A Parable of Baking

Despite today's demoralizing attempt to make meringue, I discovered I have a love and maybe even a talent for baking. For years, I decided not to bake. I said I wasn't good at it, largely because of a rather unfortunate attempt to make lemon squares in high school.

Then, I dated someone who could bake. Exceptionally well. He could do with baking what I can do with cooking. So, naturally, I called him the Baker in the relationship and let him do all of that stuff, with my help on the rare occasion. For a couple of years, I did not consider baking to be a part of my culinary repertoire. Until we broke up.

In my gradual downslide from the lack of a relationship, I tried all sorts of things. Baking was one of them. I found a recipe for vanilla bean cupcakes and decided to make them. I also was inspired by Annie from Bridesmaids, played by Kristen Wiig. The scene where Annie makes the beautiful cupcake is inspiring to me, to the point that I call it her moment of triumph. So, last summer I decided to try to fill a spot left in my life, baking, by doing it myself. Rather than leave it alone, forever naming it 'his' talent and 'his' thing, I tried it for myself. And you know what? I found out something new about myself.

Those cupcakes came out great. They were well received, despite my doubts about them. I had reclaimed something for myself that I had always considered an integral part of someone else. Baking those cupcakes was one of the first moments where I realized that the hole I felt was in my life did not need to be filled by another man. It very well could have been filled by me.

Since then, I've made other cupcakes, I've made cookies, and I even made a rather spectacular pecan pie. I've made homemade muffins, including this morning's cinnamon cake donut muffins. There is a meringue-less lemon pie chilling in my fridge, waiting to be delivered to a friend, as well as my stomach. In essence, I'm proud of myself for trying something I thought for years I couldn't do. I'm especially proud of myself because the results came out great.

Like today, I'm not always going to have complete victories. But, this is okay. It's the fact that I'm trying to do things for myself, to prove to myself that not everything I say is set in stone, and that at any moment I can make a great batch of cupcakes, cookies, or a wonderful pie.

The moral of this story? You may feel that something is not for you, but maybe it's worth a try. Maybe that thing you always said others, but not you, could do is something you are good at. Even if the results are disastrous, you rose above preconceived notions of talents or limits and actually tried. Many people let the fear of failure stop them from trying. Let's just say I will definitely still be baking goodies after today.

And maybe, just maybe, that seemingly person-sized hole you feel in your chest, your heart, or your life can be filled with you.

Candidly

I've been thinking about the idea of self-disclosure. Lately, I fear that I've put too much of myself out there. That I'm revealing things that should be kept secret, within the confines of a journal or between close friends. Yet, a lot of this stuff is stuff I share with my friends (not as much with my journal). I fear that I am saying things that could be misinterpreted or taken the wrong way (or occasionally the right way...).

Yet, what I find is that that is the voice of doubt. I do have to consider that what I say on blogs or social media can affect me later, but what I'm most worried about is how people see me. I am very deliberate in creating an image of myself that is positive and will last after I die. I know how I want to be remembered. I don't love simply for this reason, to make sure that people don't paint me an asshole after I pass, but it is a reason that I behave and act and talk the way I do.

Still, there's some stuff I don't even discuss in depth with anyone. Listening to Lauryn Hill's 'Ex-Factor' this morning brought some of that stuff to the surface, so I figured it'd be worth taking the risk to let some of it out. I actually do hope that certain people come across this post, because it will bring into the light things that I am either scared to say, or that need to be said but that I deem inappropriate for me to say based on existing parameters of relationships (or the lack thereof).

Lately, part of the distress I mentioned in the last post has come from facing parts of myself that I run away from. These are the parts I am ashamed to show to people, the actions that leave me with the most regret, though I do try to forgive myself for them. They are things I've done and said that afterward I wished I wouldn't, that had a profound capacity to hurt those who don't deserve hurt and that reflect a selfish and weak part of myself (a part that I must learn to love nonetheless).

I've been on both sides of the portrait Lauryn paints in 'Ex-Factor.' I've been the one trying to let go, but asked to stay. I've been the one who's asked a man to stay, but not for his benefit, just mine (a desperate attempt to heal). I've said things under my breath or buried in a subtext that have the power to hurt some of the men I've come across in my life. I've walked in my own bitterness and anger and let that manifest, only to later realize that doing so is the exact antithesis to love (the cornerstone of my life). Each of these things, I'm ashamed of.

I'm ashamed that I reached out, for fear that he'd never be the one to do it. I'm ashamed that I actually put energy into trying to get someone back, realizing later that maybe those feelings weren't genuine and that I was trying to heal myself in what I thought was the only way how. I'm ashamed that I've let things 'slip' that were bitter and spiteful, because I felt that it was my right to be honest and let my feelings be known and broadcast to the world that someone hurt me (while saying to myself in some way that they deserve hurt, too, which is not true). I am ashamed of my profound moments of weakness. I know that this stuff is where some of my fear comes from. I'm scared that I'll be seen as angry, bitter, desperate, crazy, unhinged, and that each of these shows plain as day to the men that I'd least like to hold such opinions of me.

So, I'm finally in the process of not running. I'm finally looking at each of those things, and other things I forgot but that will be brought into my awareness at some point, and forgiving myself, even if others haven't forgiven me for them. It's just hard to look inside and see something that makes me say, "I'm ashamed of myself for how I thought, acted, felt or behaved." It takes a lot of simultaneous processes: forgiveness, acceptance, compassion, and honesty. It takes a lot of energy to say, "That person, who I was in that moment, did something I wish I hadn't done, but that I must accept, so I am better able to love myself and others."

Sometimes, all I want is to stop, gather my courage, and say, "I'm sorry for what I did because I realize how it may have affected you." But, sometimes it's not important for other people to forgive me.

I have to have the strength and willingness to forgive myself and try to learn from each of my mistakes.

The E is for Evolving

Let me share with you my thought process over the past few days, especially today:

Today has felt weird. As I described it earlier, it is the introspective kind of weird, where you can't really get a hold on what kind of energy you have but you know it's not good or bad, it just is. Today, the usual distressing thoughts came into my mind, but I was able to sit with them until they passed (read: they were no longer in my conscious awareness). I took my day as it was. It got done the things I needed to. I did something today that didn't necessarily have to be done today. Go me!

As I was driving home, I thought to myself, "Today sure has been weird. I wonder why..." So I thought of my past few days. I thought of how most of last week was full of distressing thoughts until Friday where I somehow got my emotional shit together and managed to have a stellar day (thanks in great part to the people I love who showed up in various ways). I thought of my weekend and how peaceful it was, which I think is due to my having spent it primarily alone rather than in the company of others. I thought of how I sat through my loneliness on Saturday and just focused on myself, how I had an adventure in the park on Sunday, was inspired, and created something I love and am proud of for someone I love.

I thought of how the past 3-4 weeks were unusually distressful, especially considering how I felt before those 3-4 weeks, how I was the happiest I had ever been in my life, as far as I can recall, and definitely the happiest I had been since my breakup. While in that period, I wasn't sure what the hell was happening, but I was sure that I needed to get through my day-by-day and do the things I needed to, despite how I felt. So, I moved forward. Eventually, I got to today, where I feel fine, at ease, at peace with the way things are and the way things were.

I came to the conclusion that maybe that distressful period was part of my growth. Pema Chodron says that as we become Warriors of Boddhicitta, our lives may become stressful, we may have a sense of dread, but that it is only an indication that we are growing and changing. So, maybe that's what it was.

I cling to that theory, because it offers hope, but I think it may be true. Maybe I'm breaking free in a more noticeable way. Maybe those distressing thoughts are losing their power. Yes, I expect to have more bad days, simply because I'm human, but I will not devote any energy into making those days come faster. I will just sit and wait, say hi and love them when they do, cherish the lessons, and bid them a fond farewell once they leave.

In the now, I relish this sense of peace because it was something I wanted for a long time. I get glimpses of it in my day-to-day, but this is the longest it's lasted in a while. I'm grateful.

To me, this is what happiness is, a sense of peace with all that things are. I'll make changes where I need to and when I need to. Until then, I'll be sure to exercise my growing sense of compassion with myself and those around me.

It's nice to feel this free and I'm glad that all of the goings on of my life thus far have led to this point.

I'm evolving and my life is so much better because of that. I'm evolving because I'm great and I finally see it.

The Other L is for Fucking Lost

Last night, I came face to face with an emotion I haven't felt deeply for a long time: anger.

I was angry that I wanted to have a night where I didn't look for a man, yet I found myself seeking validation in mutual attraction (read: external validation). I was angry that I just wanted to dance and not worry, but I saw my ex with his usual partner of late and I didn't want that on my head. I was angry that it felt like I was catching no one's attention. I was angry that the one guy I want is the one guy I have to safeguard myself against to protect my heart. I was angry that my One, for Now or Forever, has not shown up yet. I was angry that the one man to give me the attention I was looking for is a good man, but a man I am not attracted to and had to be careful not to hurt because I could sense he was a good guy. I was angry that the good guys I had met thus far were not the ones I could pursue because it wouldn't be right.

I was angry that in my romantic life things were not going my way.

Romantic love is a significant and important part of life, but it is only part. Yet, last night, I found myself at the mercy of my impatience, anger, and sadness relating to my romantic life. I was face to face with every no, on both sides, every disappointment. It felt like all the work I had done had suddenly come crashing down around me. Last night was supposed to be fun, but it ended up carrying the theme of the rest of my week: anxiety and anguish.

Now, in my right mind, I find that I was in the midst of a growing experience. I needed to face my anger. I needed to realize that seeing an ex does not have to dictate how my night goes, and that if it gets to me and affects me, though I must openly acknowledge this, I am choosing to let it do so. I am choosing to stay in that shitty spot and not move forward.

I realized just how lost I was. Actually, that has been painfully apparent to me. Sometimes, I doubt what I do. I doubt my growth and change. However...

I also start to realize that what I am choosing to do with my life, making it a process of active Love, is not something to be doubted. If I offer love to someone and it is rejected, that's not a reflection on me. I can be crazy cheesy or sappy, but I'm still offering love. That is the last thing I should hesitate to do. I should never fear showing someone love because I feel they'll call me weird. I should never fear love at all.

As each day goes by, I have to trust. I have to trust that I am moving on the right path (I am), that the right man will come along (he hasn't), that my choice of partners will ring true with me (it will). Last night, I stopped trusting and I got angry.

But, I needed to. Had I not, I wouldn't be taking the time for growth today. Maybe things do happen for a reason.

The L is for Love

This week I've reflected upon a lot of things. One in particular is what I feel my purpose is. Since I decided to no longer believe in a higher power, I've not been sure what to think of a purpose. Being made for a specific purpose implies agency of something higher than myself. It means that we all have a purpose, but that's not something I'm sure I believe in.

Yet, I still believe I was made for something. I used to think I was made specifically to find someone to love and love them until I die, hopefully making both of our lives better. Yet, lately, and specifically this week, I've expanded that. I can't have been made to love someone in Other Romantic Love. No. I think I was made to love. Period.

And maybe it's not a purpose. Maybe it's my own declaration, a dedication to refuse to make this world a shittier place. At any rate, I've found a very strong joy in just loving others, in loving people I perceive don't like me, loving men who don't respect me, loving those who were in my life but now aren't, loving those who are in my life. Loving up close. Loving at a distance. Just, loving.

Love has had a profound effect on me. Without it, I wouldn't have gotten through the past nine months. Where the Other Romantic Love that had been so present in my life was suddenly gone, the Other Love of my friends and family slowly helped fill a hole I felt in the middle of my chest. But, not just that: the Self Love I finally acquired was also transformative.

Because of Self Love and Other Love, I wake up in the morning feeling worthwhile. Yeah, some days are bad, but I still learn to embrace them. I feel as though I matter. Love has become a real and palpable thing in my life. So, I made it my duty to keep spreading it. I need to start pushing myself to find new and creative ways to love me and others, but I still love. Every day, I love.

I get daily reminders that my work isn't done. Sometimes, I'm not sure it will be. But, even when I feel I can't, when the energy doesn't suddenly rush to me, I love. My world is better, easier because of it. I seriously hope yours is, too. If not, I'd like to change that.

The A is for Androgynous

As time goes by, I finding myself taking on more socially 'feminine' activities than I used to. That basically means I paint my nails occasionally. Still, I've noticed that I don't as strongly adhere to 'masculinity.' Not that I ever did, but I'm much less worried about it now.

I theorize that I'm going to take on more 'feminine' roles or behaviors, just as a natural progression. As part of my growth, I think that they'll be included because it feels as though they have been. With my insular existence, there is no real point to be made here, because I'm addressing a personal and individual change within myself. However, when taken out of my own narrow context, there is some dialogue to be had. Namely, we should all have this freedom to do so.

Our current gender paradigm is painted as a strict 'is', a way of being that always has been and forever will be. Of course, this paradigm is also strongly tied to sexism. It is taboo for any one gender to assume roles, behaviors, or thinking that belongs to the other gender, but it's much less taboo for women to 'act like men' than it is for men to 'act like women.' I don't need to paint the implicit assumption here.

I just wonder what it would look like if we were allowed the room and freedom to act however we wanted. Would a concept of gender even exist? It'd be cool because 'manly' men would genuinely be so and 'girly' girls would also. But THEN we'd also have women who hunt and shoot guns, men who gladly bake and cook. Wait... We already have these don't we? Yes, but we have them with the added cocked eyebrows or assumptions that one is not 'man' or 'woman' enough, or is not doing his or her appropo role. Clearly a bunch of bullshit.

I'm not sure why we place such a capital on adhering to gender roles and the current paradigm. I've grown to see it as far less important than people make it out to be, even though I give my own cocked eyebrows (I'm still growing and learning).

Androgyny to me is beautiful and it is a sort of freedom. I get to determine who I am and what I do, which goes along with my gender expression. And, honestly, I wouldn't even call some things 'masculine' or 'feminine' had I not learned this particular gender binary. Without those words or ideas, all I did would just be, it wouldn't have a gender attached to it.

We owe it to ourselves to create this kind of world. A lot of good things would follow as a result.

Heavy Lifting

I just received an email, sent to four other young men in my department, to move the copier in the department back to its original location. While this is fine, the secretaries are asking for help, I have two issues: One, I don't want to do it. Two, she only asked the young men.

Believe it or not, asking men to do heavy lifting or to move heavy things is sexism on two fronts. One, it assumes that men are the only ones capable of doing so and women aren't unless absolutely necessary (read: no men are present). Two, it enlists men to do such a task even if they don't want to (the same as asking women to cook or clean when the same could be asked of men). I know that men and women are built differently, that my body may be more conducive to bigger muscles, and therefore I can understand the intent behind the email.

However, I don't think the women in my life are weak enough to be incapable of heavy lifting; they just aren't expected to. When there weren't any male assistants in the department, the women did the things now asked of us.

The point here is that, even though men have privileges afforded to them in society, sexism hits us, too. However, as I mentioned, this particular form of sexism still affects women. It's more than being asked to do things based on our abilities; sometimes these requests are hinged upon supposed talents, abilities or strength, not actual. To alleviate the effects of sexism, we have to change things around. Instead of assuming a man or woman can or can't do things solely based on their sex or gender, maybe we should work on evidence (which I think the secretary is doing, though if I were scrawny I think I'd still be asked to help out). It's teaching men how to cook, but also giving women the space to do the heavy lifting. Logically, I should no longer feel guilty that a women is doing heavy lifting and I'm not simply because she's a woman, but instead because heavy things are heavy and burdensome to move or lift; it's compassion versus sexism (in the same way that chivalry shouldn't be about men doing things for women because they are women, but because the men are trying to be considerate; women should also offer to do the same for men).

All that being said, I'm still going to move the copier if I can and have the time, even though I don't want to because I know it will help people out. I'm still not deluding myself by ignoring the sexism behind this request and others like it.

Many Things to Consider

There are stories made in my lifetime like The Help, the story of a young White woman who defies odds to chronicle a significant part of the lives of many old Black women working as maids in the Jim Crow South. It is an uplifting story in some parts (of course, this is with my only having seen the movie), and devastating in others. It is a story of triumph for both Skeeter and Aibileen and the other maids. However, it is also problematic. It is a story about a White Savior for Black women.

While these stories of uplift and rising above adversity have tremendous value, they also come with a price. In The Help, and other media, the Black women could not have risen above without Skeeter. Sure, at face value this is awesome because people are becoming more than their circumstances. But, as you know, I'm a fan of implicit language, and one thing that stories like The Help say is that We, as marginalized people, no matter who those people are, need the help of someone who is not marginalized to get by. We have our own strength, but it is not enough without the help of someone like the White Savior.

I'll admit, it does feel like reaching, but the elements are there. For some reason, it is too much to have a protagonist get by with a little help from his/her 'birds of a feather.' It is somehow too much to have more stories like The Color Purple, focusing on a Black woman and her Black family and friends and her struggle to just get through life despite her circumstances. We need stories like The Help, maybe so our White friends will be better about being our White friends and that they are somehow different from the bad White people on our television and movie screens and in our books.

However, there is another issue: Sometimes, our 'birds of a feather' do not help us succeed, whether deliberately or passively. Sometimes they don't know how. I grew up with the resources and the support that made college seem like absolutely the only way. And, honestly, for that I'm so glad. However, do other Black teens have the same opportunities? Despite the Jefferson-esque move to the westside of Little Rock, Arkansas, I know that my parents would have pushed me to pursue a higher education. I don't think every Black youth has that. I don't think every Black youth even has someone that is willing to spend the energy to believe in them. And that's just Black youth.

So, we arrive at an impasse in which we have to fight the implicit message of needing something akin to a White Savior, but also, for some, having no other choice but to find a White Savior because the Birds of a Feather are incapable, in some way, of helping us out.

As I repeat, over and over again, and as I will repeat forever: If we lived in a truly equal society, these stories might not be a double edged sword, and there might be a chance for off-color jokes to exist without slowly damaging society piece by piece. But, as we all know, that is not the case. So, we must be wary of these stories while we applaud them. We must appreciate that there are nonmarginalized people ready and willing to help out, but what that may say about us.

Basically, these stories have to be treated with gravity, but also taken with a grain of salt. It's okay for anyone who is marginalized to rise up with his/her own strength, and it's okay to get help from someone with the resources. Both narratives are okay. Sometimes, we do or don't need a White Savior. Sometimes, we can make it on our own.

Just For Now

So, as I sit here, sipping my Skinny Girl Margarita, I suddenly come up with the idea that it's time for a change. Basically, I've made the past six months of my life out of some kind of change or another, because there's nothing like ending a two year relationship to make you realize that things change, and that as things change other things follow suit.

I decided to change the blog name to reflect these changes. As someone helped me realize the other day, change is the only real status quo, we just delude ourselves into thinking that things as they are in a certain epoch are how they are supposed to be or forever will be.

The change takes after one of my favorite Imogen Heap songs, 'Just for Now,' a song I love to listen to during the holidays. To me, the song reflects a holiday family gathering, one which I like to pretend is Christmas. It reflects the goings on of a family during Christmas, but also the feeling of wanting to escape. And, honestly, as much as I love my family, it takes a lot of energy to be around them. It's rather ironic, because you think it'd be effortless being around those I love. However, I've also been around them for 23 years :)

In short, I felt it was time for a change. I've done some good work of stepping outside my box and developing myself as a person, and I'm happy for that. I'm happy for myself.

Everything I present to you from now on is a reflection of my being, at least Just for Now. My mind my change, and so may my life, but each post will represent who I am Just for NOw.

And Just for Now, I'm happy to reflect on life and myself and the past six months and how good life is.

Even if Just for Now.

On Idealism

I come from a place of idealism. In working to become a psychological counselor, I have one very clear goal in mind: change the world. However, this is not something I should say to other professionals. The one time I said it in a class, my professor gave me a look you should never give to someone like me, who spends so much of his time analyzing things. From what I gather, you don't tell people you want to change the world, you just hope you will. Maybe.

This idealism, this dreaming is a part of myself I never want to disappear. It drives me, sometimes. When I'm focused on what the world could be? I feel much better about being in school. My goal is to help heal minds, change behaviors, and, in turn, change the world, one person at a time. I've found that, without superpowers or money, though those with money may not get much work done in the grand scheme (or they may not even try), change comes at a slow pace.

Of course, there is *some* change I can effect in the world through myself. By trying to become a better person, I'm going to treat others better and maybe be some semblance of a life without a regular asshole. Yet, this change is small. It is not earth moving, planet shaking. It is limited. While another form of idealism may have you believe otherwise, realistically, the changes we make in ourselves may not reach too far beyond us and our existence. Thus, what do I do? How do I change the world? I'm not really sure.

However, I notice what I bring to people's lives. I know I'm supposed to speak from humility, but I see it. Though I may deny it, I know that I bring something special to the lives of some people, and that something special is how I'm going to change the world. I'll bring something special to my future clients' lives. I may have already done so; I'm just not sure.

So, why can't I be so open about this idealism professionally? Is it because there is really no business in changing the world? Must I remain pragmatic? I feel like it is going to be my secret. Like, when someone asks, "Why did you decide to go into counseling?" I must hold back the "I want to change the world and this is my best tool in doing so" and say "Because I feel I have some natural skill that will help in pursuing this career and I like psychology."

We readily dismiss idealism. Sometimes, I do, too. In love, idealism, as rosy as it sounds, can be painful, and that's something I've experienced. Yet, it has its value. Those that advocate "realism", which is just cynicism surrounded by quotation marks, may not have it all together. Sometimes, I wonder if true realists, or cynics by another name, are happy. Give me dreaming, fantasizing. Yes, they must exist with some realism, but the two things can logically exist together. I can't effect mass change on this Earth, like I'd attempt if I were solely guided by idealism, but I can, hopefully, one person at a time, which is where the realism comes in.

So, let it be known to you that I'm in this game to change the world. If you ask me at a professional conference, I'll give you a different answer. But any other day, I'll stick with my idealism. And if that idealism dies, I hope my body has died with it, for if my idealism dies before I do, I don't think I'll be a counselor, a writer, an artist. What I will be is a shell, devoid of dreams.

Validate Me

Well, today didn't start out in a stellar way. I woke up all mentally clouded and disgruntled and such. It didn't change for a while. So, I thought, 'Why not write to help you get through this funk?' In my life, writing functions as a protective factor (a psychological 'thing' that helps to reduce stress and increase well-being). I figured, 'Why not!' While this intro may seem unnecessary, trust that I am being deliberate :)

When people have bad days, inevitable responses are 'Sorry' and 'Try to think positive.' The first kinda gets at the idea I'm about to introduce, in that it acknowledge the fact that one's day is shitty. The second, also does, but in a roundabout way. Yes, thinking positive in the midst of negativity can be helpful, but it misses an important preceding step: validation.

While we may think that trying to get someone to think or act positively is the first step and is validating, this is not always the case. Validating someone's experience means acknowledging, like the aforementioned 'Sorry', what they're going through but also taking the time to understand that, often, someone's emotional state is either a natural response or his/her natural response to some event. We must accept that sadness or negativity, and all that those concepts encompass, are natural feelings. However, we fall short in trying to help people cope because we instantly want to help them get rid of those feelings sans validation.

Thus, we arrive at the crux of my argument today: Validation is an important step in each of our emotional lives and is necessary for healing. To get to a point of healing, what we have to do is accept how we are feeling in the moment, whether it is rational or not. This does not mean acting on those feelings, but being able to sit with them in the present and accept their place in our lives. Can true healing occur without acceptance of pain? From my standpoint, it cannot. Healing without acceptance is only a momentary band-aid; it does not give us the resources to be able to cope with future occurrences of pain, nor does it help us build a personal reservoir of (positive) coping behaviors.

So, though my morning was not something I wanted, it was important for me to accept it for what it was then begin to move forward. Switching perspectives does not always mean the negative feelings are dealt with. We are so very quick to run away from our pain. But, as Kahlil Gibran so wisely says, "And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy. And you would accept the seasons of your heart even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief."

So, the key lesson is: take time to validate yourself (relying on others for validation is a rather shaky endeavor) when you're feeling blue. Accept, acknowledge and sit with your sadness. No, it isn't easy, and, no, it's not instant, but it helps you develop much more resilience in handling unwanted and negative emotions. I'm working on it every day. Sometimes, the sadness persists into the next sunrise, and this is okay. My pain is nothing to be afraid of, for "It is the breaking of the shell that encloses [my] understanding."

Just think: How wonderful would it be if we had the strength and courage to face our own pain? How much more uplifting would it be once, after walking hand in hand with Pain, a particular journey with it had ended, and we were able to walk hand in hand with Joy, even if for a moment?

31 Day Reset: Day 1

Start Here

I randomly came across a month-long activity called the 31 Day Reset. It spoke to me. Because, you know, if my life had a reset button I *might* have pushed it by now, but who knows.

Anywho, it's a journey of self-discovery. I'm pretty much all about that. I want to see if I can and will stick to the program, what I'll find, the themes for the different days. And something important I told myself this morning: Do this for Allen, not to find love or become a better partner, but to become more connected to Allen and let your love for him grow.

Yesterday I read three important things: An introspection journal I wrote last summer and two love letters I've written to myself. The journal revealed just how bad I felt last summer, to the point of saying, 'When I see guys I'm attracted to, I go, 'He'd never like me. I'm not hot enough.'' It hurt to read that. Luckily, I'm not in that exact place anymore, but to have concrete evidence of not truly loving myself? I faced a harsh reality. On the other hand, the love letters revealed something different: even on my darkest days, the love I have for myself is real and growing and has the possibility to sustain.

For the most part, yesterday wasn't the greatest day, but when I read the second letter, I found this gem: Never forget that I love you, that I love that your face is the first face I see every day. I've been searching for love, and I'd love for someone to write that to me. Just thinking that *I* was the one who wrote those words was and is powerful. I was the one who said something like that to me. Therefore, I realized I can create an everlasting love within myself that will lay the groundwork for my other relationships, romantic, familial, platonic or otherwise.

I can already feel the change. I am working hard to change the negative self-talk. I feel more real around my family, even without saying I'm gay and atheist. I feel more authentic. More me.

So, for 31 days, I'm going to go on a journey to find more of me. No, I don't think the picture will be complete, but I will have a better grasp on who 'me' really is. I look forward to any revelations I encounter.

So, for day 1, I had to find a journal, a mantra, and a theme song. I'm using my goal book, even though it isn't blank, because I know I will go back and read it, just as I do now. My mantra is, 'Act out of Love, not Fear.' My theme song? 'Step by Step' by Whitney Houston.

I'm excited for this. Simply, it sounds cool. But, what if I make it to Day 31? What's waiting for me? I'd like to see :)

A Moment's Reprieve

I had a good cry in the car today. I was blindsided by 'I'm a Survivor' by Reba McEntire. It was kind of weird, but I accepted it. I just let the tears flow. As a result, my head is a bit more clear.

You see, I've been hurting. Not being in a relationship still shocks my system sometimes. Some days are easy, others are not. So, now, my life is on a day to day basis and I try to take my emotions as they come, though I still end up blocking some of them without even noticing.

What I realized, though, is that I've tried to mend the hurt by looking for 'The One.' You know, almost four months after my relationship has ended. I think, 'Surely I'll find him today!' Except that's hiding behind some harmful and unrealistic optimism. I don't know if I've already met my soulmate, or if I've already lost him. Chances are, I haven't met him at all. And, honestly, soulmates may not even exist; what may exist, though, are highly compatible partners. Moral of the story: I just don't know.

So why spend my life looking at faces to see if one of them is 'it'? Why try to mold myself to find my next true love? I don't mind dating, but damn I need a new strategy and perspective. Now that I am single, I can move to Nashville (which has a high likelihood of happening after I graduate), New York or wherever the hell I want to, at least at this point, without consulting someone else. My mother could object to my moving to another city, but her input would have much less impact than a long-term romantic partner. I can accomplish what I want to at my leisure. I get to work on myself, a much easier task to accomplish when single, at least from my experience.

There was one point where I wondered whether I'd even be in a relationship that lasted longer than three months. At this point, I have been. Just because things feel all bleak and shit at this juncture doesn't mean they always will. Hell, not even all of my days are bad. I just have to take them as they come, and, when the anxiety or depression hits, I have to go on with my life.

I'm just very tired of sitting here feeling sorry for myself, lamenting this dry spell, and missing him. It won't happen instantly, and I won't feel like this every day, but I'm ready to move forward. I'll do what it takes. The strength I thought existed only when Z was by my side is still here, and that's a wonderful revelation. I'm strong enough to do this. So, it's time to put on my big boy panties, get shit done, and get on with my life.

Sure, I'll miss him for a long time. I'll hurt for an indefinite amount of time. Yet, all of that shouldn't keep me from connecting with others, romantically or platonically, out of fear that I'll experience this again. There are a lot of 'Fear' statements in my life and I'd like to get rid of them.

Allen, it's time to willingly leave the darkness and step into the light. Nothing good can come from staying here.

So, I won't.

No Longer

After going to a gay club tonight, I've noticed a few things. These are things that have been on my mind for a long time.

For some reason, it's okay to ignore other gay men for xyz justification. It's okay to treat men as invisible. It's okay to carry on your life with an air of 'civility' that is really just 'being an asshole' under the guise of something more pleasant.

I'm tired of being invisible. I can't keep pretending that there is something wrong with me that keeps other gay men in the masses from noticing me. Yeah, I'll dress to impress, but only if it falls within my aesthetic and my love of my current wardrobe. I'm tired of being looked over and side-eyed. I'm tired of doing this to other gay men.

I'm not exactly sure why, but gay men in my area seem to adhere to a clique-ish philosophy, one that dictates ingroup vs outgroup members. I've always been in the outgroup, no matter what, but I'm tired of wasting my time wondering if I'm invisible. I work on myself, I build myself to be the person I want to be, so, if you're missing that you're just missing it. I don't want to spend any more of my time wondering 'Oh why won't all these other men notice me?'. I don't want to go to nightclubs on the 'hunt', in hopes that I will luck out and find a man who is willing to sit down and actually have a conversation with me.

I feel like what I'm setting myself up for is a lifetime of loneliness, but why is that even a negative alternative? It's about damn time I started looking in the mirror and saying 'Allen, you're fucking great, and someone needs to tell you that.' It's also about damn time to find a man who is willing to fall in line with that, who is willing to see me for who I want to be and who I am working to be, to see me for my potential and not much else.

Every time I go out, I am reminded of my dislike for most of the gay men here, because I feel like I am an outsider to this culture. But the cattiness, the lack of acknowledgement, it's not for me. I want to treat other men better than what our gay culture dictates. I want to treat other gay men with respect. Using our current paradigm, I'll only leave the most beautiful as objects of affection, but others actually worth my time as invisible. It's about time that we shed these images the media have helped create and realize that gay men aren't a monolith. We read comics, play video games, and have tastes just like everyone else.

I'm refusing to buy into what 'gay' should mean. Popularity should be the last thing on my mind, so, instead of searching for a ticket to the in-group, maybe I'll make my own.

A Beautiful Brown

Blue is my favorite color. Maybe I'm not as willing to attribute the qualities that blue has to other colors, but I feel that it reflects a wide range of emotions. Sadness, happiness, serenity, buoyancy. It is the color I most resonate with.

When I was younger, I wanted blue eyes. Not for the aforementioned reasons, but because I didn't feel the brown was enough. 99.9999% of all the little Black children I knew had brown eyes (I remember seeing only a small number of those without brown eyes). All of the little Asian children I knew had brown eyes. But all of the little White children? Green, gray, blue, hazel. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to dye my hair and have it not look unnatural. I wanted options. I did not have those as a Black boy. Not like the White kids.

I do feel that part of my desire for blue eyes is that blue eyes are often treated as a standard of beauty. You more often hear about 'beautiful blues' than 'beautiful browns.' Why did I have that message? Where did I get it from? How could I be spreading it to people around me? Without any analysis, we do treat White, and the qualities attached, as the norm and as beautiful. And I tell you that just because White people are the majority here does not mean such views are justified. We have a standard of beauty and appeal that is based on White norms (straight hair, lighter skin), and that is only multicultural or ethnic when such things are appropriated, rather than truly accepted, rendering them caught in a cycle of trendiness.

Despite all this, I, one day started to love my kinky hair (it is the perfect length right now, one that feels magical inside and outside of the shower). I loved the color of my skin (except under fluorescent lighting, which makes it appear dull and lifeless), especially in the summer. And now I look in the mirror and I see that my eyes are a beautiful brown. And, honestly? I really don't think I'd change them.

You see, I came to understand that, despite the more overt variance you see in eye color of White people, the eyes of Black people have their differences. Mine and my father's are lighter than my mother's and my siblings. The darkness in their eyes is solid and strong. We vary in skin tone. Our hair isn't all jet black. Basically: there is far more to us than meets the superficial eye. We are transformers. Our eyes glow in the sunlight, too. Our skin becomes beautiful in the sunlight. We are the color of the nurturing earth upon which civilization has built a foundation. Though many of us have been abused as the earth has since the dawn of man, we are a strength that has endured and continues to.

I do not know the subtleties of skin and eye color that exist within other cultures. Yet, I know it is there. I know that Middle Eastern men and women aren't all a phenotypical monolith. I know that there is nuance in the features of each Asian man and woman. Why have we, for so long, done ourselves the disservice of blindly assuming 'They all look the same,' whoever they may be?

Why can't we step back and realize that our eyes are a beautiful brown or blue? Why can't we appreciate the differences in each others bodies and start building there? I'm not advocating colorblindness. It's much more like color appreciation, seeing my Black, Native American, Asian, Latino, Arabic, Jewish and White brothers and sisters as beautiful variations of the same species?

I am going to take the time to look, and see, what the differences are and teach myself to appreciate them.

Analysis of a 'Breakdown'

Breakdown by Mariah Carey is one of my favorite songs in the world and one of the most capable of reducing me to a sobbing pile of man on the floor. Hyperbole aside, it is a great song. I started thinking of why, and came up with this analysis:

The song starts with Mariah's ad-libbed vocals and Bone Thugs saying:

Break-breakdown

Steady breaking me on down

Thus, we know we are about to get into heavy business. We have a very soft lyrical start:

You called yesterday

To basically say

That you care for me but

That you're just not in love

We have a moment of clarity at the outset. We know how all of this began. Each of the line breaks indicates a pause in Mariah's singing, which I think is important. I can imagine her telling this story to a friend, trying to catch her breath, or trying to slow down as not to cry. Mariah continues her story, still rather soft-spoken, mirroring the sentiments of the lyrics:

Immediately I pretended to be feeling similarly

And led you to believe I was okay

To just walk away from the

One thing that was yielding and sacred to me.

To think that she could say all of that without breaking down is astounding, but she relates it rather 'nonchalantly' (an important word which shows up in the chorus). Next, we actually have the chorus:

Well I guess I'm trying to be nonchalant about it

But I'm going to extremes to prove I'm fine without you

But in reality I'm slowly losing my mind

Underneath the guise of smile gradually I'm dying inside

Friends ask me how I feel, and I lie convincingly

'Cause I don't want to reveal the fact that I'm suffering

So I wear my disguise 'til I go home at night

And turn down all the lights and then I break down and cry

In the sound of her voice, she is trying to be nonchalant, to pretend as though she isn't phased. I can imagine telling this story and acting as though I were okay, smiling as though I can get over it. It kinda reflects the 'denial' stage of grief, not believing it's over. Next comes anger...:

What do you do when (when)

Somebody you're so devoted to

Suddenly just stops loving you,

And it seems they haven't got a clue

Of the pain that rejection is putting you through?

She doesn't know why she's going through this, so she's asking 'What the hell do I do? How do I deal with this situation?' I can sense both the anger and sadness here. The rest of the verse:

Do you cling to your pride, and sing 'I will survive'?

Do you lash out and say 'How dare you leave this way'?

Or do you hold on in vain as they just slip away?

It seems as though she is a mix of strength, anger, and being defeated. We have a bit of a rise in Mariah's voice as she sings the second line, and as she sings the last, she seems to fade into the chorus repeat. After the chorus, we have the Bone Thugs rap:

It'll break you down
Only if you let it
Everyday crucial situation wrackin' my mind
Tryin' to break me down
But I won't let it
Forget it
Forget it
I've been feelin' like you're breakin' me down
Kickin' me around
Stressin' me out
I think I better go and get out and let me
Release some stress (stress)
Don't ever wanna feel no pain (pain)
Hoping for the sun
But it looks like rain (rain, rain, rain)
Oh, i just wanna maintain
Yeah, when you feel the pressure's on
But nevertheless
Krayzie won't fall
It's over
It's endin' here, here

The rap reflects some amazing sentiments. First, we have the idea that 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' Next, we have feelings of weakness, of being hit while we're down. After, we have emotions that reflect helplessness, a desire to see the positive but being unable to, a desire to just get through. Last, we have the idea that, no, this won't break us, even though we are struggling. The end of the song is where it gets good.

Among the repeat of the chorus, we have Mariah doing her most emotive work yet on the song. It has been building from the beginning. As she starts the story, relates her true emotions, questions what she's supposed to do. She cycles through various emotions to get to this point of release. Essentially, she is crying out, kind of like Dane Cook's idea of the 'I did my best!' repetition. This is the part of the song where, if I haven't cried during the rest, I start, especially if I'm singing, because I let loose. If I'm feeling pain, it is raw, out in the open. If I'm not, I experience the catharsis I often feel through crying.

I'm not going through exactly what Mariah is in this song, but it still allows for some emotions to be released. Sometimes, I do get close to wanting to breakdown. I have fallen to my knees, clutching my chest, though my pain was not physical. If I put myself there, where she is, I start feeling and things rise to the surface that I need to deal with or I need to pass.

This song's construction and meaning are extremely powerful, and they are a large part of why I love it. 'Breakdown' is surely a work of genius, of deliberate work.

Roles

This past Spring, I had the opportunity to visit H&M while in Ohio for a friend's wedding. H&M is my favorite store in the world and I was overjoyed to be able to shop there. I left with a few things, including a very short pair of swim trunks (like, at least 8 inches above the knee short). I love these swim trunks: you don't often see them on men, they show off my legs, they have a nice cut, etc. However, what is the perception of me if I decide to wear them in public?

Gender roles and expectations permeate many facets of our society, including clothes. Especially from within the often hypermasculine world of the Black man, there are certain things to wear and not to wear. Don't wear tight jeans or shirts, don't wear short shorts. Basically, don't wear anything remotely feminine. But why? High heels and skirts on a man don't hurt anyone, but they are enough to provoke people to violence. Violence is part of the reason I get a pang of anxiety even thinking about wearing these trunks in public. What if someone decides to attack me? What if someone perceives my sexual orientation and decides to hurt me because they disagree with either my presentation or some fundamental facet of myself? Yeah, what if. To even have to ask myself these questions, I have to live in a shitty world where my clothes are enough to provoke violence. I have to change myself, rather than the world around me changing, in order to be safe.

Such arguments fall under the 'Blame the Victim' mentality, that, somehow, some quality of a victim is what elicited violence. We hear this argument a lot: Well, if that woman had been wearing more clothes (showing less skin) she wouldn't have been raped. The more logical response should be, 'The fuck is wrong with him?'. I shouldn't be scared to wear short shorts, or even a dress if I damn well pleased, but I am. I'm working on that.

Yeah, I'm going to keep getting weird looks, but that doesn't mean I feel less at home in these shorts. I like them far better than many of the trunks offered to men (too long, less flattering). Why adhere to a social pressure to 'look' like a man at all times? I should care about my safety, but, really, who is going to attack me for wearing short swimtrunks?

Crazy?

I am currently helping a professor in the Psychology department gather research connecting integrated threat theory with mental illness. To get you up to speed, here is a quick lesson:

Integrated Threat Theory - the idea that different modes of perceived threat combine to create prejudice. Those modes are realistic threat (the fear of harm being done to one's body or possessions), symbolic threat (the idea that another group poses harm to beliefs or a way of life), inter-group anxiety (fears and ideas about another group based on an ingroup perspective), and negative stereotypes (longstanding negative beliefs about a group of people).

Through the scope of integrated threat theory, the professor wants to investigate attitudes toward people with mental illness(es). While I don't always approach things from a mental health perspective (in the sense of normative functioning, investigating disorders, etc), this is still right up my alley. It is all of the things I talk about, just from a different perspective. I'm already finding some interesting information.

For one, people desire social distance from those with mental illness. Another thing is that people feel sympathy and/or pity for those with mental illness. Some people view people with mental illness as dangerous and unpredictable. Others say they need help. An interesting bond to tie all of these assumptions is that people often do not know how to recognize mental illness, people often incorrectly recognize mental illness (schizophrenia =/= dissociative identity disorder, but it is readily painted that way in the media and common language; being bipolar is not simply switching from one mood to the next in the matter of moments), and, in general, there is misinformation about and misuse of the terms related to mental illness.

Why? People with mental illness are just like the rest of us. Some mental illnesses are dangerous, but even so, should we just write these people off as dangerous, as crazy? Should we throw around words like crazy and nuts (which I admit I do) as though they are nothing? And, very importantly, when we refer to someone as crazy, does that mean we need to separate ourselves from them as though they pose a real threat to us?

As with many things I talk about on this blog, this is not a black and white issue. As I said, some people with mental illness are a danger to themselves or others. However, people without mental illness can be a danger to themselves or others. It's time we took down the stigma surrounding mental illness and educated ourselves. It's time we learned how they are caused, what they look like, that mental illness does not mean people are going to chase us with knives, that having a mental illness (to even be diagnosed with one) someone has to be undergoing a tremendous amount of distress or pain, which is only compounded by the existing stigmas surrounding mental illness.

Maybe it's time to watch our language and treat people with respect. We don't have to keep pretending people with mental illnesses don't deserve respect or help, and we don't need to be patronizing. By changing ourselves, we can change the way people seek help, if they even do at all.

Also, insane is a legal term which does not suddenly absolve criminals of charges, and stop using the word retarded as a placemarker for stupid.

Invisibility

In high school, I was the kind of invisible that helped me navigate my social environment. My name wasn't constantly being spoken. Outside of my own circles, very few people knew me. I was no blip on the radar. While it meant spending weekends with few or no people (or wasting away at work...), it was nice not to be involved in any drama. I was the kind of invisible that helped me coast.

But now, in a time where I've developed much more of a racial identity, I'm dealing with a new kind of invisibility. Since I was 15, I've had plenty of time to develop a gay identity. Besides resistance from my parents and a change in faith, things more or less went on course. I have no problems assuming a gay identity. A Black identity, however, is something that has seemed beyond my grasp for so long. I had to get over the recognition of my difference (talking 'White', being called Oreo, saying 'I'm not really Black', and my unfortunate buying into each of these scenarios) but also a growing bitterness toward my own community (So I don't sag or listen to rap that often, why don't I belong?). Hanging around White people for my developmental years was also a big part in not assuming a Black identity besides checking that box on various forms of paperwork.

Yet, I've made leaps and bounds. I started to question the biases I've had toward Black people. I've started recognizing that though some conform to stereotypes, just as I do with a gay identity, it doesn't mean they are lesser people, it's just how some people express themselves and that expression just so happens to be congruent with established stereotypes. I've started to work past the issues regarding my Blackness, the Blackness of others, and what it means to be Black (still not sure, but I refuse to let anyone else dictate for me what my own Blackness means and how it should be showcased). What I have also encountered is the aforementioned invisibility that comes from the intersection of being gay and a person of color.

What I found is that I was immersed in and helped perpetuate a system that downgraded the value of LGBT PoC. I never felt like I belonged with people of my own color, so I hung around the White kids. In the LGBT community, I've found that, often, if you aren't White, you find yourself in an invisible struggle for a 'ticket', for a place at the table. I was in between worlds. It didn't help that I didn't push past my own biases until very recently, so I looked at and treated other Black gay men differently. I was caught, and still find myself, in a struggle to assert my visibility while furthering that bullshit system.

This struggle isn't easy to explain. In the LGBT community, race is a topic easily and apparently best dismissed. I've covered this before: that entire argument hinges on the assumption that what is not seen does not exist. However, even though I haven't been victim to overt homophobia and racism, I cannot deny the existence of a system that sees me as a lesser man for being gay, a lesser man for being Black, and invisible for being Black and gay. I also cannot deny my place within this system, as an agent of that same casting of invisibility of my Black homosexual, bisexual and trans brothers and sisters.

Shaking off my own invisibility can no longer involve getting those pretty White boys to date me (I've already dated pretty White boys who didn't have their heads up their asses and who were willing and able to engage in discussions of race). It can involve being honest about how I've felt, whether those feelings were justified or not. It can involve looking privilege in the eye and having the audacity to say something. It can involve seeing my Black, Latino(a), Asian, Native American, etc etc LGBT people as beautiful, just as I have come to see my own skin as beautiful.

I may still continue to date White men. I may still be an agent in a rather horrid system. Yet, at the end of my life, I want to look back to moments after this one, and know that I stood up and asserted my existence and refused to participate in systems that treat others as 'less than.' I'm not invisible. I'm not a less than. I simply am.

Love, Me

I've covered much of this last summer, but, like many life lessons, it needs to be brought to the surface again.

Z and I have parted ways, this time for good. The sense of finality attached to this break-up is both sad but liberating. No more struggle to make things work; no more wondering if this is how things should be. We aren't together for good reasons, but damn if it doesn't hurt.

For at least a while, and potentially indefinitely, the man I've shared my life with for the past two years is someone who feels light years away. Not talking to him hurts because I relied on him so much to get by. It is a scary thought, to rely on anyone like that, or sometimes at all, but I didn't mind because he was there and (to my knowledge) he was okay with it. And, had he chosen to do so as much as I did, I would have listened to him, too. I feel like we supported each other, and I hope he felt as uplifted by me as I did by him.

So, for all that to be gone, I've experienced a bit of an emotional shock. I have to learn to get by *alone* this time. No one to say good morning/night to every day; no one to really talk to about my less than stellar test grade today. It's all gone.

In the meantime, I've tried to create a new Allen, one that can handle this stress, one that feels sexy, one that is confident. I'm looking for a new identity to keep me occupied for a while. However, there's a slight snag in the 'new identity' plan: the motives may not be pure. I think I want a new identity because I am, in varying ways, in pain. Pain from loss, from emptiness, and from loneliness. Pain from not really knowing what my identity is anymore.

I wonder if I got to a point where I did lose myself in my relationship. Where was I? The 'Allen' that I was for the past two years does not feel like the 'Allen' I am now, and it's only been two weeks since the break up. I'm endeavoring to re-find out who I am. Again. I'd love to know before I find another love so I can always keep myself around.

I want to rediscover things about myself. I want to paint again. I want to get back in touch with my own private and sensual sexuality. I don't want to feel disconnected. Z never did any of those things to me, nor did he force me to change or 'lose' myself. It was something I did, on my own. Somewhere along the way, I got lost.

Now, then, I'm finding out who I am. I am trying to live organically. I am making new manifestos and preparing myself for whatever the hell is ahead. I'm finding the strength to handle my day-to-day and keep myself on track.

To wrap things up, here's a little bit of introspection I did the other day:

Maybe the reason you want so hard to change things or make a new identity for yourself is because you're not sure you have one anymore. Losing a relationship meant losing a bit of yourself. You're struggling to pick up whatever pieces you can. You're lost.

Yet, you don't need the glasses. You don't need to have a bunch of sex. You need to discover you and become friends with him again. Become whole. You can do this.

Love, Me.