One Year Later

It's always darkest before the dawn.

One year ago today, something happened that would set the course of the next twelve months for me. My boyfriend of two years and I broke up. That night was as hard as it could be, as the shock could only set in so much. It got worse. I found myself spiraling, seeking counseling, making mistakes and trying my best to recover. I wasn't sure how I'd get through what was expected to be and what actually was the hardest semester of my life without my rock, my source of strength. At my darkest, I wasn't sure what today would look like. And yet... I'm here.

I'm here after assessments I wasn't sure when I would finish, but did. I'm here after dates that worked out and dates that didn't and that almost sorta but not really boyfriend. I'm here after that one night I cried so much my eyes were puffy and swollen the next day, the day I had to take place in new student orientation. I'm here after tests and presentations with no one to invite but my classmates. I'm here after nights where the anxiety was so bad, I had to smoke to be able to eat or sleep. I'm here after trying to go back and being turned down.

This past year has been the hardest and the best year of my life. This was the year I finally decided to love myself actively, that I decided to look at my actions and really question whether or not they made me feel happy or good. I have seen tremendous growth, pain, progress, and love, and none of that could have happened if I had stayed in that relationship. These are all things I know now that I did not in the depths of my pain, moments in which I made decisions that caused someone pain. And yet, I could not and would not be the person I am right now, in this moment, had I not made those mistakes.

It's weird to think that leaving a relationship led to some of the greatest things happening in my life, but it did. Don't think, though, that the person I was with was an asshole to me. No, quite the opposite. He tried, he really did, and I started to see that once we were through, though that did not mean we were supposed to still be together (though telling me this last September would not have made the slightest of sense).

I'm happy that something so heartbreaking led me to become a much better person as a result, even if I had to make mistakes and bad choices along the way. I hope things ended up for him the same way, but that's the most energy I'm going to devote to that endeavor. Today, one year later, it's time for me to step forward and worry about myself and those in my life, not someone who isn't here anymore, though I will always wishing him Love, Light, Peace and Healing.

Months ago, I wasn't sure what it would take to get here. I wasn't sure what it would look like. Sometimes, it really was just hard to get to tomorrow, rather than months and months later. Yet, I'm here, as a testament that pain does pass, though it will be a companion to us at various points in our lives; this is a Truth that will never change.

I'm glad that, though things are not the way I want them to be, they worked out in a way that led to positive things. I may not be as overwhelmingly happy as I was in February, but I'm gaining a profound sense of peace. I can see life in different ways. Even on my bad days, I can trust that my life will be okay, that I will be okay, as long as I rise to match the sun and keep moving forward even if I feel I don't have the strength to do so.

So, in essence, thanks. Thanks for no longer being here, because it forced me to stand on my own (with help from my friends) and realize just what I'm capable of and what I deserve. Thanks for being the catalyst in me loving myself. Sorry for the pain I caused along the way. I still have progress to make and things to forgive, but I've come such a long way even to get to this point. My hope stays strong that I won't feel this way forever, that one day the anxiety surrounding you will be gone and the freedom I feel in fleeting moments will last until I die.

Something so painful led to something so good, and as a result I started to really shine, something that has gone on to affect others in a loving and positive way. You're partly to thank for that.

A Talk with My Father

I told my father I don't believe in God. He didn't take it well.

Open and Honest

Yesterday I had this post planned out. Now, I'm struggling to pull my thoughts together. There are so many.

The past year has been heartbreaking, heart wrenching, beautiful, healing, and inspiring, and I still have a long way to go! I've ended a relationship, finally started to actually date in the casual sense, told my mother and father that I'm an atheist, dedicated my life to love, fucked up any chance of a friendship with my ex, started making amends with others and myself, and began to be honest. So much has happened.

Sometimes, I worry that I'm not being genuine, that I'm faking this Love. I worry that others see me as weird (I know; we've gone over this). I worry that my downs are what people see and define me by. I worry that my downs define me in general. But, when I am honest and compassionate with myself, I find that worry has no place in my life, but will be a constant companion.

I had to learn that, even though I've dedicated myself to Loving, pain and insecurity are still going to be around. I'm still going to have bad days. Things are going to happen that I don't like and that are out of my control. What matters is that I get through each of these things, keeping my faith, hope, and love intact. In fact, I've found that Hope is one of the best, brightest, and strongest parts of me, and it makes my life a lot easier. I mean, where do you get in life without hoping that things will be great?

In an attempt to pull all these thoughts together: my life has changed in a wonderful way, and I'm happy for that. No, everything is not the way I want, but I trust that everything is as it should be, though even this statement is hard to deal with.

I'm done trying to wrest control of everything in my life. I'd rather just take this thing moment by moment. It'd behoove me to be a bit less high strung anyway.

The Shack

I just finished reading The Shack. I had heard about it months ago, as it was making the rounds in various church reading groups, and quickly dismissed it as Christian fiction not worth reading. However, I was wrong. It is worth reading for many reasons and has specific and general appeal.

Perks

I just finished The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It's one of my favorite books. In high school, it was one of my favorites because I felt far less alone. Today, it is one of my favorites for the same reason.

I have felt alone for a very long time. It makes sense, because I am me and no one else is me, so all I have to go on are my experiences, and sometimes I'm lucky enough to be able to compare a current experience to a previous one. Other times, I'm just fucking lost. Regardless, solitude is one of the defining factors of my life. At any given moment, I am like no one else. Sometimes, this fact is highlighted by the company I keep. I don't know if that's what life is supposed to be like, if we are supposed to feel so different from others.

Charlie had a lot to deal with, and I do, too. Those things are not always something I am comfortable talking about, especially because I think that no one else will be able to understand in a way that I do. I don't think I'll ever have enough time to sit down and talk to someone about everything that goes on in my head and in my life and have them completely grasp how it makes me feel grateful and powerless all at once. The most important thing is that I don't invalidate my own feelings, nor anyone else's, because what we deal with is what we deal with; every part of our lives is unique compared to someone else's, and no one ever deals with the same problems in the exact same way.

What I got from the book is that I'm scared of a lot of things. There is so much that can happen or does happen that I just do not know how to handle. My default is to go through it alone, because you can only say so much to so many people in your address book, and I'm not typically one to talk about everything anyway, nor to unload my problems onto others (though I've recently spent time with someone who has graciously sat and listened as I told him things that are not easy to talk about with others).

Yet, that fear can keep people stagnant. I'm scared that it has kept me stagnant. But, at the end of the day, all I can do is act or not act. If I choose to act, it can come from an authentic or inauthentic place. I can't control anyone else. And, as Charlie's sister says, my attempts to control the events and people around me are only an attempt to get the outcome I desire, because I'm scared that letting things be will mean not getting what I want. If I've learned anything in the past few months, though, it's that 1) I can never be attached to any particular outcome because when I am, disappointment is sure to follow and 2) Not getting what I want can turn out to be something very great for me.

There's a lot I'd love to get off my chest, but, as I said, I'm just not sure I have the time to sit down with someone and outline everything I'm scared of. So, I try to find peace, whatever way I can, and make sure that those attempts come from a place of Love for myself (even though they sometimes don't).

The best thing I could do for myself right now and always is to act and be in an honest way. It may mean people leaving, it may mean not getting what I want, but at least I will have actively participated in my own life.

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.