The Little Prince and the Fox

Missed birthday

[Trigger warning: death, grief.]

Today’s my dad’s birthday: he would be turning 74.

But he died two years ago, on 12th July, 2023, four days short of turning 72 and exactly four months before my own birthday.

Explorations, revelations, validations

Last night I went out dancing with two guys from the chorus who are also newbies: with one of them I connected over the Pride weekend; with the other I had had a few conversations when he had just joined the chorus (3 months after I did) and I had made a point of welcoming him as a newbie, trying to lessen his isolation. The two of them are close friends now and they included me in the night out. Before going out dancing, we met at one of the guys’ place together with another singer who’s been in the chorus much longer, who’s their “Big Sibling”, and who’s always very sweet to me in a genuine way.

I had a very good time throughout the evening & night. It was interesting and revealing and also validating.

There is a lot of shit going on in this chorus, and a lot of it is quite on the surface (some of it is deeper and harder to see). Hearing about some of the things that are going on was both revealing and validating for me: on one hard, if I took it simply as an “exploration into the gay world” or “exploration into this chorus”, it was interesting, since it allowed me to discover a lot of new things — behaviors, dynamics, cliques, motives; on the other hand, it was validating because it confirmed my sense that this idea of us being “one big, welcoming, loving family” is, at least partly, a fake, a cover for something that in reality is much more fractioned and dysfunctional and sometimes even straight up nasty. Whether I want to stay in a group that has such dynamics and behaviors, or not, is something I haven’t decided, yet. But it became even more clear to me last night that if I do decide to stay, it is vital for me to pull back from these people and just sing with them and/or to find & stick to “my people” within the larger group.

The guys from last night might be “my people”, or some of “my people”. I felt safe and comfortable with them, despite not really knowing them all that well. I was able to observe the dynamics between the three of them, see the genuine care they had for each other with no cattiness, no jealousy or envy, and no “alternate motive”, i.e. simply as good friends or buddies. And that was then the dynamics that was established with me, too: as buddies. The three of us who went out dancing together went as a group and as friends, with the explicit agreement to look out for each other, to check on/in with each other during the night, and to not leave each other alone at the club. Of the three of us, one of them is in a monogamous relationship, and thus uninterested/unavailable to pick up/be picked up at clubs; the other is single, demisexual, and partly interested in finding someone at the club but also shy and awkward about it; and I am single but ace and uninterested/unable to pick up/be picked up at clubs. So we stuck together as a unit at the club, occasionally egging on the single, demisexual guy to try and make contact with people he might be interested in. We took a Lyft all together to & back from the club, checked in on each other during bathroom breaks, and texted each other when we each got home to their final destination. At all times I felt safe and cared for like I do with my close queer friends or with my climbing/running buddies.

I realize that a great part of why I felt so safe and comfortable with them, despite not really knowing them well, is because the dynamics between them and hence with me was familiar to me: it resembled the dynamics I have with my close queer friends and with my cis-het climbing/running buddies. Despite these guys being openly & clearly gay, and specifically and openly “bottoms”, their behaviors and dynamics with each other as sincere (platonic) friends are like the camaraderie I see among my cis-het climbing/running buddies, both between each other and towards me. Apart from being heartwarming, this was also a relief for me because I recognized and understood what was going on, it didn’t all feel like a foreign language to me. Yes, there’s still a lot that I don’t know or understand about what goes on in their “world” from the sexual viewpoint — there’s still a lot for me to learn or discover there, if I want to. But last night was chummy and platonic, and specifically chummy and platonic between cis-men, and that I do know, that I do understand, that is familiar territory for me, territory that feels safe and comfortable to me.

That allowed me to truly relax and fully be my authentic self and thus enjoy myself.

Fundamentally at odds with these people?

Am I going insane or are other people blind?

There’s a passage in the book Unmasking Autism by Dr. Devon Price that mentions how autistic people, while often not picking up on neurotypical “social queues”, are actually much more perceptive and better at “reading the room” that neurotypical people. Is that what’s going on for me within the chorus and other social situations? Or am I, instead, the one who’s insane, misunderstanding, at odds with the world? And if so, why? Is it my European background, my multi-culti, partly dysfunctional upbringing, or my “having a chip on my shoulder” (as my mother used to say in a bitchy tone)?

Once again, I had a nearly sleepless night after a chorus event yesterday. The anger and pain and disappointment in me were so intense that I couldn’t fall asleep for hours and when I finally did, my sleep was fitful and restless.

There we were, about fifty of us, nearly half the chorus, at an extra/voluntary end-of-season event which included performing a couple of songs for the audience at an outdoor viewing of a movie in a city park and then our end-of-season banquet. And while we sat around in the park waiting for the moment when we’d have to perform, I went over to say Hi to one of the guys with whom I’ve had a few friendly interactions, including at the Pride 5k race ten days ago. And he and another guy from the chorus, both married and with their husbands present at the event, said how lovely it was to be here all together, how we (i.e. the chorus) are a big, loving family, all friends. And I just couldn’t help myself and said, “Do you really think so? I find there’s lots of different cliques and some catty behaviors that I wouldn’t expect from friends”. They both seemed surprised, almost shocked (they’ve both been in the chorus longer than I, for several years). What’s wrong? Are they really not seeing the cliquiness, the cattiness, some chorus members regularly left alone on the sidelines, some of the newbies struggling? Is their own friendship between each other (& the extra cushioning they get from having a steady partner) keeping them from seeing the reality of the chorus? Or am I overseeing things, overreacting to things, misinterpreting things?

After the little performance, as we walked to the nearby building for the banquet, I caught up with one of the chorus members who’s supposed to be one of my friends, one of the people who has offered to adopt me in his chorus family (he has admitted that there are different “families” within the chorus and that I might not have found “the right one”, yet). We agreed to sit at the same table for the banquet. When we got to the room, many of the tables were already partially or fully occupied, a couple were fully empty, and at one table towards a far end was sitting, by himself, a chorus member who lives in my same town and with whom I’ve carpooled several times (including last night). So I suggested we go and sit with him — it seemed the most obvious thing to me: you don’t leave someone sitting by themself at a dinner table at a group event, that’s just mean. I could tell my “friend” was a little hesitant, and I knew he was waiting for the rest of “his chorus family” (a few of the last people) to arrive for dinner, but we sat down at this table. Then, I rushed off to the bathroom and when I got back, my “friend” was gone, he had gone to sit at another, previously empty, table with “his chorus family”, leaving this other chorus member (& me) by themselves.

I was furious. Hurt, angry, sad, disappointed. I wouldn’t have been surprised if some other chorus member had behaved this way with me, or with this other singer with whom I’ve carpooled, but for it to be my “friend” to behave that way felt like treason, like the rug being pulled out from underneath me, like a dagger in my back.

Yes, the singer with whom I carpooled and who’s been in the chorus for several years now is far from being the “popular type”: he’s socially awkward and full of social anxiety (by his own admission) and can rattle on for hours due to their ADHD — but many people in the chorus do that. So, he’s not one of the “cool guys”, but so what? He’s a human being, a person sitting by themself at a dinner table, a member of this group — of this group that everyone insists on calling a “big, loving, accepting, welcoming family”. How can you leave a person alone like that? I was appalled.

I looked around the room and spotted another table where a few people with whom I feel comfortable/friendly were sitting and noticed there were three seats still available there. So I told my carpooling-fellow-singer that we could join that table. Admittedly, it took quite some convincing because of his social anxiety, but in the end I succeeded and we moved to the other table where we were welcomed not only at our seats but also into the conversation.

I’m so sick of this behavior.

But am I overreacting?

I read a quote the other day about “the six types of courage”, one of them being moral courage, i.e. standing up for what is right and doing the right thing even when it is uncomfortable or unpopular.

For me, some of the big “right things” include standing by a friend or helping someone in need, which might be as “simple” as keeping a lonely/awkward person company at a social event. Apparently, that’s not something that most people in the chorus see as “the right thing”, since I myself have been left sitting alone at a dinner table at chorus social events. So, I’m at odds with these people on something that is fundamental for me, fundamental to my core beliefs.

I hear chorus members, even last night, talking about all the love and support (both practical and emotional) they have received from other chorus members in moments of need, and I believe they must be true. So what am I missing here?

Is something fundamentally wrong with me? Or am I just fundamentally at odds with this group of people, like in those relationships where no matter how hard the partners try they’re just a mismatch?

On Hope (& Trust)

“

Hope is a slighter, tougher thing even than trust, he thought, pacing his room as the soundless, vague lightning flashed overhead. In a good season one trusts life; in a bad season one only hopes. But they are of the same essence: the are the mind’s indispensable relationship with other minds, with the world, and with time. Without trust, a man lives, but not a human life; without hope, he dies. Where there is no relationship, where hands do not touch, emotion atrophies in void and intelligence goes sterile and obsessed. […]

”

[from City of Illusions by Ursula Le Guin (1967)]

I see my own thoughts, my own feelings in these words written by this wonderful writer, Ursula Le Guin, almost half a century ago. And it was, essentially, one of the key thoughts of Viktor Frankl, as well, a Holocaust survivor and great neurologist, psychologist, and philosopher: the people who survived horrors and atrocities such as concentration camps were not necessarily the strongest or fittest; they were often the people who had hope, who had something to look forward to, something to keep them going.

Living in my mind — Living in my body

For most of my life, at least since middle school, I lived in my head, almost exclusively with my mind. Being trans, although I didn’t have the words for it, I suffered from (gender) dysphoria and so the more my body turned into a “female body”, the more I fought it, hid it, or ignored it. Being smart and autistic and fortunately able to adapt to, and excel in, the traditional schooling system I went through made it even easier and safer and almost “natural” for me to just focus on my intellectual abilities and interests. My body was just this container carrying around a very smart mind — something “neutral”, “ungendered”. And I took care of my body only to the extent to which it could add to my androgynity, mainly through intense or excessive exercise, adventures with my buddies, borderline eating disorders, and sometimes sex. But there was no sensuality, no relaxed pleasure in living in my body or relating to myself or the world physically: I either used it to excel athletically, or starved it to be as “linear” and androgynous as possible, or ignored it, while I focused on earning degrees and certificates, getting a PhD, learning, proving myself intellectually and professionally.

Now, it’s almost the opposite.

At last, in my early forties, I have the body I had always wanted, always dreamed of and chased. It’s here, it’s mine, even if for just a couple years before I get old and loose it again. And now all I want to do is live in this body of mine.

I’m glad I have a job that is interesting, intellectually stimulating, and socially meaningful. But I cannot get myself to really feel motivated in it or in any other intellectual endeavor at the moment. I’m tired of, or uninterested in, using my mind only. I want to use my body, live in my body, enjoy my body.

Partly, live in my body as an athlete. This, from the outside, may seem the same as how I’ve been living in my body for most of my life with the intense or excessive exercise and all the competitions. But in reality it’s different: because only now can I compete in/with the body that feels comfortably my own and within gender categories (preferably nonbinary, alternatively male) that are aligned to my identity. Winning races now as a nonbinary trans athlete has a completely different, and much more authentic and fulfilling, feeling for me than any of my victories when I had to compete as a “female”. (And the social and political act of me showing up, visibly and loudly and proudly, as a nonbinary trans athlete is also of paramount importance.)

But partly now I also live in my body with a sensuality and a pleasure that I did not know earlier in life. I love my body, I feel at home in it and I want to enjoy it. That’s it: I don’t think I really knew how to enjoy it — or I didn’t want to because I felt so dissociated from it. Now I want to enjoy it and I want to share the enjoyment, in sensual and/or sexual ways with other people. This is a new feeling for me — only from the past couple of years, since my gender-affirming top surgery. While coming into my aro-ace identity has helped me understand my relation to sexuality and relationships, the physical, sensual cravings have also become stronger and clearer to me as I have finally come home to my body.

But being aro-ace doesn’t make it sufficient for me to enjoy my body by myself — I crave to share the physical enjoyment.

Something died within me: nothing to look forward to

[Trigger warnings: death, loss, grief; depression.]

I spend a lot of time in my head: rumination, dreams, memories. The present is bleak, the future a black hole with nothing to look forward to.

Five years ago, with the COVID pandemic, something broke for me. Something broke me — the long illness, the complete isolation, the terrible loneliness. It triggered a depression from which I pulled myself out, at least partially, also by moving to Colorado.

The first couple years here in Colorado were wonderful: not easy — actually pretty hard — but wonderful, so full of exploration, so full of promises, of hope — life opening up again and giving me something to look forward to after the pandemic.

But then, two summers ago, something broke for me again, this time something personal, not a worldwide pandemic involving everyone. Within three weeks in the summer of 2023, I lost my father and a soul-mate/lover. And then, as the grief sank in over the course of the following months or year, I lost hope: I lost the hope of ever being seen, known as myself, by my father; of ever really having a connection with my family of origin; of ever really having a family/partner(s) of my own (as I realized I’m aro-ace); and of ever really having the career I was hoping for (as my prospects in academic became null).

I have lost hope.

This is what is making me feel all of a sudden so “old”: it’s not the difference between being 41 or 43, it’s the loss of hope. All of a sudden it’s gone, like a switch was flipped.

I used to enjoy the company of people who are much younger than myself, many of my friends here in the U.S. have been a decade or so younger, partly because of the exuberant energy I used to have. But now I don’t enjoy being around younger people as much because I cannot relate to them anymore: I feel so “old”, even when I often have more energy and/or am more fit than they are. The point is, they still have hope, they still have careers, dreams, relationships, goals to work towards, to look forward to, while I feel I don’t anymore.

I used to love to teach and I was a beloved educator and public speaker, walking into rooms full of enthusiasm that would engage almost any audience. But that’s also something I cannot do anymore: I can feel myself walk into meetings or lectures with a dullness or bitterness that I have to fight back, struggle to suppress and hide.

The losses in summer of 2023 of those two people I loved so dearly killed something within me, thus changing me, for the worse, forever.

Crumbs

One of the reasons I left California and moved to Colorado in January of 2022 was because I was so lonely in California, having been unable during the six years I lived there to make friends locally in a way that fulfilled my relational needs.

I chose Colorado because, among other things, I found it relatively easy to make good friends locally with whom I could actually do things.

I’m realizing now, though, that with the exception of two or three friends, the depth and strength and connection I felt in most of those relationships were an illusion. Like a person rambling in a desert at the end of their resources sees mirages of oases, so I saw more than what was there in those friendships.

I’m not saying my friends don’t care about me. I know and believe that they genuinely do. But what they can give me in terms of time and affection and availability is crumbs, while they give their romantic/sexual/nesting partners whole loafs and even cake. I’ve been surviving on those crumbs, often even feasting on those crumbs, celebrating them as if they were cake. Because I was so starved that those crumbs often did feel like delicious cake.

But those crumbs were not — are not — cake. They’re not a sufficiently nourish loaf of hearty bread. They’re crumbs of hearty bread: good bread, for sure, but still only crumbs. And one cannot survive merely on crumbs.

As I’ve been going through a few “friend breakups” or big disappointments with good friends in the past few weeks, I’ve been wondering, “Why now? Why did I put up with it for three years and now, almost all of a sudden, I’m just not taking it anymore?”

Part of it is seasonal: every time the summer comes around, I am faced more clearly, more explicitly, with the fact that my friends don’t make big, long-term plans with me, like summer vacations: so I cannot delude myself into thinking that the time they spend with me (those crumbs) is as important or fulfilling as the the time that I would really need and that they instead dedicate to, and plan with, their romantic/nesting/sexual partners.

The other part is increased awareness for me and having reached a breaking point, a combination of “This is what is really happening” & “I can’t do this anymore”. And this was caused, I dare say, by the circumstances with the gender-expansive gay guy with whom I had hooked up in the winter and had a final reckoning & breakup in April. The situation with him was an extreme example of someone not putting nearly as much effort as me into the relationship and, of course, he didn’t care about me or love me as my friends do. But thinking about my needs in the situation with him, forced me to be more honest with myself about my relational needs more in general and as I asked myself why I didn’t put up with certain behaviors from him, I also found myself having to answer the same question about similar behaviors from many of my friends. In many ways that situation with him was a wake up call or a call to reality for me: that and some concrete situations with friends this spring. As my gut finally rebelled saying I couldn’t continue accepting crumbs from the gender-expansive gay guy with whom I had hooked up, it also opened my eyes to all the other situations where I have been surviving on crumbs.

And I simply cannot do that anymore.

Where to go from here, what to do? I’m not sure, yet.

The system, society, amatonormativity are certainly to blame, are the root cause for this. But if I limit myself to blaming the system, I’m not going to go very far and I’m just going to continue feeling angry, hurt, bitter, and starved. So, I’m going to accept my part of responsibility in all this (e.g. my being delusional); I’m going to take the advice from some other single people and step away from my partnered friends unless they make more concrete steps towards me; I’ve signed up to AVEN, to see if I can find advice and/or connection with other ace/aro people.

Will this help? I don’t know. But I just cannot live on crumbs anymore.

Why I run

I run because I hurt.

I run because the rush of endorphins gives me some temporary joy,

a momentary reprieve.

I run so I can listen to my music

regulating the emotions through motion.

I run so I can keep fit.

I run so I can feel fit

and, thus, worthy to myself.

I run because it makes me feel powerful,

this movement powered by my own body.

I run to be alone.

I run because I am alone.

I run because it’s something I can do by myself,

without depending on anyone.

I run to escape.

I run to run away.

The hard truth

[Trigger warning: grief; suicide.]

A praise I have often received from close friends and even from some acquaintances is that I am real: clear and honest in the assessment of reality, seeing things & saying things as they are.

It’s a praise I appreciate because I recognize myself in it — at least, most of the time. Some aspects of reality, though, I have been overlooking or trying not to see.

Over the course of this Spring, I have been getting more real with myself about many relationships I hold dear, and it has been painful because I have been confronted with the reality of not counting for these people as much as they count for me.

I moved out here to Colorado because in California I was too lonely and because I wanted to climb more. At the beginning, for the first years & a half, it was great: I did, in fact, meet people and bond with folks faster than I ever had in California and I got several climbing “buddies”, some of whom became regular climbing partners and some even friends. But the past two years have been rough and getting worse: my buddies have been getting more and more into their cis-het-amatonormative relationships with girlfriends or wives; my climbing fitness has decreased noticeably, affected by the grief & sorrow from the losses in the summer of 2023 and then a continuous string of injuries and surgeries. The combination of the these two factors — my decreased climbing fitness and their increased commitment to their girlfriends/wives — has effectively led them to lose interest in climbing with me. I have tried to hide this fact from my own self, trying to find excuses for my buddies, trying to be patient with them and gentle with myself. But I cannot hide the truth, this hard truth, from myself anymore.

The last straw, or last proof, came yesterday evening when my closest climbing buddy & I decided to cancel the trip we had planned for this long weekend to go climbing together because I’m not doing great physically. Now, honestly, I would have gone on the trip anyway, despite my general fatigue, because I know I could have pulled it off and maybe gone for some hikes instead of three days of intense climbing — I really needed to get out of town and do something fun or special this weekend, and I had told my buddy as much explicitly. I would have gone on the trip for the company and the adventure with my buddy: whether I got to climb three 5-pitch routes or only one easy 5.6, I didn’t care, the value for me was in being out of town with a friend. But, apparently, for him the value lay elsewhere, i.e. in high-level climbing; and since I cannot do that right now, then a weekend traveling with me isn’t of value for him. And he can’t even promise me a rain check for later this summer because it depends on plans with his wife — once again, I come after spouses, families of origin, romantic partners, and whatnot.

And it’s similar with my other buddies: folks in the climbing group from the Moab trip already have their plans for this summer, either with stronger climbing partners or with their romantic partners, plans that they are unwilling to change; my running buddy in Durango I get to see and/or hear from only when I reach out (as most of my friends); my local running buddies are basically out the whole summer with their wives and families; my non-local friends are far away living their own lives; and even one of my only two close local queer friends has shown from their most recent actions that their wife and their polycule are a much higher priority than I am or that I ever will be.

I am just so tired of — and so hurt by — people having to ask their wives or check with their partner(s) whether they can do something with me, make time for me, or not. What is this bullshit?? Can’t they just, every once in a while, say, “Hey, honey, tomorrow I’m going climbing with my buddy so I won’t be around all day”, or “This weekend I’m taking a trip with my buddy so I’ll see you in three days”. How can that be so difficult, so impossible, so hard for them to do?

I am so, so sick of this. So tired of this.

Here I am, on the threshold of yet another summer with no plans with anyone, nothing to look forward to. And it gets worse every year because I’m getting older and hope dwindles: a few years ago, I still had hope, or maybe the force of desperation, to keep me going, to give me the energy to keep trying, to seek out people and opportunities or to get on the road and just go by myself and enjoy it.

But I have no hope, no energy left. So often now, the only thought I have is how to get out of here for good, once and for all.