Sunday, March 26, 2017
Monday, March 16, 2015
I will begin this blog with a disclaimer: I am far too often guilty of what I am about write about. Been there, done that, paid dearly for the T-shirt. The 2nd disclaimer is that this may be a bit more vague than my prior postings. This is a cathartic writing for me and in time it may become less and less vague as situations change. This is also not necessarily chronological with the rest of my blog, or it could be. I'm taking liberties here that I have not done as much of in the past. It isn't done disingenuously or without it's own purpose.
He was simply beautiful. Even at this point I can't look back and see anything I could flaw. Well, perhaps fear, but that is it. I write this from a place of love. Love I still have. Love is messy and skewed. My writings are only the assumptions my heart tells me feel right.
I could relate to his logic and I saw glimpses of myself in his assuredness and determination. Sure, I have determination today, but it is different. Back then I was determined to overcome and not be something that was constantly in the back of my mind. My determination was built on fear. Fear of being nothing, and even a fear of being something. For those like me who are driven, we all to often attribute fear in life as an action of being or doing nothing. In many ways I feel the true fear is that we will become more than we can imagine. It sounds counter intuitive, but the fear of realizing our dreams is real. It comes from the depths of self-doubt.
While it was only a mere few weeks, it was weeks filled with life among the mundane of adulthood. We could quickly dismiss it as twitterpation and "too fast, too soon, too deep." I understand. From an outside perspective I would probably say the same. I need to change that. I need to urge caution, but be more willing to celebrate the beauty of love.
Again, there were no flaws I could see, only my own ever-present self-doubts. Even as those self-doubts rose, they didn't have the same weight I had given them before. I had begun compiling a list of what I had been doing wrong in finding the wrong guys. This occurred while in the midst of a current relationship reaching it's demise. I had always gone for someone opposite of me. I guess there was such a lack of value in my own attributes that I wanted to find someone who didn't have the "weaknesses" I perceived I owned. I looked at men who had entered my life and who I should have let stay, but didn't. They would have treated me like a prince as I would do in return, but for some reason timing was always wrong or I was attached to the wrong man. Regardless, a list began writing in my mind.
And there he was. In front of me. Timing wasn't perfect, but it was better than it had ever been before and I was not going to miss this chance. Honesty was important to me. My ending relationship was not completed and would have strings attached for some time. There were no emotional strings, just the complications that arise from adult interdependence in a relationship. Sure, that threw up some red flags, but didn't seem an immediate deal breaker.
Then there was his moment of honesty. The moment of fear. I had heard it hundreds of times throughout my time working with other men coming out. I don't discount the viability of bisexuality in the least. It does exist. For those who have established a pattern of true bisexuality I appreciate there preferences in life. As for many, the claim isn't tested. Go for it. Give it a try. Try bi-curiosity on for a day, week, a month. Do it for the purpose of self-discovery.
Never do it out of fear.
I had a previously planned trip that interrupted the quick attachment I had to this soul. I left on a high note, happy for the long-needed trip, but also anticipating the return to him. The logic in me, and mostly the fear in me, tried for the week to find flaws, find other attachments, I even visited with one of those aforementioned friends that possessed and played a part in formulating that "need list" in my mind. He was the one taken this time and I was happy for this friend. I was still seeing no flaws.
I hesitate on over emphasizing perfection. Sure, this man I was seeing worked too hard sometimes and set goals too high. He was human, but "perfect" in my years was meaning less about drawing within the lines as much as creating beauty regardless of the lines. His self-observed imperfections only made him a better man to me. I will say that it is important to be realistic about some flaws. As I had previously thrown my heart at a man who had flaws/tastes that simply made love inhabitable, I did watch for those. It is possible for some things to be a true deal breaker.
Did I expect an easy life where there would be no hurdles? No, but, as just stated, there were no inherent flaws that created conditions incompatible with love.
Upon my return things had changed. I could sense it. Distance hadn't been good for this budding romance. Fear had colonized during my brief absence. I had tested fear as well in the distance, but I had returned more determined than ever to see what fruit might be born.
I was taken back somewhat by his fear. He hadn't had the religious upbringing that condemned same-sex love. He had family and friends that supported and loved him. I am still a bit perplexed, but, the only hypothesis is that even with this support and lack of religious interference, he was still subjected to the cultural ideology that men were better off with woman. Somehow masculinity wasn't truly achieved until a woman had given herself up to a man.
I recognized this fear. It was me the first 28 years of life. Some perplexing differences existed that still confuse me. He had explored being gay and dabbled in heterosexual dating. I married my wife without the benefit of prior exploration of my homosexuality. I would simply have not married her if I had. It wouldn't have been easy, but I think I may have stayed outside the closet door had I allowed such dating and other experience to take place. Regardless, I saw this fear in him and hoped the colony would die before it killed the bud.
Those weeks had been wonderful. It didn't feel faked or rehearsed. It didn't feel like an experiment. Yes, we talked often of being cautious. I wasn't renting a uhaul anytime soon, but I was committed to see it through to one end or another.
I was caught off guard to find the bud surrounded by an army of fear. Fear of the unknown was real for him. Maybe he could finally go all the way with a woman and find he likes it. Maybe being "normal" would make him happy. Maybe. As a card-carrying member of that school of thought I can attest that it doesn't work. Not when it has to be so mentally rehearsed. Sure, sex was feasible, and even enjoyable, as a heterosexually married man. The cracks in the veneer were tiny and easy to overlook. Change happened slowly and though those cracks grew, they were slow enough to be easy enough to dismiss....until they weren't. At that point it was too late. It was either then a choice to lose my soul in the name of normalcy. Maybe I could have faked another 30 years as noble. I've seen men try. I have never seen a man succeed. Inevitably not only is your soul nearly trampled to death, but everyone who has touched that relationship is affected by the slow decay. This must stop.
I welcome sexual experimentation and soul searching. I don't welcome fear. Fear is dangerous. Fear is a poor motivator. Fear is lack of ethics, disguised as logic.
He needed to cut the bud before it could grow further. Fear of being hurt was real, but with love it always is. Even those happily married 50 years know that love isn't a guarantee. It is the road you choose. Sometimes you stop to rest, sometimes you get a flat, but it doesn't spoil the journey. There was the fear of not being "normal." There was the usual over-thought concern lingering. He never said it, but he didn't need to. He demanded perfection of himself and being gay wasn't perfect. Again, self-induced hazing I had endured on my way to join the club I am now a lifer in.
That fear is a lot, but it isn't the deal breaker. The true fear, I feel, is the fear of happiness. This fear transcends all ages, genders, sexual orientations, cultures, histories, etc. We fear happiness. I was happy and I sensed he was too. That happiness was too much. Logic can't compute these emotions. Love and happiness mess up a perfectly planned life. So we allow fear to set up house and keep us from being happy. What do we do with happiness? We far too often don't see happiness written on the path and instead manufacture destinations and milestones necessary to be happy. We even accept that Disneyland is the "happiest place on earth." Vacations are a way to escape the path labeled mundane and take a rest stop at happiness. We fail to see that mundane isn't a reality, but a chosen viewpoint. We don't want to accept the responsibility that happiness is under our own feet. It is easier to accept that we can't be happy unless we save up enough mundane to cash it in at some brief pit stop on the road of life.
Stop it. I mean that mostly rhetorically, but I feel I don't stand alone in the fog of mundane accepted.
I know the draw to be "normal" is powerful. I know that accepting happiness as a path vs a milestone is difficult. I know I lost this soul to the fear that happiness might look different than planned, even if it felt better than planned.
I couldn't put life on hold while fear ruled this man's path. I couldn't accept mundane . I had to adjust my view and work to clear the polluted thoughts that covered the path I was walking. I didn't shut the door. Until there was another man to shut it for me, all I could do is hope that he caught a glimpse of the sparkle on the path. If he did and he saw me there, I would join him.
I saw him as the imperfectly perfect companion on the road of a happy life. I hoped it would be me should that day come. I hoped he wouldn't have to endure the rough shortcuts I had attempted. I hoped a better life for him. Even if he doesn't see the path with me, I hope he will with someone. I hope he stops fearing happiness and sees that he is worth it.
Maybe it was just a fleeting moment of life. He breathed life in me when I was feeling beaten on the path. This song makes me think of him. I hope he sees the beauty I do someday.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Time is still limited so this will be a no frills post. No multimedia, videos, pictures, just words on a page about two lives that intersected across two different generations.
Just shy of 95 years Grandma Visser passed on. For those who have read the past or know me personally, you know I am not a religious man anymore. I choose a more humanistic approach to life. I believe that we have this life to lead and we should live it to the fullest. Enjoy each moment. That is easier said than done. Yet, we should push for it. As I work in a less-than-fulfilling job I see the need to change. I join the ranks who believe you should do what you love. Hopefully the groundwork I am preparing is the foundation of my pursuit of the ideal. I see what challenges my grandmother faced and I am grateful for the example of endurance and perseverance.
Back to the issue of religion, not directly, but as it influenced the happenings of today. Grandma has been preparing to die for years. It isn't that she had no interest in living or decidedly did not live, it is that she was ready for the day she hoped leave behind the trials of this life. She was a convert to the LDS church and I believe she had Christian-based faith. I do think she hoped for peace in death, whether she bought the whole eternal life concept or believed otherwise, I cannot fully attest.
She was the product of the Great Depression. When she owned her own home she lived frugally. She enjoyed a great garden, good food, proper kitchen tools, and comfortable furnishings. She didn't live extravagantly. She often commented on the waste of modern society. She used, re-used, and re-purposed anything she could. Who needed Tupperware when there were perfectly good empty sour cream containers? She re-purposed pots, wire hangers, and all sort of things. It wasn't hoarding and she kept a spotless house, but she also didn't just throw things out or buy stuff just to have stuff.
She had a flashlight from my grandfather that she kept for 40 years. She saw no sense in new-fangled LED lights. Many have told me I need to just get rid of my dad's truck. Its old, needs some dents fixed, is out of style, and lacking shiny "curb appeal." Aside from the sentimental value, I simply see no reason to replace something or waste a perfectly good working truck. This is one of the great lessons passed on to me by generations. The truck, like the flashlight worked and there was no reason to fix something that wasn't broken. In her later years she also practiced such ideology with people, especially me.
I dreaded the events of today. My ex-wife had voiced her plans to meddle and attend all family events surrounding the funeral. Boundaries and respect seem to be lacking. Then, of course, there would be my family. Family is a loose term these days. With the few conversations I had with Grandma while away in Tijuana/California, it was obvious I was as necessary to my family as a smoke detector in a smoker's lounge. She had been told that I was in Texas or wherever. With her failing memory I didn't blame her for being confused at my correction and the families misguided gossip of what I was doing. I knew today would be a day where my family would put on the great, fake Mormon smile that my mom had perfected and show superficial interest in my life. It would either be that or simply pretending I wasn't in the room. I have given up the Mormon smile with my family. I wasn't there to fight, but I was not there to divulge details of my life there otherwise had no interest in. I had no reason to actively add to the gossip. Yes, it is cathartic to vent, even if it all seems negative. I had wondered if I might have just had a bad attitude in the past, but, as with the last several times Iv'e attempted re-join the family, I was once again reminded of how unnecessary and how unhealthy that could be.
We followed the usual Mormon menu of funerals. Prayers, sacred metaphors, etc.
The funeral began and my brother-in-law conducted. He read the obituary that was well written, when I read it online. He read the survivors names and their spouses as husband or wife. When it came to my name he apparently forgot how to say husband when it came to Endhi's name. "Partner" was all he could muster. It was only the pronounced, public reassurance that I didn't fit with these people, regardless of how biologically connected we might be. I had been asked to be a pall bearer, but that is all they could risk. There would be no other form of participation for this "black sheep." I wasn't shocked. I was to be seen and not heard. I showed up for the funeral out of respect for my grandma and her alone. I knew the service would hold little for me in the words said or the rites done.
I heard the words uttered, but I took the time to also hold my own private service. I took time to internally reflect on the life of the lady I called grandma. We didn't always see eye to eye and I steered very clear of engaging in any political discussion. When she needed say her peace I just let her before trying to re-direct to a recipe or memory of her life. In my teenage years and young adult life we butted heads on various family topics. She had her moments of bitterness and I had my moments of inherited bull-headedness. I heard my brother and sister sugar coat aspects of her life. I heard claims a life lived without complaints or showing weakness. It was a lie. I had heard occasionally of her suffering. There were times that she cried.
So what? Big deal? Why have we become a society where showing no emotion, unless it is happiness (real or otherwise), is the only thing acceptable? What courage is there in hiding the reality that life isn't always easy? Why is it admirable that someone not show humanity when enduring or remembering tough times in life? Unfortunately Mormon culture is all to often the culture of "smile like you mean it (and take Prozac if you don't)." It doesn't address the here and now because in some unknown future Jesus will make it all OK. Screw that idea. Live for the here and now. Sure, don't wallow in sorrows forever, but feel the pain, and the triumph, in life. Seize the day!
My grandmother survived her husband and all 3 of her children, not by mere years, but decades. She was widowed far longer than married. Life was lonely and rough. And she didn't just grin and bare it. She worked hard and was engaged in life. She made the most of what she had. She didn't let go until she was ready to. She was a stubborn, opinionated, sometimes prejudiced, sometimes bitter, tough old bird. And then there were the other times, more recently in the years closer to her death.
There were the quiet moments where she expressed how she saw no reason to love me differently even if she didn't quite grasp it all. Moments of surprise when she took my first boyfriend aside and said "be good to my grandson." And the talk about 2 years ago when I asked her directly about whether she knew of any other gay people in the Visser or Oliger line. She didn't, but it led to a frank discussion on her views. They were surprisingly progressive. They were views of love and desire for my happiness. They were everything I had hoped to hear, but didn't expect. The icing on the cake during this unexpectedly honest and frank discussion between two very different generations was the re-assurance that her son, my father, wouldn't have loved me any different had he known before his death. There was her admittance that she had no idea where my brothers and sisters had gotten the idea that their behavior was acceptable. We both agreed that Dad simply would not have stood for it.
She was my unexpected ally and only connection remaining with my family. I imagine funerals will be about the only time I see them. Sure, I wish that they would have reacted differently. I miss the times that were good. Today was a reminder that those times had passed and now may not ever return. Even with the memories of better family times, I accept life as it is and choose not to subject myself to future brow beatings at other family events. I have more self worth than that. I have my grandmother's example of courage and hard work to push me forward.
While there was much public display of sorrows and memories tinted with the overarching Mormon theme, I had those quiet moments to mourn and feel the pain of losing a woman I loved and respected. I lingered a bit longer at the graveside. After my family had left it was time to bring a close to the formal mourning as I broke down spontaneously in my husband's arms. There is a necessary cleansing that happens with tears. Genuine tears, not the public displays for sympathy, but the deep release within your soul, shoulder shuddering type of tears.
I will miss her. I will miss the hours and hours of conversations, many times repeating the same stories. I will miss talking to her about food and some new recipe I tried. I will miss hearing her say "I love you" and know it held no preconditions or social expectations. I will miss the connection to my father that she represented.
I'm not sure I have fully accepted it. It will take time. I have already had moments today when I thought of something I would share with her next time we talked. While not unexpected, it is strange to think of her being gone. At nearly 95 she has just simply always been there. She was a pillar in everyday life, even if we didn't talk often enough.
I will hold dear the memories, good and bad, of life with Grandma. I will work to honor the example of frugality and hard work she gave me. I will celebrate the peace I feel she has found in a life well lived and a passing accepted.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Friday, January 31, 2014
After 14 hours flying I was finally tired enough to fall asleep on the middle leg of my journey. I woke up with an ache in my arms. Not a physical ailment but a longing. I woke to this ache realizing it would soon be over. Soon I would have the man I love within arms grasp. Over the past 20 months since first meeting Endhi this ache has been an ongoing part of my life.
It hasn't been merely an ache in my arms as I look at the empty pillow in my bed. Its been a heartache when simply driving and looking at the empty passenger seat; imagining him sitting there even if it was just a grocery run.
There were many times I would imagine him there. So many holidays and family events I would picture him with us laughing. I would picture his addictive smile. There were so many moments I wish he was sharing with my family; OUR family. As I woke on the plane tonight there was another moment of pain in my arms. If only he could be seated next to me.....soon. Soon these moments apart will be just a brief chapter in the story of our life together.
I look out the window at the black of the night. Only the light on the wing and a few dots off in the distance break through the darkness. I sit and reflect on the road that includes this 3rd trip to SE Asia. I'm grateful its dark as I fight back a combination of tears. Tears of missing him, tears of joy that our days apart are drawing to a close, tears of excitement as I picture my family finally all together and whole, and finally tears of relief. Seeing the lights of Singapore as we approached hit me powerfully. I was finally really close to him. Finally in the same time zone. I've not visited Singapore other than as a transfer hub. Last time was to a ferry to go to an island to meet a man that captured my full attention. Now it is the place I transfer through on my way to claim my equality and bring him home.
I've reflected a lot recently as you might imagine. What a journey. Job changes, multiple visa attempts, embassy visits, marriage equality, Mexico and one more plane ride; hopefully my last alone.
Hopefully these are the last few hours away from the man I am so lucky to have love me.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
It has been an interesting and sometimes personally painful path. I related some of these feelings recently on a separate post that can be found here. People I once considered friends have disappeared. Others who were only acquaintances have chosen to chime in on gossip or ignorant judgement.I get it, sort of. I had become fairly cynical myself before meeting Endhi. Hopefully I haven pushed others as hard as some have with me.
"How could I love someone so quickly? Why would I sacrifice so much for someone? Why not find someone closer to home? What about your kids? What about you?"
My answer to most of the "why" questions is simply "why not?"
I don't write this blog in hopes of changing anyone's mind or attempting to justify or explain my actions. I have had to learn in a rather painful fashion that my choices are mine. My life is mine. My happiness is mine. Who I am or how I live isn't up for a vote. It is not a choose-your-own-adventure life for others to select my path and it simply can't be lived based on what others think.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
I am asking readers for help. The journey has been drained our finances. There simply isn't enough left for me to buy a plane ticket to attend the interview and then for us to get back to Utah to my sons.