My Firekeeper and I

We have a great thing, my firekeeper and I.  The fire he keeps, and tends to so diligently, as if he was created for this very job, keeps me warm and sets my creativity ablaze.  It is next to the golden glow on a windy fall night that I have my best ideas and thoughts, and plans for new creations.  It is within the circle of warmth my firekeeper and I have discussions on big things.  Like how cool it is to be sitting by the fire on a cool night, after our daily work is done, and keep vigil with the farmer on the next hill harvesting his corn at night before a harsh weather change marks the end of Indian summer.  Or how we can imagine our first Christmas in our new home, when the kids come home and family gathers for dinner.  In this circle, it is safe to speak of such fragile things.  In this sanctuary, we are far away and protected from the cold realities of the world.  

To watch him tend his fire is to watch a ritual or an act of worship as old as time itself.  As if the gift of the flame is to be protected, cherished, fed, nurtured.  This particular fire consumed the cardboard boxes leftover from our move from the city.  As the burnt layers of the cardboard got caught up in the wind, and danced across the darkness just outside the boundary of the firelight, I smiled.  For some reason it brought me a momentary feeling of joy, as I imagined the sparks consciously fleeing from the fire, anxious to shine their own light.  My firekeeper didn't see it that way.  He was genuinely concerned that an escaping spark could by accident catch something ablaze that wasn't meant to be.  (Even though we are just out of a rainy fog that seemed to hover over our hill like a damp sponge).  As he stood beside his fire, fire-keeping staff in one hand, his eyes focused intently on the escaping sparks, the glow from the fire highlighted his features.  I could see the glow on his brow line, the shadow his stubble cast into the orange glow on his cheekbone, and the straight line his shoulders make.  Although no threat was present, I felt safe.  I felt at ease.  I felt like my firekeeper would protect me and keep me safe, just as he does his sacred fire. 

As the light from a thousand stars fade into the purple gray clouds roiling in, the fire is no more than pumpkin orange coals, and occasional flame that flares out.  Big things were discussed during this fire, and as we readied ourselves to settle for the night, the farmer on the other hill was done with his daily work.  My firekeeper and I retreat to our bed for the night, and all is well in our world.  And after tomorrow's work is done, we will meet in the same place, my firekeeper and I.  And while he keeps watch and tends the fire that so feeds my soul, I will create and dream big.  

Running Out of Fuel

Yes, that is my truck.  Yes, that is a correct fuel reading.  And yes, this created a full meltdown for me.  After running around all morning, covering most of Onondaga county, I stopped home to wash up and change for my doctor's appointment later that afternoon, and this is how I coasted into my driveway.  No cash on me, a ton of running around left to do, and no money in my account to cover gas.  The frustration level I felt at that moment was probably the most frustration I had ever felt.  Seems like something that happens to everyone once or twice, no?  In the grand scheme of things this was just a small bump in a day filled with bullshit and fuckery.  The thing about that kind of frustration is, it makes me cry.  There, I said it.  Total frustration of that level, as well as extreme anger, make me cry.  But so does any strong emotion.  Not sure if it is a Bi-polar thing, but there it is.  My frustration wasn't just because it seemed like a hopeless situation.  My frustration stemmed from the fact that we have been working so hard lately.  It has been a non stop grind for about a month now.  12 hour days for Mark, 12 hour shop days for me.  There is always something to do.  Always someone to help.  And there really isn't an end in sight for the near future.  A side trip to the hospital for a flare-up put us behind in everything.  When we get behind in orders, it directly effects the money I can bring in.  Don't get me wrong, I don't regret any of it.  I was just particularly tired.  I wasn't just running out of gas in my truck, I was empty across the board.  With so much left to do and prepare for, I was panicking and totally overwhelmed.  Not to mention we have been working so hard and it seems as though we are getting nowhere.  Any of you ever felt that way?  Any of you ever feel like you are screaming at the top of your lungs to those in your life "I am exhausted!  I am spent!  I am (you fill in the blank), and it falls on deaf ears?  I was ready and prepared to plan and stay at my own pitty-party.  Then a total change of perspective happened.  And here is what I learned. 

1.  Anything worth doing, anything worthy of time, attention, and sacrifice, anything that is good, is gonna be challenging.  It is almost like the universe has to test what you are made of to see if you are worthy of what you are trying to attain.  For us, it is working towards a better life, more suited for who we are and what our life goals are.  We have a move to the country coming in 3 weeks, and a wedding in less than 3 months.  So while it seems like we aren't making any progress, there are 2 goals we are working towards, and accomplishing.  Sometimes you have to keep your eyes on the end result, the end goal.  It is hard to do, but from that perspective, we are right on track.  It is difficult, but it is so worth it for us, and these struggles are temporary.  Anything worth doing is going to be work.

2.  I learned my limits.  I will keep my head down and power through just about anything.  And I have.  It isn't easy losing everything, coming out as gay, and managing a debilitating illness, all while trying to rebuild my life.  But I did it.  I am doing it.  I just don't know when to power through and when to rest.  I have gotten so caught up in what's next to do, what has to get done, and not wanting to let people down that I wasn't listening to my own body.  My soul wasn't getting fed either, and instead of taking a small rest, I pushed through because that was what men do.  Screw that shit.  My body had other plans, and I was completely sidelined for a few days to recover from another flare up.  Instead of addressing the way I was feeling empty and lost, I just ignored it.  Instead of looking at why I am not feeling fulfilled, I pushed it aside.  Until seeing I was 3 miles to empty.  Until realizing I had hit my limit.  Listen, I will gladly go through hell and back for me and mine.  I will work to accomplish something until I physically can't.  This week has taught me a little more about how a little self care and being vocal about my needs can spare a lot of frustration and conserve a lot of energy.   Learning my limits will also help me with prioritizing and focus, accepting that some things are going to have to be put off so others get my full attention.  The bottom line is if I don't stay motivated, if I don't pace myself and make sure I am ok, the business doesn't run.  The move doesn't happen.  A wedding doesn't get planned.  Learning my limits and accepting them will help prevent that from happening.

3.  This one is rough for me!  lol.  I learned that my priorities are not everyone else's.  Gasp!  Let that sink in.  Actually let me say it again.  My priorities are not everyone else's.  Seriously though, how much frustration do we cause ourselves when we don't communicate?  I think I have this assumption most times that everyone else sees things the way I do.  Or at least they should.  After all isn't my way the best?  Aren't the things I deem important really important?  (That was sarcasm).  What I am saying is this.  Communication is key to keeping the peace during stressful situations.  It is the only way we can get through sticky situations and tough times as a team, or as a family.  I learned this week that my priorities are just that-MY priorities.  Other people have their own priorities.  This isn't negative or selfish, but in order to be aware of what other people have going on and make them aware of what you have going on is to communicate.

4.  I think the biggest thing I learned is this:  tough times pass.  Storms come and go.  Things aren't gonna stay as bad as they seem.  Look for the positives.   Steal away those little moments where something made you laugh, or you felt loved, or something went right, or an anonymous donor dropped a few hundred in my lap.  ( I am kidding.  That didn't happen.)  Cherish those.  It is hard to see sometimes, but they are there in amongst the rubble you are trudging through.  It's like that Rodney Atkins song " If you're going through hell, keep on moving".  All we can do is literally all we can do.  

So there it is.  A perfect shitstorm of a day, and I survived and learned a few things.  Here is how the rest of the story goes.  I took some cans and bottles back, put gas in the truck and carried on with my day.  I got some writing done like my therapist said, (that was my homework), and today, I took a breath and created something new.  Actually created 3 things new.  And listed them all.  And sold them all.  Things are starting to look up.  We have some road to travel, but we are traveling it.  And I am not driving around on empty anymore.  I have 130 miles to go 'til empty.  And about that left in my gas tank

Encounter

The bright morning sun lit up the new snow as if it was illuminated deep within each snowflake, all combining their light. The sky was clear, and brilliant in blue. The air stings my face, but at the same time fills my lungs with crisp, pure air, settling into the deepest part of my core. I look to the top of the hills on each side of me, feeling protected and safe within the valley's confines. The gleaming snow seems to light the woods that surround me from within. As I make my way up the snow covered path, the blue sky is broken above. The bare, dark tree limbs seem to come together against the topaz blue sky, and the stained glass cathedral before me opens up. The snow crunches underneath my feet as I walk deeper into the hidden inner sanctum that seems to call for me. The air still stings my face, but as I walk into a clearing, I pass through a warm, bright spot that makes me look up and acknowledge the sun, appreciating it for the warmth and light it brings.

A dark gash appears to cut through the white that surrounds me. As I hear the rushing water, I realize it's a stream cutting through the ancient hillside, exposing boulders from the beginning of time. Seems the forest was a busy place last night. The clean, smooth snow that was in front of me when I started my journey is now broken up with tracks in the snow, and stained with the colors of the mud underneath. Deer, raccoon, cayotes, and a scattering of little tracks all led to and from the stream.

As I continue walking along the stream, I can't help but notice all of the sounds I didn't hear before. Birds chirping, carrying a melody as old as creation. Squirrels through the new snow until they get to the layer of leaves covering the fallen acorns. The sound the tall pines make in the wind when their branches collide, like faint music from old worn out wooden wind chimes. The faint thuds of the pine cones falling and striking the ground seem to keep a beat, like drums in a distant parade, keeping pace as I walk along. The forest this day was alive with color and sound, and I had first row seats in the symphony of creation.

In a moment, the pace of my steps came to a halt as I saw movement and heard commotion up ahead. At a place where the sun broke through the trees and filled the stream bed and forest floor with light, there was a deer peeking at me through the trees. As I took two more hesitant steps, the hillside a head of me came alive with motion. The beast in front of me wasn't alone. Trailing behind the strong, majestic deer I had seen, were three more smaller deer. I stood and stared into the eyes of this animal, and it stared back. There was a recognition between us. An old relationship, as if we had met before. The ancient in me, recognized the ancient in her. We connected in the sense that we were both alive, created by the creator. I nodded my head, and as if she knew I wasn't there to harm or threaten them, she led her family across the stream, bounding with one leap from bank to bank, and the deer behind her did the same. It was most certainly a spiritual moment, not in the religious sense, but in the sense that we were both worshiping and communing with the creator.

As I make my way back down the path which led me to that encounter, I couldn't help but be slightly sullen, I knew that as I left the woods, I was leaving my sanctuary. A safe, sanctified place, where you can't help but encounter God. From the choir of nature, echoing the sounds of time, to the reverence that the stained glass windows of trees and sky demand, evidence of the creator abounds. Recognizing a timeless connection I have with all of the creator's creations filled me with a sense of longing to reconnect with that more. A walk in winter woods is all the church I need.

And So I Walk

Many of you that know me, know that I walk quite frequently.  Most of the time, anywhere I have to go is within walking distance to home, so it makes sense to walk as opposed to drive.  I don't really drive much anymore.  If it's a trip to the grocery store for dinner, or a craving for an iced coffee at Dunkin, I can handle that instead of waiting for Mark to get home.  Of course there is the fact that we are a one vehicle family.  But aside from those things, it has really become my main form of exercise, and it is working.  I am down thirty pounds since February.

There are times when I get stuck on a particular idea when I am writing, or when I am working in the shop.  Inevitably, I get so frustrated that I have to walk away for a bit.  Just to clear my head.  To get some air coursing through my lungs.  The walls in this place can sometimes feel like they close in on you, and that can stifle any creative thinking.  And so I walk.  It helps me refocus.

Weather doesn't really stop me from walking.  I have walked in the snow, in the rain, in the heat.  I actually do have to admit that when it is about as cold as the arctic during the winter, my walks are short and brisk.  The thing is, in each weather type, there is a benefit for a weary mind, or a tender heart.  I love the way the rain refreshes in the spring and summer, and the way it makes all of the colors in the fall pop.  When I am stuck in the silent spaces in my heart, the rain provides a very soothing, almost empathetic setting.  I love the way the sun energizes and inspires.  The peacefulness of the snow in the winter, especially at night, is simply magical.  These times, these moments have become so precious to me.  And so I walk.  It helps me appreciate and recognize the beauty of the climate we get to live in!

As much as I would like to deny it, sometimes I walk to avoid confrontation.  I have a huge heart, and I can be very in touch with my emotions.  I am very passionate at times, and sometimes it is misdirected.  I love hard.  And I can fight harder.  So before a situation gets out of control, and communication has turned into a battle cry, I need an escape.  An out.  And so I walk.  In the silence of my solitude, I try to sort out the voices and the crazy battle raging in my head.  Walking brings me clarity, and gives me a chance to stand down.

I walk through abandoned city blocks, and I wonder what used to be.  I see the houses that are falling apart in my neighborhood, and I can see young families just starting out in this city a hundred years ago.  I wonder if there were ever any block parties, and what trick or treating used to be like back in the good ole days.  I see the sprawl of a growing city, and the by-products of poverty and drugs.  I see the revitalized and renewed areas of this city, as well as the areas suffering the decay of the slow death of the inner city areas.  I see the same cracked out prostitute just about the same days and times every week.  I walk past the steady group of guys that pan handle and sling bootlegged DVDs.  When I walk the trails down at the inner harbor, I see the same guys, every time I am there, cruising the area looking for a quick hook-up.  The characters are always the same. I watch and I observe.  I notice small details, like the flowers that fight and struggle, reaching for the sky, in crack on the sidewalk, or in amongst the trash and debris of abandoned spaces.  I listen to the steady rhythm of the various construction equipment in use around the area.  I talk to the cashiers at the gas stations, and the young woman that always takes my order and makes my coffee at Dunkin Donuts.  wonder about the people I see and come in contact with throughout my walks.  I notice when someone new is hanging around, or when someone who is a regular isn't around.  Most often than not, these walks are what I turn to when the loneliness gets overwhelming, or the noise in my head gets too loud.  These people I see and pass and interact with have become players in my show.  I wonder about their pasts.  What drove this woman to use her body to pay for her addiction?  Why doesn't this able bodied guy always begging for money have a job?  Sometimes I make up their back stories.  Other times I say a little prayer for them.

Still there are other times when I really just want a Java Monster or a candy bar.  And so I walk.

Building a Family

family

noun  fam·i·ly  \ ˈfam-lē , ˈfa-mə- \

plural families

1a : the basic unit in society traditionally consisting of two parents rearing their children;also : any of various social units differing from but regarded as equivalent to the traditional family 

• a single-parent family

b : spouse and children 

• • • • 
        
    • I wanted to start out with the dictionary's definition of a family.  This portion is what applies to this post.  It is especially poignant to me because the very first sentence is how almost everyone understands a family.  The part that really speaks to me is that the definition doesn't just stop there.  It then goes on to state that a family is also defined as "any various units differing from but regarded as equal". 
     
    As Mark and I prepare for our upcoming wedding, we have been talking about the idea of what makes a family.  We have answered questions from family members on both sides about how we will "work" as a family.  We have even been asked to describe our day to day routine with the kids.  Mark has been asked many times if he is ready to take on the responsibility of a ready made family.  All these questions have done a couple things.  First, it kind of pisses me off.  Clearly, especially since we have been functioning as a family for a couple years now, we have both looked at that.  All of the challenges and issues that come with being a blended family have already been worked through and discussed.  The second thing these discussions and questions have done is made Mark and I reflect on these very challenges.  It has forced us to talk about our own families and upbringings.  About what we want to instill and model for the kids, especially in light of the relationship models they have had early on.  They have seen relationship dysfunction play out.  
    
    (For the record, I am not pissed about any of the questions and concerns raised to us anymore.)
    
    With all of the questions and uncertainties that we ourselves have worked through, and some remain, and with all of the questions and concerns others have raised, here are the things that are certain.
    
    We already are a family.  From the very first date Mark and I went on, he was accepting that he was dating a father, and with that came certain limitations.  He has embraced each one of the kids, and they have their own special connection.   From the instant we moved in together, in a very unspoken way, he has become my partner in all things family.  Including parenting.  He does seem like somewhat of a natural.  Although I am their father, most often I discuss parenting issues and decisions with him first.  He is just as much invested into the kids lives as I am, but his investment is by choice.  That is powerful.  On Christmas morning, I got the phone call every parent dreads.  JB, our oldest, had been in a car crash.  He was just as upset a twisted in knots as I was.  At first I thought he was being supportive and empathetic, but when he shed some tears over it, he explained that he was just as worried as I was.  He stayed strong all day.  He got the other kids ready for the day, while I went to the hospital with my son.  OUR son.  Although that will go down as one of my most emotional and terrifying Christmases, it was also the Christmas that I realized, maybe for the first time, that our relationship, our life together, is bigger than just us.  My brother and sister gained a brother.  My mother, another son.  And he fits.  His father is gaining another son.  A set of grandkids he didn't ever expect.  Even my ex-wife feels a sense of commonality with Mark, simply because of the kids.  We are all connected now, and it is all because of one date.
    
    Here is what else is certain.  Both Mark and I are committed to do whatever it takes to tackle and overcome any obstacle.  We already have.  We have supported each other through our own separate journeys of healing and restoration.  We have comforted each other through sadness and hurt.  We have celebrated each other's victories and successes, understanding fully that each individual step is also a step for US.
    
    So back to the definition of family.  Another part of the definition that I love is this:
    any of various social units differing from but regarded as equivalent to the traditional family 
    
    I know it's a novelty to some people, but we really do have a very average, even sometimes mundane household.  Seems pretty equivalent to a "normal" family to me!  We all work together to keep the house up when the kids are home.  We have laundry days.  We have overdue library books.  We have times where we get on each other's nerves, and the kids are making us crazy.  It seems as though there is never enough time to balance work, home and private time.  And seriously, why the hell is there always so many freakin' dirty dishes to do?  But we also have endless laughs, deep conversations about life and profound thoughts.  We have all of us crammed around a table playing cards with music blasting.  Sometimes we have bills to pay and things are tight.  Other times we have to save for truck repairs or new dental work.  That is what a family is.  It's covering each other's deficits.  It's still a little girl getting tucked in each night, only by two dads.  Sometimes its Christmas dinner with the entire family and the kid's mother.  Other times its making parenting decisions via text or messenger.  The bottom line is, the day to day business of being a family is still the same.  The love is still the same.  Having a place to belong no matter what is still the same.  And as far as how my kids understand family, well we could all learn a thing or five from them.  They understand family as a very different experience for everyone.  They understand that although it may be a little different than other families, in many ways it is still the same.  They totally understand that sometimes families have a mom and dad, or two moms, or two dads.  Sometimes there are divorces and marriages that grow and change our family, but its still the same, and they are just brought into the fold.  Sometimes, just sometimes, the struggles, hurts and life changes that had brought us all into this blended family are a very necessary thing in our journey.  Most importantly, they know that a family includes those in your life who aren't related.
    
    I'll close with this.  (I know, I know, land the plane already!)  When I think of the time in my life when I am old, and the kids all come home for family celebrations with their own families, the constant players will be the same.  I always see myself with Mark and the kids.  That's the constant.  Wherever we are, that's home.  The most exciting part is yet to come.  As people get married, or bring someone new to the family, and the cycle of life passes with each death and birth, our family will grow.  And change.  And look so different than how it started.
    
     Family always changes, but there is something about it that always stays the same.  This is the common bond.  It doesn't matter how your family came to be, or what it looks like now.  What matters is the love, support, and belonging that comes with being a family.
    
    
    
    
    
    

Happy Father's Day!

photo: Aiden Howe

I am typing this out in the truck while we are on an impromptu beach trip. (Don't worry, Mark is driving!) Of course with it being father's Day, my thoughts, memories, and a bittersweet nostalgia rule the day. My thoughts about my boys, and the journey they are all on. How fantastic is it that I get to be a part of them growing up, becoming men, and some day having families of their own. At this stage in my life it is such a cool thing to look forward to. Memories of my father, and father's days long passed. Memories of my daughter being born, and falling in love with her in an instant. Memories of the one and only Father's Day in my life that my dad was gone, and I didn't have access to my kids. I am so overwhelmingly full of gratefulness for what being a father, a son, an uncle, and a partner with a man who has become an amazing step father, has brought to my life.

Last night, after a hectic and crazy busy couple of weeks, Mark, the kids and I hung out at my mom and aunt's house. They live in an old church parsonage that is still connected to an abandoned church, and my aunt has turned it into an amazing hang out. Pool table, couches, a tv, a stereo system...it's great. My oldest 2 nieces were there, and my mom hung out with us as well. Couple beers, some awesome tunes, and some fun group dances ensued. We all did the cotton eye joe, the cupid shuffle, the macarena...we covered them all.  The love that we have for each other as a family is so evident in these times.  I thought about my dad, and all the times when the whole family was together and my dad would have these moments where he would just hang back, get quiet for a little bit, and watch. Listen. See his own children grow and have children of their own. I always wondered what my dad was thinking and feeling during those times. Now, I know.

Totally off topic, but we are flying down a country road, windows wide open, sun shining. Emma fell asleep on Aiden's shoulder, and Nate is listening to music. These are the moments I live for! I am pretty simple when it comes to father's day. Spending time with my kids and Mark is all the present I need. So, back to the topic at hand!

My dad was the same way. He loved it when the entire family was together. The boys helped us finish a couple monster projects Friday night, and they came out perfectly.  Emma even helped out with  the painting.  It was definitely a cool time of bonding as a family, everyone working towards the same common goal  Every parent knows that for as much as we get wrong as parents, there are these moments where we knw we got something right.  That's what this weekend was for our family.  something very right.

I feel like as each passing year goes by, and I learn and grow more as a father, (who will in the near future be a grandpa), I know my own father a little more.  He has been gone for almost eight years now, but I think that is how it works, isn't it?  you find out so much about your parents as you go through parenthood yourself.  One of the new realizations I have come to is just how much I am like my father.  My dad was a dreamer.  Life dealt him a shit hand, and he always had big dreams and big ideas.  Even through every setback and obstacle.  Even when his ideas or thoughts never really panned out, he was still taking about big plans.  Huge ideas.  Big dreams of what would make his life ideal.  He would get this sparkle in his eye, and get super passionate when he would tell me his latest plan.  In the excitement, his language got very...colorful??  (There is no way to make this polite.  the man had one of the most explicit vocabularies I have ever heard.)  He swore just as much when he was excited about something, as he did when he was angry.  His joy literally couldn't be contained.  Towards the end, he didn't talk big ideas and huge dreams.  He talked of regrets, and amends.  He spoke of the things he missed, like dancing with my mom.  Man how I miss that sparkle and enthusiasm now.  It comes out in me when I get excited or have another great (I think anyways) idea.  I get that same sparkle.  My vocabulary gets just as colorful.  And it always seems to be Aiden who this happens most with, but I get deja vu, and see Aiden as me or my brother Kyle, and me as my dad.  It's a pretty wild thing, and something I am so glad I got from my dad.  I think when you stop dreaming, and cultivating ideas, you grow old.  They may blow up in my face, and they may fail, but I will always be able to say I tried.  My dad was the same way.

I think deep down my father knew that he wouldn't accomplish all of his dreams and ideas in his lifetime. And in all honesty, I know deep down I won't accomplish all my dreams and plans as well.  But it is in that knowing, and that realization, and that drive to keep pushing towards something, that I know my dad more.  It is in that commonality we have that connects the past with the future, the old to the young.

So here is where I will wrap this all up.  Before we left the shore, Aiden was making rock stacks.  We talked about how these rock stacks were used throughout many cultures and religions, as altars, markers for direction, symbols of covenants and communion with God, markers of graves, monuments to birth, marriage, or commemorating a battle.  As he was making his stacks, I found a little nook in this tree right on the shore.  just out of reach of the branches was a large flat rock.  I took a few steps out to that rock and sat there reflecting, soaking in the sun and peace around me.  I gave thanks for my father, and all the things, good and bad he brought to my life.  I gave thanks for the life I have now, and for my children.  I gave thanks for Mark, and for the ways he has helped me be a better, kinder, more loving man.  then I slid off the rock and waded to the shore where that little nook was.  On the shores of Lake Ontario, on a picture perfect Father's Day, I built two rock piles, or markers.  One to commemorate the past, and the time I had with my father.  The other one was to commemorate the future, and the blessing I get to be a part of as my boys become their own men, and my daughter finds her place in this big world.

And Dad, if I never told you before, thanks for showing me how to dream.

Did Your Brain Surgery Make You Gay? Part 2

In case you missed part one, you can find it here:

https://thequietinme40.blogspot.com/2018/04/did-your-brain-surgery-make-you-gay-and.html

So at the moment, I am sitting in my shop, accomplishing nothing, with a total creative block going on.  That usually means I have something eating up too much of my thought process and energy.  The last two weeks have been very active as far as personal growth, both mental and physical.  There has been a lot of progress on the relationship front as well.  We are finally moving in a clear direction, and it has been a great process overall.  With all that said, I am pretty sure it is some things from my past that have been weighing heavy on me.  So that's what Part 2 is going to touch on.  More questions I was asked when I came out.  Except these are the heavy ones.

Before I get started, let me just say this.  While identifying facts and information has been left intentionally vague, there will be people that read this, especially those keeping tabs on me from my past, that will know the situations I am referring to.  It is not my intent to hurt, embarrass, or defame anyone's character.  While these people may have hurt me, and spewed vile hateful things from behind a keyboard, I will still take the high road.  You know, like all Christians should.

Very soon after it became public that I was gay, I started receiving messages on facebook.  These messages were sent before I unfriended almost everyone associated with my church history.  My "Christian" friends.  (As a matter of fact, these messages are what made me decide to cut ties with most everyone from my past).

This was one of the messages I received.  (I am going to paraphrase.)  Hey James.  (That is important because no one calls me James.  It has always been Jim.)  I received some rather disturbing news.  Is the reason your marriage is failing because you are a faggot?  (Yes, this "good Christian woman" actually used the word faggot.)  She was not a member of the church I was being ousted from.  This is a woman who had multiple kids in my youth and children's programs.  This is a woman whose children were at my house.  I baptized one of them.  I poured into not just these kids, but the entire family.  And they had also done the same for us.  She questioned my intentions in working with kids and teens.  She insinuated that she would grill her kids to find out if anything inappropriate had ever happened, and I had better hope they say no.  She then went on to tell me that I was a disgusting liar, and that I had deceived people for years, and God would deal with me and "my kind".  I was devastated.  My response to her was short and simple.  I stated that I would not judge her and her family for their many, many indiscretions and many issues I helped them through.  That was God's place.  I then wished her well, and asked her to never contact me again.  I wish I could say that message was one of few.  But it wasn't.  It was one of many.  No one bothered to contact me personally, or by phone or text.  This was all done behind a keyboard.  I would later come to find out that there were also church leaders, yes leaders, confronting my ex-wife about the spiritual well being of our kids since their father was no longer fit to lead them.  One woman in particular actually blamed my ex wife, and said she let the spirit of Jezebel into our home.  (I can't make this shit up!)  Here are the facts, and this will answer another group of questions I was asked:  Did your divorce/ex-wife/her affair make me gay?  The simple answer is no.

My ex-wife endured years of suffering towards the end of our marriage.  I was sick all the time.  I was in pain and miserable all the time.  She would find me passed out after a seizure many times.  Once I fell in the bathroom and smacked my head on the sink.  She came home to find me wedged behind the bathroom door, on the floor, bleeding.  She had found me in the driveway, in my truck, with it running, and I was out of it.  I wasn't much help with the kids because I still had to try to hold down a full time job.  I was exhausted and in pain all the time.  Years of going to family events alone with the kids, simply because I couldn't get out of bed.  We were horribly mean to each other, and hadn't even slept in the same bed for years.  She kept the household at least functioning during this time.  I think the brain surgery and ensuing lack of security was too much for our marriage to recover from.  We tried counseling, and she very plainly stated that she didn't think she could handle being married to a sick person.  The lack of love and affection drove her to an affair.  I am not going to air all the dirty laundry, and I am in no way absolving her responsibility in this.  It is what it is.  Long story short, our marriage was over long before we made it official, and long before I came out.  I loved my wife, and she loved me.  Until this point, we were committed to staying together, and making our marriage work.  We were going to try to work through the affair, until a meeting with our church leaders, where I stated that she would leave her job, cut off all contact with her lover, and get rid of her cell phone, or I would push for divorce.  She was unwilling to do that.  The church sided with her.  Even though the bible very clearly lays out that adultery is grounds for divorce, I was wrong for seeking it.  My oldest son and I were shut out.  The worst part is, she stopped attending church shortly after.  And this church set about wiping away any trace of the work I had done there.  All of it.  Like I never existed.  Like the work that God used me to do, was some how tainted.  The messages eventually stopped.  We have settled into a new normal for our family.  My ex-wife and my partner get along very well.  If it wasn't for our difference in parenting and the conflict that causes, we would be best friends.  She comes over frequently for dinner, with the kids and Mark and I.  It works.  And we are  in some ways, more of a functioning family now, than we ever were.  So, did my ex wife or my divorce make me gay?  No.  as a matter of fact, I was open with my ex-wife very early in our relationship and marriage that I at a minimum questioned my sexuality.  And when she finally found out that I was gay, well after we had split, she hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, and said now you don't have to hide anymore.  Be you.  Am I still a Christian since coming out?  Yes in the sense that I believe in a living God, and His plan for salvation.  What I do not believe in anymore, is the church.  I have not stepped foot in a church since coming out.  In some ways it is still to painful and overwhelming to think about.  But yes, I still read my bible.  Yes, even my Greek bible.  I still pray.  I still believe.  Just not in an institution that hurts more than it heals, that judges and condemns more than it loves and accepts, and that is not in any way what Jesus intended the church to be.  I loved on, supported, encouraged, and taught kids because that is what I was called to do.  Plain and simple.  For the "church" to slander, gossip, insinuate, and then shun me, God will deal with them as he sees fit.  Not my job.

Another question I have been asked a few times is Did your interests/mannerisms/values change?  This isn't a cut and dry yes or no.  Yes, in some ways all that has changed.  I am much more affectionate.  Not just with my partner, but my family and friends as well.  I think it is important for my kids to see that I am not some hard ass all the time.  As far as my interests? No.  Nothing has changed.  I still like, am interested in, and pursue all of the same things I did before I came out.  If anything, I have the energy and the freedom to explore my interests and hobbies more now.  I still like doing yard work.  I still like fishing and camping, although I don't get to do it as much as I'd like.  Hell, even my life hasn't changed that much.  I still do laundry and clean house.  I would still rather hang with my kids and my family and friends, than go out to clubs and bars.  I still watch the same tv shows.  What has changed is I value honesty, love, acceptance, and individuality, where as before, not so much.  I am still the same me.  Just more truthful about it.  I am much more open about sexuality, masculinity, understanding feminism, and what love can be and look like in all its various forms.  And I still think the same things.  Like when I see a woman who is sexy, confident, and killing it.  I verbalize that now.  And yes, every gay guy can appreciate a nice set of boobs!

I will end with this question.  Now that you are being true to you, who are you?

I am a man.  I love hard, and I fight harder.  I love masculinity in men, and femininity in woman.  But I accept and respect everything in between.  I am a father, not just in title.  I take the responsibility of raising a family just as serious as ever.  I just temper it with more love, acceptance, and fun than I used too.  I am most certainly a family man.  I love being a father, a son, a brother, and uncle.  I love that my family has accepted me and loved me enough to put up with my bullshit in the past, because they saw who I am now, when I couldn't see it myself.  I am a goofball.  I love to laugh, and have found my smile again.  I am wise beyond my years.  (Just not in my own life.  lol)  I give people way more chances than they deserve, and my heart is a little battered and bruised because of it.  But it still loves just fine.  I see the value and potential in people, even when they don't see it themselves.  I have a temper.  I'm working through it.  I am a pot head.  (All kidding aside, this is the reason for the improvement in my mental as well as physical health.  Helps with the pain, helps with constant nausea, and I don't feel like I am constantly on the edge of losing my shit.  If you'd like to judge me for that, feel free.  Just remember that alcohol kills thousands a year, and it is legal and socially accepted.  Marijuana has the potential to heal and restore.  The only reason it is illegal in some ways still is because of money.)  I love music.  I am a hopeless romantic.  I am a lover and a partner, and God willing, someday a husband again.  I am crazy, loving, passionate, sexual, creative, a procrastinator, loyal, funny, sarcastic, and kind.  I am more in touch with compassion and empathy now than I ever was.  Deep down I am still the same.  Just more free to be me.

And no.  My brain surgery didn't make me gay.

We Interupt this Regularly Scheduled Program For This Important Message About Mental Health Month

I know the next post was to be Part 2 of this post:

http://thequietinme40.blogspot.com/2018/04/did-your-brain-surgery-make-you-gay-and.html

However, being mental health awareness month, and some recent issues I have been struggling with, I figured now was a good time to write about this.  Many of you know my history with mental illness.  It's like a pink elephant in the room.  We all know it is there, but we don't talk about it much.  I don't talk about it much outside of my small inner circle.  (I mean I joke about it, but that is a coping mechanism.)  There is still a stigma attached to mental health.  There are a lot of myths and preconceived ideas still out there about mental illness.  For something that is so common, so overly diagnosed, and so destructive to individuals as well as families, I guess I kind of feel like those who can talk about it and have a dialogue about it, should.  So here goes.

My mental problems started to develop about two years after my brain surgery.  I had times of depression before, I am sure of it, but I never really understood mental illness.  My thought process prior to all this was that if people were depressed, or anxious, that it isn't a real mental illness.  Make some changes and get on with it.  In hind sight, I am sure I handled it very poorly, especially with family members and friends who were suffering at the time.

According to Psychiatric Times, 1 in 8 people will develop psychiatric conditions after brain surgery.  Combined with traumatic experiences going on in my life, I was struggling.  My primary doctor at the time put me on Wellbutrin and Lexapro.  I am in the small percentage of people who respond poorly to this combination of medicine, and was in the hospital within 3 weeks of beginning that medicine with my first overdose.  My intent was to kill myself.  That began a year long cycle of overdoses, hospitalizations, losing my kids and watching my life fall apart.  I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar type 2, with suicidal ideations, and generalized anxiety disorder.  It took 2 years to get a diagnosis.  2 years before someone in my medical team actually told me that mental illness is pretty common after brain surgery.  By the way, for some of you still following my life hoping to watch my demise, no, mental illness did not make me gay, and no, I am not mentally ill because I am gay.  My sexuality is what it is, and If I were being honest, I probably new I was gay when I was a teen.  According to the CDC, homosexuals are in fact at a higher risk for experiencing mental illness.  This isn't because of being homosexual, but the stigma and challenges of being gay in a world that has been built on heterosexual norms.  In 1973 homosexuality was declassified as mental illness in the UK.  In America, this didn't happen until 1986.  Also worth pointing out, specifically because of my past in the church and as a church leader, the bible does mention homosexuality.  6 times to be exact.  Never once did Jesus mention it.  The references to homosexuality in the bible aren't as cut and dry as the church likes to say it is.  Here is a good read, easy to follow, about this particular issue.

www.upworthy.com/there-are-6-scriptures-about-homosexuality-in-the-bible-heres-what-they-really-say

So with a newly revealed diagnoses, a couple of hospitalizations later, I decided it was time to take my life back, and gain some control over my mental illness.  I had a fantastic counselor who helped me through some of the worst times as far as symptoms go.  My medical team finally found treatments that helped me manage the worst of the pain, and as of typing this post, I have been almost 2 years without a hospitalization.  It is hard work keeping on top of your mental health.  Sometimes putting in the work is painful.  Sometimes it is as simple as trying new coping mechanisms.  So where am I at today?

I am struggling.  Where I would have manic episodes every couple months, they now are occurring every couple weeks.  (Seriously, look through my facebook feed.  Pretty easy to see when I am manic.)  This is common with bipolar, and usually just means it is time to tweak my meds.  Mark and I have become pretty adept at recognizing signs that precede a manic episode, but where we used to have days before to recognize it, sometimes now we have hours.  I have an amazing support system in place too.  Mark loves me through it.  He is the real unsung hero in this.  Never in my life have I had someone who throws himself into helping me through this, being their for me, and helping me get my shit together after the bottom falls out.  I know it is painful for him to watch and to go through.  There are times that I can see the hurt in his eyes.  He does a great job at understanding that these episodes aren't really me, but it still is hard.  Talk about love in action!  I keep my darkest struggles away from the kids, and Mark really helps me at keeping thing normal for them.  But they are smart, sensitive, and intuitive, so they know.  And they love me through it as well.  And then there is my best friend Wendie.  She lets me get only so far gone before she calls me out on it.  (Sometimes it takes some threats too.  She scares me.)  She really has become family to me and to Mark.  I have other friends who always seem to magically reach out to me, or even show up at my house when I am struggling.  They are amazing.  My family is amazing.  They love me so much, and want to see me happy, and whole, and succeeding.  I have everything I need to do well.  Yet, these episodes still occur.   No matter how much therapy and medication I throw at it, they will happen for the rest of my life.  I grapple with that almost daily.  But I am accepting it.

I want to try to describe what it feels like and how my manic episodes play out.  I will share some of the signs and things that have not only helped me, but Mark as well.  Mental illness is just a taxing on our loved ones.

For me, it usually starts with a day or two of being very productive.  In that time, my eating habits become almost non-existent, and there are times Mark will literally nag me until he sees me eat.  Sleep usually evades me for a couple days.  There aren't really any triggers, although when I have bouts of severe headaches, that escalates things quicker.  Usually the day of or the day before the bottom drops out, my attitude changes.  My thought processes and decision making becomes risky and destructive.  Last week, it got to the point where I was ready to run.  In my craziness, I truly thought I was going to be able to pack a bag, head south, and disappear.  Mark actually had to leave work early and come home to stop me.  When I am struggling really bad, I usually shave my head, and groom my beard very differently that I usually wear it.  I change my clothes two or three times a day.  Same with my hats.  The only thing I can attribute this to is just feeling off, knowing I am off, and trying to get comfortable, or at least not crawling in my skin.  I struggle with higher anxiety and paranoia for a couple days before my mood cycles.  I become mean.  I say things that are just awful.  This is the destructive part.  I withdraw from my family and friends, and get quiet on social media.  Usually just sharing memes or posts that I relate to.  Making plans during this time is impossible.  Going out terrifies me.  I become paranoid, and think everyone and everything is out to hurt me, betray me, use me.  Then it happens.  The bottom just drops out.  For a day or two, I cry for hours.  I rarely accomplish anything after that for a couple days.  Getting out of bed and getting dressed is even overwhelming.  For me anyways, the crash after a manic episode is way worse than the episode itself.  It literally feels like I am in this dark, unfamiliar place.  I am usually very quiet and withdrawn, and it starts to subside after a couple days.

During the days before a mood flip, when I am at my worst, there are some things that help.  First, Mark will usually respond with "you don't mean that", or "I'm not gonna engage you right now".  That usually gets me angry, but it stops the rage in its tracks, and I usually back down.  Yes, when I am in my crazy, I am aware of it.  It's like I hear my normal self, telling my crazy self to calm down.  Don't go there.  Why would you do something like that?  Myself is still in there, but I am helpless to take control back.  Mark also helps me by making sure we don't have any plans coming up, and he tries to keep anything stressful or any triggers at bay.  And then he loves me.  For me, the loneliness and the paranoia are the worst.  I feel so isolated.  Mark has gotten really good at finding me in the dark, bringing in some light, and leading me out.  If I am laying in bed because I couldn't do anything else, he lays with me.  Just so I know I am not alone.  He makes sure to give me hugs, and cuddles, and sometimes he just rubs my head.  All so I know I am not alone, he is still with me, and he isn't going anywhere.  When the paranoia takes over, he comes at me with facts and reason.  When it gets really bad and I am not listening to him, he brings in reinforcements.  He doesn't force me to do anything, or be productive.  When all is said and done, and all I can do is apologize and tell him how he deserves so much more than me, he reassures me that we have got this, there is nothing to apologize for, its out of my control.  He makes sure I understand that he isn't going anywhere, and he has worked on eliminating triggers.  He gives me hope.  He helps me feel like I can beat this.  And after this past week, he has encouraged me and supported me in getting back into critical treatment,  Which I start Wednesday.

Mental illness is most definitely the hardest battle I have ever faced in my life.  But with the right support, flexible treatments, and some love and understanding from my family and friends, I am winning.  I am succeeding at things I had written off a long time ago.  I am loved, and have learned how to be better at loving.  Mental illness is a part of me, but it doesn't define me.  So this month especially, reach out to those you know struggling with mental illness.  You don't have to give them advice.  You don't have to tell them what worked for aunt Mary.  Just let them know you love them, and that they matter.

Light and love to all you!

Did Your Brain Surgery Make You Gay? (And other fun questions I have been asked) Part 1

Yes, that is in fact a question someone asked me.  I laughed it off at first, you know, that nervous laugh you do in a really awkward situation.   But as I really thought about that question, I began to realize that whether I liked it or not, people were going to want to know what happened.  I would come to find out just how many people actually did want to know what happened.  Many people felt like they were entitled to know.  Many people actually demanded answers.  To a certain extent, there were some people who deserved to know.  Like my family.  Like my ex-wife.  Like my kids.  Other people who were friends wanted to understand, and wanted to make sure I was okay after a lengthy illness.  Oddly enough, when I "came out", the people who were closest to me, other than family, cut all contact with me.  There were a few of my Christian friends who stayed in contact with me, a few of whom I see regularly still.  My best friend was one of the ones who cut off contact with me.

Probably the first question was "Are You Sure?"  That's a fun one.  But it isn't quite yes or no.  There was one time when I was probably 9 or 10 years old, and a trip to the shoe store with my auntie was the first time I probably felt something different towards a man.  This was a classic shoe store, where an employee actually measured your feet for you to find out what size you were.  The employee that helped us was a young man, probably 18 or 20.  To this day, I remember what he looked like, the color shirt he had on, and his Italian horn necklace that hung off a thin gold chain.  At that age, I had no idea what the feeling I had was, but it was attraction.  Later on in high school I would come to realize that I was at a minimum, bisexual.  I had experiences with both sexes.  To make a long story short, could I still be in a relationship with a woman?  Probably.  But it would be difficult.  Being in love with a man, and building a life with a man, fits.  For the first time in my life, I am comfortable.  Nothing seems forced.  I don't feel like I am denying a part of me.  What I am sure of is that I am in love with a man who makes me a better me.  We fit.  it works.  It feels like home.

I think one of the questions that was most uncomfortable was from my brother.  He basically asked me if for all those years, I really believed that homosexuality was wrong and was really against gay marriage.  The fact of the matter is no.  I didn't and don't believe that homosexuality is wrong.  I wasn't and am not against gay marriage.  I can make no excuse for the kind of bigotry and intolerance I took part in.  There was a time that I hated myself for living a lie.  The church was a place for me to find acceptance.  I wanted the typical all American family.  I was successful in ministry.  I felt I had value in church, and I learned very early on exactly what the church feels about homosexuality.  An older man that was mentoring me in the first church I belonged to conveyed that message to me.  This was a man whom I trusted, who helped me get clean and sober.  In working through some issues, I confessed that I had homosexual attractions and thoughts.  He confessed that he did as well, but God had delivered him from that "sin".  And then proceeded to tell me that I am talented, and could have a bright future in ministry work.  And to never tell another soul in church.  Ever.  So I set about publicly adapting the church's stance, and praying to God everyday for years, to deliver me from the "sin" of homosexuality.  By the way, he didn't.  One of my regrets is that I remained quiet in many circumstances regarding the church and homosexuality, simply because I was trying to hide who I was.  I am still heartbroken with the fact that people I loved were hurt and offended by some of the beliefs I professed.

There was of course a handful of the standard questions:  Who's the woman?  (Neither.  That would negate the whole being attracted to men thing, no?)  Which do you like better, men or women?  (Clearly men, but that doesn't negate what I had with my wife.)  Why did I marry a woman? (This answer isn't so clear cut.  At the time when I realized I was probably gay, I was already in a relationship with my high school sweetheart.  I was coming up in a time when being gay wasn't accepted.  I wanted a family and kids, and back then that was hardly attainable for gay couples.  And I did love my wife.  I will talk more about that in part 2.)

I'll talk more about some of the more difficult questions I have faced over this journey.  My hope is that my story will help and encourage.  In the very least, maybe it will connect with someone who feels alone as they go through this journey.

And no, brain surgery did not make me gay.

I'm Good With Me

This morning was like any other morning.  Same groggy tossing and turning, hoping to get another half hour of sleep.  Same number of hits on the snooze button.  Same cracks, crunches, and grunts as always, although it is getting a little more noisy when I get out of bed.  You begin to notice these things around 40.  I opened the bedroom door and made my way to the bathroom.  (I'll spare you the details, and get to the point).  Brushing my teeth, I looked at my reflection in the mirror.  I stared into my eyes, still puffy from sleep.  After I recognized parts of my dad staring back at me, I began to question myself.  Who am I?  Do I like what I see?  Am I good with the person staring back at me?

I have pondered these questions many times before.  I think it is a very healthy thing to take stock of where you are and who you are every once and a while.  So after the normal list of things I'd like to work on, things I'd like to change, it was time for an answer.  Yes.  For the first time in my adult life, I can look myself right in the eyes in a mirror, and say yes, I am good with me.  Many, many things brought me to this point.  Experiences that were painful, yet necessary.  Situations I saw no clear path out of.  But I survived. 

On the outside, I am a divorced, disabled, overweight 40 year old father of 4.  Messy divorce, came out as gay.  Living in an ugly part of town.  Scraping by check to check like everyone else does.  But There is so much more to me and so much more to my life than can be summed up in a paragraph.

That's what this new blog is about.  How James Michael Howe got to this place in his life.  I'm gonna be honest, it was messy at times.  I made a lot of mistakes along the way.  There has been some hurts and some heartache.  There has also been an amazing amount of growth and change.  An amazing amount of love.  An amazing amount of blessings.  I am good with me.

Why blog about it?  Because I am at a place in my life where I can actually share some wisdom, some encouragement, and some lessons I have learned along the way.  Let me apologize up front to my mother, grandmother and aunties, there will be some messy parts.  Probably an occasional language slip.  (OK, probably a lot more than occasionally)  I am going to talk about faith, relationships, parenting, sexuality, spirituality, health, politics, and many other things.  There maybe times where I ramble on, and you may wonder where the hell I am going with this.  I promise, it'll be worth it.  If you knew me before, it will surely be a new introduction.  If you know me now, you will recognize many of the things we have probably talked about.  There will be some in my life that will have their questions answered.  There will be some who think this is a waste of time.  I will also have an incredible amount of support.  That's just how my tribe rolls.  

So why do it?  I feel like maybe this could be my legacy.  This could be something that my kids and grand kids will read.  And when I am long gone, they can read about my crazy life.  Maybe it will teach them a thing or two.  

Or maybe just make them laugh...