This week at work we received some very disturbing news. Which has been, as a therapist friend of mine would say, "renting space in my head." As I just lay back to meditate, my thoughts continued to return to this. Which indicates that it deserves examination.
In February I was introduced to a new client of mine as he sat in the HSU (Health Services Unit) on suicide watch. As per usual, I did not read the details of his crimes or watch the news stories until after meeting with him... so I did not know that he was a serial rapist. Or that he had held a woman captive in her own home, torturing and raping her for hours while her child slept in the next room. Nor that he had forced her to drive him to the store for cigarettes, as he cut off his GPS bracelet. I met him with unconditional kindness.
All I knew was that he wanted to die. That he was "probably going to get life," and "wasn't going to do it." But he decided to live. For his mother, who still believe that he was a good boy and could not have done these horrendous things. He covered his face in court and made no apologies.
The next month, when his mother unexpectedly died and he returned to suicide watch, it took him surprisingly little time to say that he felt fine. That God had forgiven him, his "girlfriend" was standing by him, and that he would spend his life behind bars and still be able to get as many ladies as he wanted. He returned to segregation, where he had been housed from Day 1 because of the high-profile nature of his case (no place in population would be safe for an inmate like him), and we proceeded with our regular therapy sessions.
Initially respectful, he began to devolve into his predatory sociopathy. He chose to speak to me about how he would have "gotten with" me on the street, that he had no need to rape since he could get "all the pussy" he wanted any time, and made snide comments or kissing faces at me. I largely ignored his advances, or told him simply that he was being inappropriate. I chose to reflect this behavior back to him, and discuss why he felt so fixated on sex.
He behaved well in segregation. So well, in fact, that after six or seven months he was given a transfer to the Gardner facility. At Gardner, known generally as "a sex offender camp," he would be able to go to population while awaiting trial. Work, get treatment, go to programs, etc. He had caused no problems at Concord. He had earned it.
On Monday we were told that he raped an English teacher at Gardner. That he set a trap for her in a staff bathroom, and that she screamed for 30 minutes before being heard. We were told that it took three large men to remove him, one small man, from her.
Hearing this, I felt as though I might be ill. I thought about how "creepy" he had become with me during our last sessions, and realized just how lucky I was that he was in segregation at Concord. Because of this, he was always escorted to our meeting in waist chains and leg irons, cuffed behind his back and shackled into a metal chair, bolted to the floor. If he had not been, the rape victim most certainly would have been me. My memories of treating this predator, this "monster," with unconditional kindness seemed foolish and naive. I immediately wondered if I should have been more chastising with him. If I should have complained about his behavior and had disciplinary tickets written, perhaps preventing his move. But I know that all of this is futile thought and I am in no way responsible.
Still, continual exposure to this sort of brutality affects your soul. Your trust and your belief in God, in good. It is difficult/uncomfortable/frightening to sit with these horrors, twisting and turning them, examining them from every angle, looking without looking away.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
maitri
Lately I've been focusing my spare time and energy on self-examination. Meditation, reading, writing, art. On Monday I mistakenly opted to go into work for the morning administration meeting, forgetting that I was actually scheduled for the evening shift. I complained to a friend that would have to work over 12 hours, not knowing that this was exactly what I needed.
On a busy night, from 5-9 there are constant new lock-ups, transfers in, crisis calls. But Monday there was not one. No one called "751 on" all evening- and I was left quietly at my desk upstairs, alone in the unit above the hospital. I sat at my desk in silence with an 8x14 legal pad and wrote. For four solid hours, I wrote.
I began feeling positive, goal-oriented, having an epiphany in every paragraph. By page four this crumbled away into self-doubt and confusion... all of my sentences contradicting the ones prior. And by page eight I was accepting my confusion, my "not knowing," and was being kinder and gentler with myself. Much of what I wrote was my self-care plan.
I have a tendency to buy wonderful books and never read them. As I sat in my office writing, I looked up and saw "How to See Yourself as you Really Are" by the Dalai Lama. A book I had always intended to read but had not. I put it in my pocket to take home, and laid with it in a bubble bath once I arrived. The book has proven, unfortunately, quite dense and difficult to grasp (which I blame on the translator, as his books are not typically like this)... but it led me to my bookshelf at home, and all the unread books I had bought during previous heartbreaks and difficult times. Which led me to Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart.
It has been profoundly what I need to hear.
I wanted to write down some of my thoughts, and some of the more affective passages, lest I get swept away by living again and busy myself with utterly unimportant pursuits.
An old Buddhist teaching says "Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."
I've found this to be quite true. Through heartbreak and pain we find that within us which simply will not yield. We find whether or not our belief in humanity, or our belief in love, or our valuing of empathy can be broken. When I think back over all that has proven to be indestructible in me... there are only a few stones left in this vast quarry, with all the rest crushed to sand.
But those few stones encapsulate me. The parts of me that have never broken are few. Frighteningly few. But the biggest is my "hopeless" romanticism. As I consider it now, for the first time I consider hopeless to be a compliment. It cannot be reasoned with or beaten into submission. It pays no mind to failures or evidence. It is a staunch belief- a stubborn, radical belief- that true love exists and is waiting for anyone who devotes their self to the search.
This belief I know is indestructible. Others, such as my belief in some sort of creationary force, my exaltation of empathy, my belief that all people have good within them and all people can change and recover... these beliefs are so strong within me now. But they have cracked in the past. I have doubted them, I've even lapsed- if only momentarily. These stones have been grated and worn. Life has chipped away at them, but they haven't broken. I suppose if I view my life from where I stand now- which really is the only way to view it- these are the other indestructible parts of me.
I am so grateful for all the pain I have experienced. I am so grateful for the trials, the ghosts, the scars, even the still-bleeding wounds. I am so grateful to have been pushed to my limit so very many times. I am so grateful for the parts of me that are indestructible. I am so grateful to know what these parts are.
In Sanskrit, maitri means "unconditional friendliness." Chodron talks at length about how to meet ourselves with maitri; how to relax into the stillness of non-thought and gently redirect and comfort out wild, bouncing internal monologue. My task lately has been to sit with my own thoughts, and meet them "with honesty, a light touch, humor, and kindness." The same approach that I wish to show others. I have a feeling that if I get better at showing it to myself, I will be better at showing it to others as well.
Chodron says, "What makes maitri such a different approach is that we are not striving to solve a problem, We are not striving to make pain go away or to become a better person. In fact, we are giving up cntrol altogether and letting concepts and ideals fall apart."
How hard is that! Seriously. All we strive to do, day in and day out, is to not let things fall apart! What would happen if it did?
In the book she speaks about running towards fear, facing it. She recalls to story of a young boy who every day walked past a snarling, gnashing guard dog with red eyes and dripping teeth. One day, as the onlooking villagers gasped, the guard dog broke from his leash and began running after the boy. The boy turned, running full-speed towards the dog... who was so startled he tucked his tail between his legs and sped off.
We hope that the terror will run from us... but even if we collide in a smoldering ball of gnashing teeth and flying blood... we have found that which is indestructible in us.
In a chapter entitled "Not causing harm" (which makes me want my primum non nocere tattoo sooo bad... there I go desiring again!), she says "It is a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up the space. By waiting, we begin to connect with fundamental restlessness as well as fundamental spaciousness."
Much like running towards the snarling dog, intentionally invoking silence and space can be terrifying for some of us. My roommate, for example, only recently learned how to sit without the television, or music, or talking. She always complained that her thoughts became too loud, and were too scary to sit alone with. It has taken her much work to sit alone with silence.
But this passage for me, at this moment anyway, speaks more to my perpetual need to fill my sadness or loneliness with someone/something. Along with feelings of sadness comes temptation. Desire to escape from loneliness, to disprove my feelings of abandonment and unworthiness, to ignore my fears of being alone. The temptation is to buy something fun and shiny that turns off my noisy brain, to run away, far, far away... or to lose myself in a clearly-wrong-for-me relationship simply because it's distracting and provides two arms for refuge.
This time I sit. In my hot bath, meditating. In the woods with my books and sheets of drawing paper. I feel a tinge of excitement when I think about looking at my fears... and running towards them. I wish to sit with the silence of being alone... waiting for the water around me to quiet it's crashing waves and wind-blown ripples so that I might peer down to the bottom. To look at the things near me, the people that I love and am grateful for. To let those things grow and change with me as they will and have no plans or expectations for them.
To meet myself
my chaos
with maitri.
And rest assured that the waves will soon be still.
On a busy night, from 5-9 there are constant new lock-ups, transfers in, crisis calls. But Monday there was not one. No one called "751 on" all evening- and I was left quietly at my desk upstairs, alone in the unit above the hospital. I sat at my desk in silence with an 8x14 legal pad and wrote. For four solid hours, I wrote.
I began feeling positive, goal-oriented, having an epiphany in every paragraph. By page four this crumbled away into self-doubt and confusion... all of my sentences contradicting the ones prior. And by page eight I was accepting my confusion, my "not knowing," and was being kinder and gentler with myself. Much of what I wrote was my self-care plan.
I have a tendency to buy wonderful books and never read them. As I sat in my office writing, I looked up and saw "How to See Yourself as you Really Are" by the Dalai Lama. A book I had always intended to read but had not. I put it in my pocket to take home, and laid with it in a bubble bath once I arrived. The book has proven, unfortunately, quite dense and difficult to grasp (which I blame on the translator, as his books are not typically like this)... but it led me to my bookshelf at home, and all the unread books I had bought during previous heartbreaks and difficult times. Which led me to Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart.
It has been profoundly what I need to hear.
I wanted to write down some of my thoughts, and some of the more affective passages, lest I get swept away by living again and busy myself with utterly unimportant pursuits.
An old Buddhist teaching says "Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."
I've found this to be quite true. Through heartbreak and pain we find that within us which simply will not yield. We find whether or not our belief in humanity, or our belief in love, or our valuing of empathy can be broken. When I think back over all that has proven to be indestructible in me... there are only a few stones left in this vast quarry, with all the rest crushed to sand.
But those few stones encapsulate me. The parts of me that have never broken are few. Frighteningly few. But the biggest is my "hopeless" romanticism. As I consider it now, for the first time I consider hopeless to be a compliment. It cannot be reasoned with or beaten into submission. It pays no mind to failures or evidence. It is a staunch belief- a stubborn, radical belief- that true love exists and is waiting for anyone who devotes their self to the search.
This belief I know is indestructible. Others, such as my belief in some sort of creationary force, my exaltation of empathy, my belief that all people have good within them and all people can change and recover... these beliefs are so strong within me now. But they have cracked in the past. I have doubted them, I've even lapsed- if only momentarily. These stones have been grated and worn. Life has chipped away at them, but they haven't broken. I suppose if I view my life from where I stand now- which really is the only way to view it- these are the other indestructible parts of me.
I am so grateful for all the pain I have experienced. I am so grateful for the trials, the ghosts, the scars, even the still-bleeding wounds. I am so grateful to have been pushed to my limit so very many times. I am so grateful for the parts of me that are indestructible. I am so grateful to know what these parts are.
In Sanskrit, maitri means "unconditional friendliness." Chodron talks at length about how to meet ourselves with maitri; how to relax into the stillness of non-thought and gently redirect and comfort out wild, bouncing internal monologue. My task lately has been to sit with my own thoughts, and meet them "with honesty, a light touch, humor, and kindness." The same approach that I wish to show others. I have a feeling that if I get better at showing it to myself, I will be better at showing it to others as well.
Chodron says, "What makes maitri such a different approach is that we are not striving to solve a problem, We are not striving to make pain go away or to become a better person. In fact, we are giving up cntrol altogether and letting concepts and ideals fall apart."
How hard is that! Seriously. All we strive to do, day in and day out, is to not let things fall apart! What would happen if it did?
In the book she speaks about running towards fear, facing it. She recalls to story of a young boy who every day walked past a snarling, gnashing guard dog with red eyes and dripping teeth. One day, as the onlooking villagers gasped, the guard dog broke from his leash and began running after the boy. The boy turned, running full-speed towards the dog... who was so startled he tucked his tail between his legs and sped off.
We hope that the terror will run from us... but even if we collide in a smoldering ball of gnashing teeth and flying blood... we have found that which is indestructible in us.
In a chapter entitled "Not causing harm" (which makes me want my primum non nocere tattoo sooo bad... there I go desiring again!), she says "It is a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up the space. By waiting, we begin to connect with fundamental restlessness as well as fundamental spaciousness."
Much like running towards the snarling dog, intentionally invoking silence and space can be terrifying for some of us. My roommate, for example, only recently learned how to sit without the television, or music, or talking. She always complained that her thoughts became too loud, and were too scary to sit alone with. It has taken her much work to sit alone with silence.
But this passage for me, at this moment anyway, speaks more to my perpetual need to fill my sadness or loneliness with someone/something. Along with feelings of sadness comes temptation. Desire to escape from loneliness, to disprove my feelings of abandonment and unworthiness, to ignore my fears of being alone. The temptation is to buy something fun and shiny that turns off my noisy brain, to run away, far, far away... or to lose myself in a clearly-wrong-for-me relationship simply because it's distracting and provides two arms for refuge.
This time I sit. In my hot bath, meditating. In the woods with my books and sheets of drawing paper. I feel a tinge of excitement when I think about looking at my fears... and running towards them. I wish to sit with the silence of being alone... waiting for the water around me to quiet it's crashing waves and wind-blown ripples so that I might peer down to the bottom. To look at the things near me, the people that I love and am grateful for. To let those things grow and change with me as they will and have no plans or expectations for them.
To meet myself
my chaos
with maitri.
And rest assured that the waves will soon be still.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
having while being
I've been desperate to write.
To sit down and put into words my fear/plans/hopes/desires/shortcomings. I need to write down all of the things that I intend to do and need to do, lest I somehow forget them. It seems insane to think that I would, but I clearly have before.
The following are the things I want from myself:
I want to not feel insecure when I look in the mirror. Or angry. Or confused at the person I see. If I look down and see a beer belly or stretch marks or pooch where there "shouldn't be" a pooch... I won't grit my teeth in disgust. I won't feel insecure and wonder if the weight I've gained will hinder me in finding a partner. I will hush my emotions and listen to my rational mind.
I will be grateful for this faithful and healthy vessel. This body that feels pleasure and heals quickly from pain and injury. These loving arms that are strong and painted and faithful. I will love what I have- all that I have- and not work on making it less. Only better.
I want to be aware of my finances, and able to responsibly manage my money. I want to be aware of every cent - with a healthy awareness and not a panicked obsession. I want to steadily improve upon my debt and therefore upon my future. I want to be more free from the shackles of money, and more detached from it emotionally.
I want to maintain my friends and hobbies and personal loves while in a relationship. I want to let myself be reminded why I love Boston, and experience something new and beautiful on a regular basis. I want to go out just to go out. I want to search out new friends and be the kind of friend that I love being. I value my sincerity, intensity, reliability, my giving nature. I want to hold my friends to the standards I hold for myself, and vice versa.
Most importantly, when I do find a love, I want to treat her like what she is: the most important thing in my life. No matter how stressed out or depressed or overwhelmed I am, I should be mindful of her role in my life and deeply appreciative. I should never treat the love of my life with less courtesy than I would give a common stranger. It doesn't matter if I've had a bad day or am feeling hurt. Yes, she is a safe place to take these feelings. But that should be honored. The fact that I have ever allowed my partner feel disrespected by me is one of the greatest regrets of my life. And it's the biggest thing I want to change about my life.
As a child I was forced to doubt every thing about myself. I was told on a daily basis that I was worthless, ugly, stupid. Most of all stupid. But I vividly remember, even as young as 12 or 13, feeling very self-assured that someday I would make a great partner. I never questioned that. I knew that I wanted it so much that I would never give it less than 100%. And I never wavered in that assuredness, even throughout all my (failed) relationships to date.
But lately I have questioned it.
I've questioned everything. Particularly my ability to be a worthy partner to another. One that is up to my own standards. I also find myself questioning the very meaning of partnership and what it means to me to be in a committed relationship. I always thought I was doing it right. That I had a "normal" concept of what a relationship should be. But I need to challenge that. I need to somehow discern what level of connectedness is healthy for two people, what is likely, and what is necessary for myself. This will require far more writing.
I've always pictured a partnership as a safe home base. As a particularly strong and intimate friendship. The friend that you can tell anything to and feel truly understood. The one you go to with any hurt or fear. Someone who sometimes reads your thoughts and loves you because of/in spite of it.
But that key friendship piece seems nearly impossible to accomplish after-the-fact. It's hard to partner and then go back to form a friendship. And, as we've already discussed, it's hard for two women to slow down the partnering process.
But I have to be able to do it. I have to be a friend before anything else. I have to relax all of those automatic behaviors. And let someone know me unapologetically as a genuine, flawed human being... instead of as someone trying to create a particular impression or force some type of connection. Someone on a job interview. Someone trying too hard.
I don't have the energy to try so hard any more. It takes all the energy I have to just be.
I just have to hope that this "being" somehow leads me to all the various things I need. There is a certain logic to it.
Lately I'm just me. Pretty anxious on the bad days and sometimes a little spastic. Someone who uses biting sarcasm when annoyed by others. Someone who looks for ways to go above and beyond at work. Clumsy and foul-mouthed (I forget not everyone works in a prison) with a big heart and a sensitive artist-type soul. Someone who has great moments of inspiration and drive but gets overwhelmed by clutter and (sometimes) change. Someone who withdraws when feeling slighted but truly believes that love will save us all. Someone who does her best to feel focused despite sometimes feeling quite lost and ineffectual. Someone who can be very funny and who tries too hard to be funny when nervous. And someone who may sometimes feel scared to look, but still wants to know everything about herself.
Someone who is struggling to find everything she needs, while pretending to know what she needs, while struggling to just be.
To sit down and put into words my fear/plans/hopes/desires/shortcomings. I need to write down all of the things that I intend to do and need to do, lest I somehow forget them. It seems insane to think that I would, but I clearly have before.
The following are the things I want from myself:
I want to not feel insecure when I look in the mirror. Or angry. Or confused at the person I see. If I look down and see a beer belly or stretch marks or pooch where there "shouldn't be" a pooch... I won't grit my teeth in disgust. I won't feel insecure and wonder if the weight I've gained will hinder me in finding a partner. I will hush my emotions and listen to my rational mind.
I will be grateful for this faithful and healthy vessel. This body that feels pleasure and heals quickly from pain and injury. These loving arms that are strong and painted and faithful. I will love what I have- all that I have- and not work on making it less. Only better.
I want to be aware of my finances, and able to responsibly manage my money. I want to be aware of every cent - with a healthy awareness and not a panicked obsession. I want to steadily improve upon my debt and therefore upon my future. I want to be more free from the shackles of money, and more detached from it emotionally.
I want to maintain my friends and hobbies and personal loves while in a relationship. I want to let myself be reminded why I love Boston, and experience something new and beautiful on a regular basis. I want to go out just to go out. I want to search out new friends and be the kind of friend that I love being. I value my sincerity, intensity, reliability, my giving nature. I want to hold my friends to the standards I hold for myself, and vice versa.
Most importantly, when I do find a love, I want to treat her like what she is: the most important thing in my life. No matter how stressed out or depressed or overwhelmed I am, I should be mindful of her role in my life and deeply appreciative. I should never treat the love of my life with less courtesy than I would give a common stranger. It doesn't matter if I've had a bad day or am feeling hurt. Yes, she is a safe place to take these feelings. But that should be honored. The fact that I have ever allowed my partner feel disrespected by me is one of the greatest regrets of my life. And it's the biggest thing I want to change about my life.
As a child I was forced to doubt every thing about myself. I was told on a daily basis that I was worthless, ugly, stupid. Most of all stupid. But I vividly remember, even as young as 12 or 13, feeling very self-assured that someday I would make a great partner. I never questioned that. I knew that I wanted it so much that I would never give it less than 100%. And I never wavered in that assuredness, even throughout all my (failed) relationships to date.
But lately I have questioned it.
I've questioned everything. Particularly my ability to be a worthy partner to another. One that is up to my own standards. I also find myself questioning the very meaning of partnership and what it means to me to be in a committed relationship. I always thought I was doing it right. That I had a "normal" concept of what a relationship should be. But I need to challenge that. I need to somehow discern what level of connectedness is healthy for two people, what is likely, and what is necessary for myself. This will require far more writing.
I've always pictured a partnership as a safe home base. As a particularly strong and intimate friendship. The friend that you can tell anything to and feel truly understood. The one you go to with any hurt or fear. Someone who sometimes reads your thoughts and loves you because of/in spite of it.
But that key friendship piece seems nearly impossible to accomplish after-the-fact. It's hard to partner and then go back to form a friendship. And, as we've already discussed, it's hard for two women to slow down the partnering process.
But I have to be able to do it. I have to be a friend before anything else. I have to relax all of those automatic behaviors. And let someone know me unapologetically as a genuine, flawed human being... instead of as someone trying to create a particular impression or force some type of connection. Someone on a job interview. Someone trying too hard.
I don't have the energy to try so hard any more. It takes all the energy I have to just be.
I just have to hope that this "being" somehow leads me to all the various things I need. There is a certain logic to it.
Lately I'm just me. Pretty anxious on the bad days and sometimes a little spastic. Someone who uses biting sarcasm when annoyed by others. Someone who looks for ways to go above and beyond at work. Clumsy and foul-mouthed (I forget not everyone works in a prison) with a big heart and a sensitive artist-type soul. Someone who has great moments of inspiration and drive but gets overwhelmed by clutter and (sometimes) change. Someone who withdraws when feeling slighted but truly believes that love will save us all. Someone who does her best to feel focused despite sometimes feeling quite lost and ineffectual. Someone who can be very funny and who tries too hard to be funny when nervous. And someone who may sometimes feel scared to look, but still wants to know everything about herself.
Someone who is struggling to find everything she needs, while pretending to know what she needs, while struggling to just be.
Monday, November 8, 2010
when Harriet met Sally
As is always the case when I'm single, I've been thinking a lot about lesbians. Actually, lesbians and their relationship/sexual/nesting/prey drives. I've found my thoughts alarmingly difficult to put into words... even harder to make sense of all the complexities of girl-girl relationships.
Lately I've been thinking about the famous exchange in When Harry Met Sally: the assertion that men and women cannot be friends without having sex. Can two gay women be friends without succumbing to their desire to couple and nest? I polled my friends, and got various answers:
Only if they've had sex already and don't want to do it again.
Depends on the level of desperation/age/degree of loneliness.
Only if they don't find each other attractive.
Only if they don't find each other attractive and meet in some sort of non-relationship-geared setting (school, work, etc.).
or Yes. They can.
I consider gay men, and the stereotypes that they face. They have a reputation for being sexually promiscuous, and having frivolous relationships based on seedy sexual impulse. Of course, all the gay men I know would acknowledge that there is a bit of truth to this... but it's certainly not the rule! I know plenty of gay men with discerning standards, and several male couples who are in long-term, loving, committed partnerships.
I definitely think it's true that homosexual men and women are thought of more in terms of their sexual proclivities than straight men and women are. I've heard many people comment that when hearing the world "homosexual," the emphasis is on the sex. The mental images are of sex. It doesn't conjure images of happy same-sex couples at home with their children. Normal, loving pairs who do all the mundane things that straight couples do- washing dishes and grocery shopping, having pizza night or bickering over the bills, or picking out a good school for the kids.
When we hear the words we don't even picture normal looking people. We picture unattractive women with crew cuts and flamboyant, annoying alcoholic men in pink shirts. Our these our images of ourselves?
You know, I'm ashamed to say that I buy into it too. When I hear the word "gay" or "lesbian" and I don't think about partnering the way I do when I hear the term "straight couple." I admit, I think about sexual interest. *Sexual* orientation... not relationship orientation.
Am I different, or do other gay people feel this too? Do we have the same gut reactions about ourselves that society does? Do we also buy into this idea that our relationships are somehow less serious? Less substantive? Sleazier? Do we also believe that our orientation isn't based on the same need for love and acceptance, companionship and devotion... but rather trite sexual trysts meant to buck the establishment and make a mockery of "proper" marriages?
No... no. Of course not. Obviously, I don't believe that any of those things are true.
I LOVE love. I believe in it with all my heart. And I believe that two women can connect in a way so unique and so profound, in a way unlike any other gender-coupling. Women are deep and sensitive- so much more emotional and driven to connect than men are. When two women connect it's a force of nature.
But I've gotten far from my point.
The point is that two women together, or two men together, function very differently than a man and a woman together. A man and a woman together can temper each other in way that two men/two women cannot. As with everything, there are pros and cons. The bottom line is, we're not the same. As badly as we want our relationships to be as "normal" as everyone else's- they may never be. We're inherently different. And that's fine!
But we haven't quite figured out what the appropriate, non-offensive, non-stereotypic images are that these differences should conjure...
Long, long ago I asked if gay women- two single, attractive gay women- can be friends without coupling. Sure we can. We can resist our drives, just like all people can. Hey, even straight men, some of the horniest creatures on the planet, can be pals without fucking each other.
But I think it's important for us to think about why our sexual activities are the first thing people consider when our orientation is mentioned. Is it because it seems so foreign and icky to "straight people?" Are we actually hyper sexual? And if so is this because the community is so small (it just SEEMS like we've slept with everyone, because we're all so incestuously entangled)? Are we more desperate for connection?
Or maybe it's just not true, and people don't have these subconscious notions... maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the weird one.
Even if it is true... I may still be the weird one.
Lately I've been thinking about the famous exchange in When Harry Met Sally: the assertion that men and women cannot be friends without having sex. Can two gay women be friends without succumbing to their desire to couple and nest? I polled my friends, and got various answers:
Only if they've had sex already and don't want to do it again.
Depends on the level of desperation/age/degree of loneliness.
Only if they don't find each other attractive.
Only if they don't find each other attractive and meet in some sort of non-relationship-geared setting (school, work, etc.).
or Yes. They can.
I consider gay men, and the stereotypes that they face. They have a reputation for being sexually promiscuous, and having frivolous relationships based on seedy sexual impulse. Of course, all the gay men I know would acknowledge that there is a bit of truth to this... but it's certainly not the rule! I know plenty of gay men with discerning standards, and several male couples who are in long-term, loving, committed partnerships.
I definitely think it's true that homosexual men and women are thought of more in terms of their sexual proclivities than straight men and women are. I've heard many people comment that when hearing the world "homosexual," the emphasis is on the sex. The mental images are of sex. It doesn't conjure images of happy same-sex couples at home with their children. Normal, loving pairs who do all the mundane things that straight couples do- washing dishes and grocery shopping, having pizza night or bickering over the bills, or picking out a good school for the kids.
When we hear the words we don't even picture normal looking people. We picture unattractive women with crew cuts and flamboyant, annoying alcoholic men in pink shirts. Our these our images of ourselves?
You know, I'm ashamed to say that I buy into it too. When I hear the word "gay" or "lesbian" and I don't think about partnering the way I do when I hear the term "straight couple." I admit, I think about sexual interest. *Sexual* orientation... not relationship orientation.
Am I different, or do other gay people feel this too? Do we have the same gut reactions about ourselves that society does? Do we also buy into this idea that our relationships are somehow less serious? Less substantive? Sleazier? Do we also believe that our orientation isn't based on the same need for love and acceptance, companionship and devotion... but rather trite sexual trysts meant to buck the establishment and make a mockery of "proper" marriages?
No... no. Of course not. Obviously, I don't believe that any of those things are true.
I LOVE love. I believe in it with all my heart. And I believe that two women can connect in a way so unique and so profound, in a way unlike any other gender-coupling. Women are deep and sensitive- so much more emotional and driven to connect than men are. When two women connect it's a force of nature.
But I've gotten far from my point.
The point is that two women together, or two men together, function very differently than a man and a woman together. A man and a woman together can temper each other in way that two men/two women cannot. As with everything, there are pros and cons. The bottom line is, we're not the same. As badly as we want our relationships to be as "normal" as everyone else's- they may never be. We're inherently different. And that's fine!
But we haven't quite figured out what the appropriate, non-offensive, non-stereotypic images are that these differences should conjure...
Long, long ago I asked if gay women- two single, attractive gay women- can be friends without coupling. Sure we can. We can resist our drives, just like all people can. Hey, even straight men, some of the horniest creatures on the planet, can be pals without fucking each other.
But I think it's important for us to think about why our sexual activities are the first thing people consider when our orientation is mentioned. Is it because it seems so foreign and icky to "straight people?" Are we actually hyper sexual? And if so is this because the community is so small (it just SEEMS like we've slept with everyone, because we're all so incestuously entangled)? Are we more desperate for connection?
Or maybe it's just not true, and people don't have these subconscious notions... maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the weird one.
Even if it is true... I may still be the weird one.
having vs. being
While watching a recent episode of CSI, I was reminded of the work of Eric Fromm. German socialist, philosopher, escapee of the Holocaust, and a father of modern psychology, Fromm theorized that humans have two basic orientations:
Having. And Being.
A person of the a "having" orientation seeks to acquire and possess. They seek to possess things- toys, cars, houses, property, money, even people. To possess is to exist. And to possess more... well, is to exist just a little bit better.
Someone in the "being" state derives intrinsic fulfillment from simply experiencing life. From sharing emotions, exchanging ideas, thoughts, experiences. From connecting with others and being fully engaged with the world around them. Life is about the journey, the love, the learning. Not the having.
And, it would seem, these two orientations are mutually exclusive. Much like having, it's all or nothing! One or the other. It's virtually impossible to both "have" and "be" at the same time.
Fromm made a sort of apocalyptic prediction of his own: a cultural spiral into total havingness. Defined as both progession and regression, our culture is possessed by it's possessions. Fromm felt that a culture so driven by commercialism, such as the one we live in today, is "doomed to the having orientation."
On CSI, Ray Langston (Laurence Fishburne) noted that in "1960 there was no such thing are public storage. Today there are over 2 billion square feet dedicated to it."
Doesn't seem to bode well for us, does it?
But the more we have, the deeper in we get. With the "things" come the bills, which obligate us to the jobs, the overtime, the credit cards, the mortgages, the promotions, the raises, the improvements we can now make to all the things. These things that we hold dear.
I'm reminded of yet another piece of cinematic gold, in which Harry Connick, Jr. mused "You’re talking about the American dream. You find something that you love and then you twist and you torture it, try to find a way to make money at it. You spend a lifetime doing that... and at the end you can’t find a trace of what you started out loving."
I spend a lot of time thinking about my possessions. Actually, how "the things you own, end up owning you" (props, Fight Club). I've dreamed quite wistfully of ridding myself of all my worldly possessions. Packing up the boxes that are so hard to thin down, so hard to let go of... and just... letting them go. Dropping them off, giving them away, tossing them in dumpsters. Lightening myself one box at a time.
Last night I stopped to consider how much space my truly personal, "irreplaceable" possessions would take up. Things like photos (which digital storage has made considerably more compact), letters, jewelry, other small tokens... it would fill but a small box. The rest, all that is not irreplaceable... is replaceable. The clothing, the games and CDs and movies, the computer, the phone, the truck, the books, the furniture, the technology and the entertainment. It's all replaceable. And therefore meaningless, really.
So why is it so hard to let go of? And why is it so easy to love?
What about my dream of shedding it all and leaving for the Peace Corps to live a beautiful life digging ditches in some impoverished country? What about my fantasy- the one where I hike around Europe with nothing but a backpack containing a couple sets of clothing, some maps, general survival gear, a lightweight tent and bedroll, camera, and as many notebooks as I can carry.
My fantasy of "being."
Currently impeded by my "having."
Having. And Being.
A person of the a "having" orientation seeks to acquire and possess. They seek to possess things- toys, cars, houses, property, money, even people. To possess is to exist. And to possess more... well, is to exist just a little bit better.
Someone in the "being" state derives intrinsic fulfillment from simply experiencing life. From sharing emotions, exchanging ideas, thoughts, experiences. From connecting with others and being fully engaged with the world around them. Life is about the journey, the love, the learning. Not the having.
And, it would seem, these two orientations are mutually exclusive. Much like having, it's all or nothing! One or the other. It's virtually impossible to both "have" and "be" at the same time.
Fromm made a sort of apocalyptic prediction of his own: a cultural spiral into total havingness. Defined as both progession and regression, our culture is possessed by it's possessions. Fromm felt that a culture so driven by commercialism, such as the one we live in today, is "doomed to the having orientation."
On CSI, Ray Langston (Laurence Fishburne) noted that in "1960 there was no such thing are public storage. Today there are over 2 billion square feet dedicated to it."
Doesn't seem to bode well for us, does it?
But the more we have, the deeper in we get. With the "things" come the bills, which obligate us to the jobs, the overtime, the credit cards, the mortgages, the promotions, the raises, the improvements we can now make to all the things. These things that we hold dear.
I'm reminded of yet another piece of cinematic gold, in which Harry Connick, Jr. mused "You’re talking about the American dream. You find something that you love and then you twist and you torture it, try to find a way to make money at it. You spend a lifetime doing that... and at the end you can’t find a trace of what you started out loving."
I spend a lot of time thinking about my possessions. Actually, how "the things you own, end up owning you" (props, Fight Club). I've dreamed quite wistfully of ridding myself of all my worldly possessions. Packing up the boxes that are so hard to thin down, so hard to let go of... and just... letting them go. Dropping them off, giving them away, tossing them in dumpsters. Lightening myself one box at a time.
Last night I stopped to consider how much space my truly personal, "irreplaceable" possessions would take up. Things like photos (which digital storage has made considerably more compact), letters, jewelry, other small tokens... it would fill but a small box. The rest, all that is not irreplaceable... is replaceable. The clothing, the games and CDs and movies, the computer, the phone, the truck, the books, the furniture, the technology and the entertainment. It's all replaceable. And therefore meaningless, really.
So why is it so hard to let go of? And why is it so easy to love?
What about my dream of shedding it all and leaving for the Peace Corps to live a beautiful life digging ditches in some impoverished country? What about my fantasy- the one where I hike around Europe with nothing but a backpack containing a couple sets of clothing, some maps, general survival gear, a lightweight tent and bedroll, camera, and as many notebooks as I can carry.
My fantasy of "being."
Currently impeded by my "having."
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