To Those I Have Tried to Protect

People have told me that I am scared of commitment. It is a commonly held belief among friends and (more firmly & passionately) exes. There are many theories and observations among those in my life regarding my method of dating. Some may have some ground to stand on, while others blow in the wind. Regardless of it all, the only fear I have of commitment is the type of fear that is of appreciation and reverence for what commitment entails.

I have been raised to understand what your word means and not to throw it around without careful consideration of its consequences. I take this to heart in regards to both romantic and plutonic relationships, my business dealings and conversations with those around me. I try very hard not to say things that I don’t know to be true or am not confident will stand in the future.

The rest of what I am about to say may sound conceited, but I guarantee you my intent is not to brag. I believe one should only brag about things they are proud of, things that they are happy to wear as a badge of honor.

I am difficult to love. You can ask my friends, family and exes. I am still learning how to manage this huge heart that I temper so carefully. When I do open it to someone, I do so intensely. I am fiercely loyal and that person will always have a special place within no matter if they are in my life still or not. I have a funny way of showing that love which many times causes my affections to be misunderstood. This is something I have yet to learn how to control and question whether it can actually be disciplined.

Because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, the passion I have within me isn’t well cultivated. I guard it carefully; which one could argue can cause it to atrophy. In my case, I have seen it become more of a monster, causing those I love pain. I have lashed out, using my words to cause suffering all because I don’t know how to control the love I have for someone that has walked away or because of a decision I don’t understand.

And there isn’t much I don’t understand. This ‘knack’ I have for observation and being able to analyze situations and behavior has done me well in business, but caused me to suffer personally. I am constantly evaluating situations and trying to make decisions with the intent to protect against pain.

While the argument that I don’t give people enough of a chance many times holds true, I have found that I rarely give myself a chance. I play out the possible scenarios in my head, forecasting a future that almost always ends in pain, inflicted by me, because of my inability to manage my heart and control my expectations. So I just stop. I don’t give it a chance in fear of me hurting someone.

Herein lies the problem, this method I have used has only brought me the very thing it was intended to protect against; pain.

I have spoken to some about my thoughts on protection. I have seen it limit and destroy lives, even though the protector’s intent is always pure. It is a theory I have been working on for a year or two now and will more than likely become it’s own post later. I have also been reading a book by a Buddhist teacher about accepting emotions, recognizing where they come from and then letting them go.

So, if I were one to make resolutions, I am hoping to to make 2020 a year of more heart and less analysis. More acceptance of the emotions life brings for the sake of romance, friendship and business. While it may be a wild ride, can’t be any worse than those before it.

I used to write often in high school to process and share my thoughts.  Years ago, I took a trip down nostalgia lane and read the musings of pubescent Jason.  A cute kid who was struggling with his sexuality and navigating the lack of honest interaction with friends as he kept himself at arm’s length as many kids in the closet do.

Then I shut it down.  I stopped writing as much and kept most thoughts hidden away only to be pulled out by bourbon or whiskey.  I shared more with strangers then I did my friends and family.  I come today to change that.  I write, again, to process and share something that I joke about to mask the permanent damage it has caused. 

Most of my long-term relationships since coming out have ended with them lying and cheating on me.  The bearded romances before that never took off because they wanted their options open (until one very special, now, woman who’s heart I broke and am forever indebted to).  I know that many are rolling their eyes.  I have had people tell me that I need to get over it, it’s their loss not mine and other platitudes that never did dull the pain.  While they mean the best, they never really address the true damage of being lied to and cheated on multiple times by those you trusted.

The lying and manipulation is what gets me.  It literally rips at my heart and has tainted every relationship I have entered into since being wronged.  It has caused me to develop a narrative in response to very minor disturbances in a budding romance.  This narrative always ends in the other person being exposed as a horrible human being, that has no regard for another, who has made me their latest game.

In the past, when I have attempted to talk thought the situation with the other person, I have been called crazy and stupid.  Never have my fears been validated or even attempted to be understood.  As a result, I have slowly come to believe that I am, indeed, crazy.  I placed the blame on me.  I am the common denominator anyway, right?  I have existed in this self-blame for years and accepted it to be truth.  A self-diagnosed, paranoia-crazed man who has no chance of being able to trust again.  To say it wasn’t true sometimes would be wrong of me.  I must acknowledge where my sometimes-obsessive behaviors turned others away and I was the culprit in creating an unhealthy companionship. 

Then I began to run away from any real emotional connection.  My friend Don jokes about my supposed ‘four week’ rule.  He has observed that by the fourth week of dating someone new, like clockwork, I sit them down for ‘the talk’.  Looking back, he’s not wrong.  I can see where I encountered some trigger in our interactions that led to that fear-based thinking and instead of opening myself up to the possibility of being hurt or called crazy, I sat them down and simply said that I wasn’t interested, or I wasn’t over somebody else. 

That has changed though.  I met someone great two months ago who doesn’t make me feel like I am crazy.  He acknowledges that the thoughts may be crazy but tries to understand why I would have them.  He accepts how the situation could have triggered that fear and asks what he could do to help make sure it doesn’t happen again.  When I apologize, he tells me I don’t need to.  It was refreshing.  It was freeing. 

I don’t enjoy being vulnerable.  It’s not a feeling that provides any satisfaction in my life; not even being vulnerable to myself.  I find it useless and risky.  I despise victimizing myself.  To exist in this mental state of “I was wronged, and I’ll never get over what happened to me”.  Although, I feel I have repressed this transgression too far.  I need to acknowledge it to move on.  I was mentally and emotionally abused, but there is hope and a promise of freedom from its damage. 

If you see me after reading this and wish to tell me how sorry you are that I had this experience, don’t.  I would rather you say that you are happy I have found hope.

Inconvenient Gifts

The holidays have always been a conflicted time of year for me.  Not so much in an emotional way as my family has always been close and we have together whether it be formal or more laid back.

The conflict, for me, has been the consumerist and very selfish nature that the holidays can bring out in people.  The irony in the social media posts marking the importance of spending time with family and helping those less fortunate.  All the while the creator is taking advantage of retail offerings and food provided by people who are missing out on time with their family to serve the elite (like myself) who are fortunate enough to have a job where you get the holidays off, with pay.

These people are our neighbors.  They are the people we went to school went.  Even those we may work with.  They are so close to our lives that it becomes an almost inconvenient truth too hard to swallow.  So we give our charity to those farther out from our circle to help distract us from the reality within.  But then again, that can be said for any time of year, really.

Let us take the time this holiday season to reflect on the world around us, more near than far.  Let our sacrifice be the inconvenience of having to plan our meals so that we can refrain from going to a restaurant on Christmas Day.  Invite the single man from down the street who never really looked quite right to dinner.  Make an extra effort to include those family members who may be on the fringe or not able to make it out to the normal family functions.  Let us not stop after the holidays are over.  We should make this a part of our daily lives, constantly reaching out to those in our lives that are not only beyond, but within our reach and in need.

I have always been a believer that to affect real change, you must start with those closest to you.  Writing a check and sending a text is easy and fills the need to give beyond ourselves.  Let me encourage you to give more, inconveniently.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours,

Jason

"Me T**" - Re-Framing the Conversation

I feel like I need to preface this post with a warning.  If you prefer to keep your image of me in the little bubble that it may currently reside, I recommend closing the browser and delaying the bursting of the bubble until another time.  Trust me...I will make it happen sooner or later.

I can't get on board with the 'Me Too' movement.  If you are reading this far, please make sure to allow me the opportunity to explain myself; I feel like you owe it to me since I warned you about all of this ahead of time.

First, let me start with the horrible inequality of it's premise.  The conversation that has dominated the media (both news and social) has primarily been focused on men as the perpetrators and women as victims.  I find this appalling and lacking in rational thought.  Being a, now, middle-aged gay man, I have had the pleasure of going out with many female friends.  Trust me, I have heard worse 'locker room talk' from those women then I do from my straight male friends.  I have also been borderline sexually assaulted by drunk women at the bars or conferences.  They have approached me with the same sense of entitlement and confidence that I have seen men approach women; and no, they did not know I was gay.

Second, there is a distinct difference between sexual assault and sexual harassment.  Sure, harassment in any form is unpleasant, but it holds no similarity to being in a situation where you are powerless and forced to accept assault, in any form.  I feel as though the line between the two has been blurred by this conversation.  How dare we demean the physical assault on any person by likening it to unwelcomed comments.

Third, why are we victimizing ourselves?  Why must we focus on what happened and let that define us to the outside world in some way?  We are only perpetuating this stereotype that we are damaged and incapable of being normal because we are victims.  I feel this way about the many ways that we victimize ourselves.  Some of you may have heard my rants on how the gay community, to this day, acts in a way that is subservient to normal society. 

Most of you are seeing me on this high horse; someone who has no right to speak of sexual harassment or assault.  You probably see me as this alpha type male who is more like to harass or assault than be victim to them.

You are wrong. 

I have been sexually harassed as recently as two weeks ago when a white male in his 40's followed me into the bathroom at a bar and, as I was standing at a urinal, placed his hand on my lower back and commented on my appearance.  I have had the typical soccer mom type grab my genitals in bars, rub their backside up against me on the dance floor (without being asked to...) and offer to pay me for sex at conferences.  I have had men of all races grab parts of my body after I have politely asked them not to multiple times.  I have even been sexually assaulted, in the truest sense of the term, when a guy did not take 'No' as meaning 'No'.

I refuse to let these experiences define me.  I refuse to let these experiences define those of another race, gender, sex or creed.  I refuse to victimize myself.

I recognize that this is a problem with humanity; one of many problems with humanity that we all must come together and work to resolve.  I also recognize that it will never go away.  These things have been happening for centuries and, unfortunately, will continue to.  I, instead, look to myself to make sure I am doing everything I can to not make others feel uncomfortable by my actions.  I take steps to protect myself and keep me away from people and situations where I may have to say no and deal with the possibility of someone not listening.  I have found the strength to take control of my life even though there have been moments where I had none.

I guess what I am saying is this: All sexual harassment is wrong.  All sexual assault is horrible and should never be something that one has to deal with.  I feel that we need to re-frame the discussion and truly make it an equal conversation as it relates to sex, race and creed.  I also feel like we need to find the strength within us to not victimize ourselves and take control back from those who have wronged us.

My Aversion to Pride

I’ve never been one to participate much in Pride celebrations.  I have used many different reasons since I officially came out to rationalize my aversion to the yearly season of rainbow flags, skin-clad participants and damaged livers.  I make my excuses and plan my events to purposely conflict with the nearby festivals in hope that I can get by one more year without falling into the ‘stereotype’ of being a gay man.

While I have always been aware of Pride’s history and the reason behind the inaugural event (I will let you research that for yourselves), I have always found its current state to be more damaging than helpful to the cause of showing the world that we are ‘normal’.  The internal struggle between whether I was standing up for a good cause or just denying myself at a deeper level has always existed and thus I chose to ignore it altogether.  I tend to do that when I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to confront myself in any real way.

Recently, I have decided that those things that I stand so strongly against, are more than likely the very things I need to confront.  So, I reluctantly let some friends drag me out to the bars in Dayton this year on the Saturday afternoon of Pride.  The first bar we visited was packed and had its usual programming typical of a Saturday evening, just in matinee form.  Although the entertainment was the same and the drinks were being served as any other evening I would spend there, I noticed a palatable difference.  Not only were there families with young children, everyone seemed to have dropped the air of judgement towards each other and the outsiders that only dare show their colors during this yearly reprieve.  While I initially reacted in shock to there being young children watching the drag queens lip-sync on stage, I gradually grew accustomed to their presence and began to open my mind to what was going on. 

We made our way to another club that opened its doors for a special open stage event that afternoon.  This venue usually has one door you can enter through and requires their patrons be over 18 years of age.  Covers tend to more expensive because of the quality of the show and environment.  On this particular afternoon all of their doors were open, staff were outside greeting those who wanted to come in and entry was free.  We walked in, ordered our drinks and sat in front of the stage to watch the performers who signed up to show off their stuff.  Again, I noticed that there were families in the crowd and everyone was enjoying the afternoon watching their friends and relatives perform.

It wasn’t until the very end of the show when the host, Amaya Sexton, opened the stage for a dance break that I realized what Pride means today.  The crowd was hesitant to join her on stage so she had to pull people up to get the dance break started.  I noticed that she went over to a group of deaf individuals and invited a young girl who was autistic up on the platform.  The girl readily agreed and joined Amaya.  Then, a straight couple who were no older than sixteen years old hopped up on the stage.  A few others rallied behind them and when Amaya cued the DJ to start the music.  Once the music started, everyone on that stage fell victim to the rhythm.  Young, old, deaf, autistic, lame and many others were showing off their moves and enjoying their moment in the lights.  

That Saturday was a day for acceptance and love no matter who you were or your background.  There was a sense of community, not defiance.  I was blessed that day.  Blessed by the open arms that the bars extended to families and those young people who may not currently have a support system.  I was blessed by the way everyone was accepting of each other and what they had to offer.

My wish is that we start to treat every day as if it were Pride.