand the magnitude and sacredness the relationship holds for me. Some people would not fully grasp what it means or what it's about. They wouldn't relate to or appreciate the reality of it. They won't fully understand the motivations behind my choice to get married in that way. I wish they all did. I wish they could all understand and see what I've seen. But they won't, and that's their choice or belief, and it doesn't change or diminish what it means to me. They may be upset that they can't come, and they may not understand why I would exclude them when they are happy that I have companionship but just don't understand its full meaning. But it's not about them. It's about us. It's about our commitment to each other and to truth. They'll have to deal with it.

On one hand, I love the idea of having an open, public wedding to which all are invited, to contrast it with the exclusivity of LDS temple marriage, into which only active, temple-recommend-holding members of the church are allowed. I may never see many of my dear friends married because I no longer believe the ceremony is exactly what they believe it is, even though I know I would--if allowed to be present--lovingly and happily look on them as they make their covenants with moist eyes and be grateful to respectfully share that moment. But there are reasons for the exclusivity which I fully understand in ways someone who has never believed in the magnitude and the sacred and eternal nature of temple covenants might not fully relate to.

In fact, maybe it's not so different. I still believe my marriage or union, if I ever enter into one with either a man or a woman, will not be about any social approbation, grand parties, attention, or even 'rights' (though I'd want my partner and I to have legal protection and decision-making rights for each other)...and it's not even primarily about unifying or linking families. My commitment to another soul in union is about the unification of the two of us, committing our lives to each other and promising that we won't bolt when it gets tough, we will draw closer and remain one even when the fun wanes or other options come along, and we'll form a union within which we become financially and personally 'one' and lay a stable foundation for a future family if we're able to bring children into our home. That is too sacred a commitment to invite the presence of those who don't understand or believe in it.

So I may insist on a very private, very limited ceremony if it ever comes to that. If that means it's only my partner and me, then so be it. It's not about anyone else to begin with. I've always thought things were almost more sacred by being more private, so it's kind of a beautiful thought to commit to each other without spectacle or demonstration.

Then, after the most important business of unifying ourselves, we can symbolically unify other aspects of our lives by bringing together families and friends in a fabulous reception with lots of good food, good music, and happy memories in the making.

Ha, or I could just be a single old codger with a few short-term relationships along the way. That's probably more likely. *wink*

Free

OK, so maybe the problem is that I was as "right" as I feared, that I hoped my fears were wrong. That I had faith something would override the self-defenses, that my intent would be clear, that...[he] would say anything but what he said. Here's the deal: I wrote [him] an exceedingly long e-mail last Tuesday.

Ha, I can hear half of you groaning and smacking your foreheads. It was time: just trust me when I say I wouldn't take back that decision or edit down the letter, making it either relatively pointless or masking certain realities for fear of misinterpretation.

About three weeks ago now, a few conversations and circumstances brought [him] into the forefront of my mind again, and I had an emotional relapse as I let go of some lingering hopes I hadn't realized I was holding on to. But I also felt like the unknown was now worse than knowing the truth. I was ready to clear the air and move on. I started writing the letter, but about a week later, I had stopped. About two weeks later, even though I no longer felt the need to finish it or hear from him, I also knew that it was probably time to say what I needed to, and to offer the opportunity to clear the air a bit and set up future boundaries just in case he, too, could use some closure. To assume he didn't would be as presumptuous as assuming he did.

The only (or maybe 'best'?) way to know is to ask, and I decided that if I was going to contact him at all, I was just going to lay it all out there and get it out of the way, so there was no regret over things not said, no hidden agenda, no hidden motives, and no endless back-and-forth to try to get out what I really wanted to say. It seemed too trite or transparent to just say, "I hope we can be friends someday." There was so much more to it than that, and I didn't want to hide behind a noble face and put on airs about having only the simplest, purest intentions. Better to show my hand than to play politics. I laid it all on the table. And it felt right when I clicked "Send". "It's in his hands now. Either he can hurt me one last time with a final blow, or he can offer some closure, or we can have a brief exchange to clear the air and push 'reset' and allow the possibility of future contact of some kind at some point, or there can be misunderstanding...but something is better than nothing, even if it ends it."

I opened the letter by acknowledging I didn't know how he'd receive it, that I hoped he was well and had heard he was. I mentioned a gift I'd left in a sealed yellow USPS envelope placed in a grocery sack on his porch in December and how I hoped he'd received it without trouble from roommates. It included a brief recorded message of an upbeat "goodbye" nature, telling him clearly that I did not expect a response but wanted to say I kept coming back to a place of peace about our relationship, and a copy of the song "I Wish You Love". I had thought that might be my last contact, but I knew I might hit a point where I'd be ready to say more and invite a response, but only when I was ready to hear the worst, or to hear nothing even after inviting a response. That time had come. I was ready.

I explained the difficulty I've had with coming to terms with his decision, with knowing I want him to be happy and wishing I knew how to share in his journey but recognizing that may not be possible. I explained my emotional journey in that regard, so as to not hide any possible underlying motives and to explain that my distance hasn't been out of hatred or disregard but out of self-preservation. I explained how hurt I was by his coldness when he broke things off, not to punish him but...well, part of it was for me, of course. Part of my healing was to let him know how his actions affected me and seeing if he would offer any clarity, even if painful to me.

Part of it, though, was so that he would have an idea, for the future, because I had been in his shoes, where I'd been emotionally detached and had hurt someone without realizing how deeply I'd done it or how it had affected her. Had I known, I would have done it differently, and I would have been more responsive to her. But we all learn these things at our own pace. At his age, I had never had my heart broken, and I had never been in the position I've now found myself in, so I didn't know how to respond to it. Now, I'm still far from perfect, but I at least have a better idea of what a couple of girls went through with me, and if I could now go back and handle it differently, I would. I would communicate less defensively (though I didn't have any idea how defensive I was being), I would be more clear about boundaries but also more clear about the reasons for them and my sincere appreciation for their friendship without the fear of them "misconstruing" it as a hope for more, and I wouldn't be so damned clinical...or maybe I would in the moment.

All I know is that I am so very grateful that a couple of girls in my life wrote me, at great emotional risk, to tell me how our relationship had affected them, how deeply they'd felt, and how hard it had been for them to cope with the emotions they were feeling. Looking back, I'm so grateful they gave me the opportunity to respond to that, to understand what I couldn't grasp firsthand, and to prepare for the day when I, too, would feel something similar, and I would see that these otherwise really great, level-headed girls weren't so crazy after all. I figured it's my turn to be in the vulnerable place.

I told him how confusing his turnaround was, and how I had wondered, briefly, if he had led me on all along but how I hoped I was correct to believe I knew him well enough to know he'd never intentionally do that. I expressed what my fears and insecurities had been, in possibly too much detail but not wanting to disguise anything, and I said that, in the end, I believed he had genuinely done the best with what was a very new and difficult situation for him, and we both probably handled the break-up the best we knew how. I said all of this so he'd know I saw past even my own emotional reactions to who I truly believed he was, to show that when all is said and done, despite the pain and anger and confusion, I've always come back to a place of peace and have no regrets about having taken the risk and gotten to know him because beyond all of the romance, our friendship was special to me and was clearly something good.

I explained that yes, we probably had to agree to disagree about certain philosophies and decisions. I thought maybe I should gloss over this, but then I decided that, no, if we were to have any kind of friendship, I didn't want it to be with masked disagreements, so I was very frank about it, but I also made a point of the fact that I knew he was probably determined, and I understood he has beliefs and contexts within which to make his decisions, and I ultimately hope for his happiness. I said this was not intended to sway him (I didn't believe he could be swayed anyway). I explained that I had refrained from sharing certain details and disagreements out of fear that he might one day accept the ideas and look back disdainfully at me, believing I tried to steer him away from truth. I explained that I also didn't want to be the enemy of the parents of someone I loved, so I couldn't position myself as one who convinced their beloved son to pursue a path to hell. I explained that I didn't want to lure him away for my own self interests. I left it at that and told him if he ever got curious--and I acknowledged he probably wouldn't--he could read my blog for my evolution of thoughts on certain therapies of homosexuality. I also invited him to let me know, if he ever did read my blog, if he was uncomfortable with anything I'd written, though I'd tried to be respectful. I wanted to make it clear my blog wasn't meant to be a gossip column at his expense. I still don't want that, even though my feelings for who he now is are very different from my feelings for who I thought he was last summer.

I talked about the things I appreciated about him and about our relationship/friendship. I wanted him to know that what I most loved about him wasn't the fluffy stuff but was his deeper traits and qualities. When I used the word "love", I meant it in the purest sense I know of, not just a romantic sense. But I did also tell him that I am now unafraid to tell him I was falling in love with him, that there wasn't any psychoanalysis that convinces me otherwise, and that I am also now unafraid to say, as pathetic as it may seem at my age, that I believe what we had was the best relationship I've had with anyone I was romantically interested in. I acknowledged that I may have better someday, but I appreciate what we had, and I hope we each individually find what works best for us and believe we will.

Yes, I said those things partially because I wanted to "testify" to him about what I believe to be true while I had the chance to do it and while I still felt it in my heart, before it was snuffed out completely. That may have been a mistake, but I'm not convinced it was, and I don't yet regret it. I also said those things to come clean as to where I'm coming from and to go on to explain that whatever disagreements we may now have, and even though 'partnership' or romance is clearly no longer an option, we had the foundations of a great friendship I don't think should be completely discarded, even if it must be on hold. Even if we don't know what to do with each other right now, or how to fit into each other's lives, I invited him to share his thoughts or feelings on it, and I would respect his desires. As I said,

"I value the connection we had too much to leave the door completely closed out of self defense, pain, ease, insecurity of belief, or fear that you no longer reciprocate even the desire for friendship. Even if I don’t know what to do with you, I care about you and wouldn't want my silence to communicate anything different."

I knew the frankness of my email, including my feelings and thoughts about the quality of our relationship and some specific memories which made me remember last summer more fondly than sadly even as I tucked those memories away and moved on, might be misinterpreted as a last-ditch effort to sway him, which I acknowledge may have played a small emotional part, but I consistently told my emotions that no, he was set in his path, and even if he did somehow change his mind, I knew I wouldn't have gotten back together with him. I couldn't trust his commitment, even though I wished I could trust it if it were, by some remote chance, offered. That's the thing: I acknowledged to myself that yes, even if I was almost emotionally tidied up, there were still some messy nooks and crannies, so I wasn't going to pretend there weren't. After thinking a lot about it, I decided I had reasons for writing it the way I did, and I couldn't have a clear conscience if I didn't say exactly what I felt and thought in case it would ever be of benefit. I figured I had little to lose in putting it out there and trusting that he'd understand my intent, knowing my heart pretty well (I hoped), even if it rubbed him the wrong way somehow.

I admitted that most of my fears and hang-ups about contacting him seem to be in the past now and that I feel good and am moving on but confessed (again, so as to not hide possible less-conscious motives) that some part of me might still feel like a regular friendship wasn't enough, so I wasn't talking about reconnecting in a personal way now, not for a while, and that I was just touching base. I told him I hoped he was taking care of the 'him' I loved even while becoming a better version and seeking out his goals. I told him that I was pretty sure he had good friends to rely on now, but if he ever found himself needing someone to talk to, I hoped he'd know he could contact me, and that I wouldn't read anything into it other than him needing to talk to someone (I only make such promises when I'm confident I can keep them).

I closed my thoughts by saying:

"Even though I may still, for now, see you through the eyes of someone who was in love, and who was hurt, the attachment and defensive detachment will pass in time and may have largely passed already. Time will tell. When all is said and done, whether or not we're in contact, I think it’s safe to say that I can’t imagine not always loving you as a brother and friend."

Then I ended with a light-hearted quip to let him know what I was feeling wasn't all heavy and somber and that I had to laugh a bit as I move on.

His response? One short paragraph: he doesn't want any contact with me. Don't contact him anymore. He won't respond to any future emails. He doesn't want to retain any form of friendship. He will not seek out any form of communication with me.

It was maybe the worst possible response. I had been ready to face the probability that he didn't want to--or needed not to--stay in touch, at least for now, but there was no way to fully prepare for his response. There was no way to stoically watch my faith in the kindness of someone I so strongly hoped would be responsive to the vulnerability I struggled to place in front of him be completely obliterated without so much as an, "I cared about you, but I'm moving on and can't look back." I hoped for too much, even though I told myself not to expect much, just in case. Even after having explained my reaction to the coldness last time, only more coldness in return. More daggers. No sensitivity. No willingness to discuss anything. No friendship whatsoever. Nothing personal in it. No value. No signs of [him] in it. Surely he's not still so fragile that he needed to be so cruel out of self defense. No, he has killed whatever true love, friendship or otherwise, there may have been, end of story. There's no way he could not know how wrong that response would be to someone you ever cared about. I mean nothing to him now, if I ever did. What I thought I saw in him was a mirage, or has been made into one. I was wrong. There's something more important to him than his own humanity. What a fool I was. I never knew him as I thought I did. But the truth is that whatever anger I've experienced, it's because this hurt so intensely.

I felt broken but relieved and oddly strong as I wrote, through sobs and blurry eyes, the last thing I will ever send him and would ever want to, since I felt like I was writing to some jerk I didn't know who had murdered [him]: a brief e-mail apologizing, clarifying that this response of his was the first time he ever defined any boundaries other than agreeing to the few months of no contact I had proposed during our last conversation, but that now that boundaries were defined, I would respect them. I told him I certainly never meant him any harm or confusion and will consider my friend to be completely gone. And I do.

A close friend confessed to me, last night, that he felt responsible for my pain for a while because the night before the unexpectedly sudden break-up, he told [him] that I, more than any other single person, have made him question his orientation and his testimony so much that it has forced him to really get to the heart of some issues and find out what he believes, and that it's been challenging. I knew our interaction had challenged him, as we'd discussed that, but I didn't know he had said it quite so bluntly to [him]. I also know that my own convictions have always developed and grown because I was challenged, and I think the greatest conviction comes from challenging and questioning to penetrate the fluffy stuff and get to the real core of matters, yet I don't consider it my role to go around challenging people's beliefs and have been careful to respect others' beliefs even while articulating my own when questioned or pressed. But suddenly, with this new information, [his] statement to me during our break-up conversation that he "can't question everything his whole life and wants conviction" seemed to make that much more sense, coupled with the strong airs of "conviction" you find at Evergreen Conferences. I thanked my friend for finally telling what he's been afraid to tell me, told him I clearly wasn't thrilled with the apparent presentation though I figure he was only telling [him] what he believed to be true, and said I didn't singly blame him for the break-up but that it might make some sense of a couple of things [he] had given me as reasons and might have played into his sudden apparent distrust of me which hurt so much.

Whatever the reasons for [his] curt response, I have never felt so disappointed by someone. I know now that I could never be with someone who could be so cold to someone they supposedly cared about so much. Even if we did ever have contact again, I couldn't entrust my feelings to him again or believe what he says he's feeling. Even if he was just following the guidance of a parent or some shit-for-brains counselor or mentor, I couldn't be with someone who follows that kind of loveless counsel, even for self preservation. Immaturity and confusion are understandable excuses, but I was once immature, and I was once confused, and I never did anything so devoid of heart, at the very least not to someone who had never really earned such distrust. Or have I? Shoot, we've all been confused and made decisions we either regret or would regret if we remembered them. I've been an ass, too. Right, deep breath, let it go, forgive.

In any case, I see that he never really knew me or truly cared as I thought he did, or nothing could have convinced him to so completely distrust and coldly shut me out. I see that so much of what he said to me while we were together is now made invalid, whether or not he thought he meant or believed it at the time, no more than a passing fancy and experimentation. It was so convincing, though, that I couldn't trust him on any level of vulnerability again. Ha, so his aim is accomplished: no friendship. And mine is accomplished: I don't wonder.

I'm not going to speculate on his reasons. The answer was heartless, almost cruelly cold, and I have to accept it at face value. The bridge is burned, and I'm walking away from the chasm, the charred remains of what I hoped. I know he may have had all kinds of reasons for protecting himself, for seeing warning signs in the email I sent, for not knowing how to respond, etc. The reasons don't matter to me. The friend I trusted with my emotions would have found a better way to cut it off than this. The guy I fell for is dead to me, even if for forgivable reasons, now possessed by some heartless, self-serving ass I don't want to know. The truth is I knew I was giving him one last opportunity to really, truly hurt me, and the truth now is that he can never hurt me any more than he has now, and I feel free because of it. It's nice to have the closure, painful though it was. I've always preferred to know that someone doesn't want to waste their time with me than wonder if they do. And once I know, I'm pretty good at letting it go and moving on. Communicate with me. It might hurt. It might destroy me for a day. But it's so much better in the long-run than withholding the truth.

After all is said and done, even though I've dealt with some pretty raw pain and hatred since yesterday, and I don't know how I'll trust anyone's supposed love again, I somehow think I will. I'm not ready to give up on that yet.