Being Married...

I like being married. I can only be brave when I’ve got a safe place to land, I need that anchor and security. That’s me. I’m not going to say it’s easy, nor is it for everyone. I have a deep respect for people who are never lonely when they are alone, and those who have the wisdom and self-awareness to know that marriage doesn’t suit them. I respect too, the people who are brave enough to continue to search for the thing - we call it love - after many attempts have shattered their confidence. I want to say that it’s all perfectly fine, but somehow that still sounds like judgement; as if unmarried people are the recipients of a consolation prize. What it is, is worthy of equal reverence. 

I’ve been very fortunate in my marriage. I’ve found someone who’s weirdness roughly comingles well with mine. For example, he’s an extrovert who requires and understands the value of quiet time alone to re-charge, and I’m an introvert who still wants to have a voice in the world which forces me to leave the comfort of my cave. I am rarely troubled with small talk at large social gatherings, and he’s perfectly content to leave me alone in the kitchen, or den, when I’m working. It’s not that we don’t have our difficulties, largely because we are both intelligent, curious, and tenacious – notice I didn’t say stubborn – men, who know a lot, about a lot of things. He is Mr. Science, and I’m Mr. Humanities, which is both a source of conflict, and strength where our interests overlap. 

Here’s the thing: I can’t say that I’ll always want to be married, or that I’ll always want to be married to him. We, and most people should, continue to evolve throughout our lives. There may come a time when one or both of us want to get out. I know this as much as I know that when I’m with my hubby that it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be right now. I don’t take for granted that either of us will feel this way forever. After twenty-five years together, we aren’t the people who decided to give commitment a try at twenty-two. Hell, every cell in our bodies has died out and been replaced five times from those two organisms who met one summer in 1991. (See, I live with a scientist.) What happens is, we keep choosing to be together: we keep choosing to stay. Sometimes this happens daily, and sometimes things are difficult enough that we doubt it’s the smart choice, but we keep choosing to stay anyway. We choose to stay, knowing that one day, one, or both of us, may choose not to. That’s the risk you take. Someone once said, you can only love as much as you’re willing to have your heart broken. I know this is true in the same way that I know I’m sitting in my chair, writing these words. 

I wish I could say my husband has been so fortunate in our pairing. I know what I’m like, passionate and neurotic, unpredictable, alternately focused and lost, vain, self-centered, and sometimes embarrassingly selfish. I won’t devolve into a laundry list of my faults, those are just some of the highlights. I image he feels like he’s holding the string of an erratic kite as it twists and dips in the wind. As I said, I need an anchor. Only people close to me get to see the worrisome mess I really am. I’m just not sure it’s always a privilege. I DO roast a mean chicken, though, so there’s a plus: but just the mean ones.

Separation and divorce, I don’t know well. My parents continue to stick it out, as do my husband’s. I do know this, when relationships end, it’s always painful, and it always takes courage, wisdom, and a reserve of strength no one – including you - knew you had. It’s not because the individuals involved didn’t love each other fiercely enough, and not because they didn’t try to work things out: they end because it became impossible to continue. These people, and their choices deserve our respect, and reverence. No relationship is safe from the possibility that it will end, even if we reach the milestone of “until death do we part.”

You Throw Like A Girl

Masculinity has been a recurrent theme in my life; partly because I am a gay man, partly because I speak in a muddy baritone voice with an indicative sibilance, and partly because I’ve pursued occupations and hobbies in my life that have (only recently) been deemed feminine. As much as I would like to believe we can create something other than a gender binary, that is the flawed system we currently have to navigate. In order to be clear, I have to declare myself a cisgender male, meaning, I identify and fulfill most of the expected gender architypes consistent with my biological sex. To be blunt: the junk in my head roughly matches the junk in my pants.

 

North American societal norms insist that men be emotionally stoic, and that is a parlor trick that I never have mastered. I am prone to elated highs and devastating lows - sometimes within the same hour - and I have an embarrassingly bad temper, especially if you mess with my kin. I'd like to say I've matured about this, but I can’t. My inability to keep my emotions "under control" is still a major shame trigger for me, and whether it makes any rational sense – I know it does not - it makes me think of myself as less of a man.

When I was a child, little boys who cried too much, worried too much, were too attached to their parents, cried instead of acting out physically when they lost their temper, and couldn't sit down to hours of low grade clerical work without day dreaming, or staring out the classroom window were labeled over-sensitive and sent to the shrink’s office. Over-sensitive…that was the professionally acceptable terminology, what you were called by teachers and students alike was a Sissy. I'm so glad we've evolved since then...

For clarity, when I say sensitive I’m not talking about crying at sad movies, a Hallmark commercial is sometimes enough to do the trick: I have to flee the room every time that damn Sarah McLachlan A.S.P.C.A commercial comes on the screen. My own sensitivity is paired with emotional intuitiveness. I can, and do, pick up on the emotional state of the people around me, including complete strangers, and often find myself vibrating at the same frequency. In other words, do not ask me to go to a supermarket on a Sunday afternoon, when everyone there is stressed out, rushed, and anxious about the week ahead. I will, after a short time, be incapable of clear thought, shut down, and need to go sit in the car.

What my early childhood education did for me, was send the clear and institutionalized message that there was something wrong with me, that made me not worthy of belonging to the group. This is not about fitting in, this is about - to quote Dr. Brène Brown - the irreducible need of men, women, and children to experience love and belonging.

Since the official Sissy diagnosis, I’ve spent years trying to reject who I was, and even longer trying to accept all the parts of me I don’t like. After the torture of grade school, I surrounded myself with other creative types, and participated exclusively in groups and activities where my not liking team sports, and “throwing like a girl” would go unnoticed – or at least unmentioned. I have spent years on the therapist’s couch, and tried a pharmacy of drugs to deal with the negative side effects of being a sensitive “creative” type, and only ended up medicating myself into a numb zombie like state that I could no more tolerate than the Wicked Witch takes to water.

My thinking has always been flawed on this matter: I don’t need to get over it, what I need to do, is make space for it. Invite it in. Sit, and make friends with it, because at the end of the day, I know no other way to be.

What I am, is an emotional “bad-ass,” with mild ADHD, who at this very moment has no idea where his keys and wallet are. I am an introvert by nature, but I’ve always been drawn to extroverted creative occupations. Acting, singing, dancing, music, writing, design, even cooking, are all, at their core, about putting some part of yourself on the line with no control over the outcome. What I’ve been stubbornly doing, is trying to put my work out into the world but somehow avoid the consequences of that choice by either detaching myself from the work, or blaming myself when the outcome was negative.  Focusing on pleasing others, and perfecting the work - and myself - has not rendered the results that I need, because in the end, when I attempt to protect myself from criticism and judgement, the work suffers.  I have only just, FULLY realized that this thing that I didn’t like about myself is the only well of true strength I have to draw from if I’m going to continue to live a creative and purposeful life. And since honesty is one of my values, I have to say I prefer the roller coaster even with it’s obvious dangers, to the flat line drone of a stable emotional life.

I stand behind the statement in my first paragraph, as a gay man my masculinity is called into question more often than some, but no man escapes the societal shaming that occurs when we fail to live up to the extremely confining norms we have for men and boys. It is the go to insult: man up, suck it up, put on your big boy pants, grow a pair, sack up dude, and of course my personal favorite “don’t be a sissy.” This isn’t the same as insulting your personality, appearance, intelligence, or state of mind. In this patriarchal society the primary response is to strip you of the status that comes with your gender for even a slight infraction. There is no room to move within this structure, fall even slightly short, and you’ve failed to fulfill the fundamental potential of your biology.

My point, if it’s not too late to make one, is that current societal expectations are destroying the potential of men and boys. Putting aside the constructs of masculinity for a minute here’s the short list: always demonstrate emotional control, use all resources to pursue status, your career comes first, and violence (self-defense, hunting/fishing, family protection, military service, etc.)

Again, we live in a patriarchal society with a binary construct of gender, and being as that gender binary still functions for the majority of our population, it’s a flawed system that is likely to persist. I have a deep respect for anyone who’s willing to rail against that system, but I’ve reached an age where, let’s just put it out there, I’m running out of time to fight. At forty-seven, the second act of my life has begun. The time for exposition, and exploration has passed, and now I have no choice but to navigate the set-up and plot I find myself in. And maybe I’m just tired, but I’d rather spend my energy figuring out how to navigate the flawed system we have, and let others - with more time and energy - do the fighting.

I have transgendered friends who are at various stages of living their lives as the gender they feel they are on the inside. Their bravery has inspired me to maybe, just maybe, find a little more comfort with my own gender. I’m a dude, I like being a dude, and I really like other dudes. These days I don’t’ really throw like a girl, but there are some of the constructs and societal expectations for my gender that I don’t conform to, and probably never will, and that’s perfectly fine. I’m done letting that affect my sense of worthiness as a man. “’cuz I are one.”

I know things are changing, but at the rate our society accepts change I’m not sure I’ll be alive to see what the new expectations for men will look like, I do, however, have some suggestions. What if we used the metric of integrity to evaluate our manhood? What if being a real man, meant you conducted yourself with accountability? What if your prowess was judged by your authenticity, or fidelity? What if empathy, and bravery replaced heroism, in the cannon of expectation? What if love, compassion and kindness replaced violence, status and emotional control? What if we actually judged men by their character rather than how much money they make, or how well they throw a ball?

Minimalism Bear

It has to be said, I am not a minimalist in the kitchen. I don’t go in for too many unneeded gadgets, or single-purpose gizmos, but I have acquired a sizable collection of variously spatulas, scoops, ladles, spoons, and whisks that I cannot make myself part with. Of course there are the necessary pots, pans, bowls, molds, and brushes, in addition to plates, silverware, and table sundries. It all adds up to a hefty pile of stuff.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, get rid of your extra crap if you want to be happier, more productive, and have more life. I know, I know, that sounds harsh and dictatorial, but it’s also the truth. I promise you, once the deed is done, you will feel nothing but unburdened, and buoyant. The evidence is clear in my own life, and the lives of many others. If you want further proof, google minimalism, and enjoy several hours of YouTube videos by people all over the globe who have gotten rid of their belongs in order to have more time to live.

The good news is, you don’t have to live in a mini-house, or shower straddling your combination sink-toilet, to benefit from the minimalist movement. Over the past few years – decade really – I have been working to reduce the amount of things I have in my life. Budget and space restraints, along with the economic downturn, have lead me to purchase only clothing, and other items, that serve multiple purposes. We’ve gone from a two-bedroom townhouse, to an apartment, to living in my in-law’s basement as we get them set up for the next phase of their lives, and begin second careers of our own. Some of the cuts were more painful than others, like The Great Book Meltdown of ’09, however; I can honestly say I don’t miss any of the things I thought I would, including about ninety percent of my former library.  What having less stuff has opened up, is a whole bunch of time that I don’t have to spend taking care of belongings. For example: I don’t own a piece of clothing that cannot be washed, dried in the drier, and hung up again. My weekly laundry is done and back in its place – ready to be worn again – in one short afternoon. Our duvet needs a trip to the laundromat every now and then, but that’s it. I am not constantly fitting laundry in around other tasks - A.K.A. my life - or more correctly forgetting that I was doing laundry and occasionally rewashing a load two and three times, like I did when we had both more clothing and more space. I’m not rushing though evening traffic to get to the dry-cleaners before they close at 6:00pm, only to get there too late, and have to do the dance again the next day.

Not all, but most of us, have more stuff than we require cluttering up our lives and minds, blinding us to the things we truly need. I’m not talking esoteric things like love, kindness, or perspective – though the statement would be categorically true - I’m literally talking about the crap that’s in front of, and crowded around, the household items we actually need to pursue our lives. Disorganization, and clutter only ever create stress. If you’re still reading this with a cynical eye, I get it. I’m a creative, a mess-maker, I’ve never known a life in which I don’t have several irons in several fires, and everything I do requires at least some specialty equipment and tools. But; I have learned that the only way through every creative plateau, and to hit every deadline – exterior or self-imposed - is to clear your space which in turn clears your mind, even if you’re only going to clutter it up again as you work.

Just as most of us have things in our homes we don’t actually need, most of us find it difficult to edit what we have. The only antidote to that discomfort is to just start somewhere: a bathroom cupboard, the medicine cabinet, the kitchen pantry, somewhere that the lines between toss and keep are clear. Start small by parting with anything that is past it best by/use by date. That anti-biotic you were supposed to finish, the tub of Vik’s from 1987, the hair products you got yourself talked into at the salon, that never really worked, but you can’t part with, because they cost you $19.95 each… Get rid of it! 

If you’re like me, once the bandage has been removed and you’re engaged in the task, you’ll find the rest of the room goes quickly. If you’ve got the cash to lay out on three 20 gallon bins, I recommend the opaque type for this task so that you’re unable to see the items in your toss and donate bins once the choice has been made. Cardboard boxes are available at most home improvement stores for a dollar or two each and they work just as well. Place a garbage bag inside the toss bin, and when it’s full, tie it up and take it to the curb. If you are a person who truly struggles to part with things, you can allow yourself a maybe box. The hard and fast rule of the maybe bin is, if it fills up, you MUST re-sort it into the other three bins before you continue. I also recommend that you take your donations to the donation center promptly at the end of the day or the following morning. Do everything possible to avoid wasting your time second guessing your instincts. There are stores filled with every kind of object, and thing you never even imagined you might need, if it turns out to be something you need, go buy it: I promise you’ll have the time and the money. The keep bin, you put back onto the self, in the cupboard, or closet. If everything doesn’t fit, and fit neatly with a little room to spare, get rid of more!

At the store, don’t be fooled by the false economy of larger or bulk items. Yes, that gallon jug of lotion does cost less on an ounce to ounce basis, however, you only really recoup the cash you lay out if you use all of the lotion. We often fool ourselves into thinking we are economic geniuses at large volume discount stores, when really, we are only performing the exact behavior we are being directed to perform: buying more than we could possibly need, and coming back for more next week. All products have a use by, or best by date. Many things do not technically go bad like food, however any item that contains water – lotion for example - can become contaminated with bacteria and cause illness. In the lotion example it may be skin irritation, infection or rash. No matter how many preservative manufactures have added, oils oxidize, scents diffuse, and things break down. Most lotions, make-up, moisturizers, have a one-year shelf life after opening, even products that are not prone to bacterial breakdown, like over the counter medications, lose their efficacy. So, unless you’re so ill that you need 800 Tylenol – that’s more than two a day, every single day, for a year - that giant bottle probably isn’t much of a deal. If you need that much pain relief, you probably should be discussing it with your doctor.

For me, pairing my life down is an ongoing process, some of which was, admittedly, out of necessity rather than self-determination. The only downside I have noticed is that we are more tech-dependent, but then, our lives were already highly dependent on technology anyway, and all of our lives are heading that way whether we like it or not. By fully embracing it, making all of our books, music, and video digital, we have a huge amount of flexibility. So long as there is decent WiFi available, we can manage our lives, and finances, anywhere we want to go. When we moved from our apartment in Ann Arbor, MI we had twenty-five boxes of books alone, that didn’t include the CD’s and DVD’s. Now I carry most of what I need with me in a single device that fits in a small messenger bag, or backpack. There are also these great places called libraries whose sole purpose is to store and maintain books and media for future generations. That obscure cult novel that you just can’t buy anymore? Donate it! Need a book on the practice of Ikebana?  Borrow one! The biggest libraries in the country are, right now, making more and more of their catalogue accessible on-line, every day, for free. 

So, roll up your sleeves, get in there, and start tossing. We all have those projects we know we aren’t going to finish, tools we aren’t going to use, and exercise equipment we’re never going use again. Get rid of them! There are now groups for woodworkers, sewers, scrap-bookers, and potters to share tools, space and large equipment. Large and small tools can be rented by the hour if you’re not Mr. or Mrs. Fix-it. Or, go out and make some friends who happen to own power tools: chances are, they’ll come over and hang that curtain rod for you, and all it will cost is pizza and a couple of beers: a heck of a lot less than a $149.00 drill. 

Consumer culture wants us to be independent only because they can sell us more shit. We are supposed to be interdependent, our brains are built for it, and our base psychology requires it. Stuff is cheap, it’s our lives that have value. There are many spiritual, psychological, and ethical reasons to live with less but I’m talking about your time, and your ability to get mundane and necessary things done efficiently, so that you can put together the time required to pursue your life, your passions, and your leisure time without the weight of your possessions hanging over your head like some apparition of a life you never really had time to live.