Existential Exercise: 10 Favorite Movies

A while ago, I wrote here about how I had experienced an “existential moment” when someone asked me to list my ten favorite movies.  I couldn’t do it.  I started into the exercise, then almost immediately froze, realizing I had no idea what my ten favorite movies are. This realization helped me to see just how out of touch I was with myself.

I have spent the past 10 days thinking about this, watching some of the movies that are listed below, and thinking about why I ultimately chose each movie that is on my list.  I am now very pleased to say that I have successfully compiled a list of my ten favorite movies, and because this represents such an important step for me, I wanted to share that list.  They aren’t necessarily listed in order of how much I like them; they’re just there, on the list.

Dead Poets Society

This is definitely one of my favorite movies, if not at the top.  I have written elsewhere of my love for this movie and my wish that I had had a John Keating in my life as a youth.  Keating calls to the boys to discover who they are, to reject convention and conformity, to live deliberately, instead of in quiet desperation.  Their slumbering spirits awake for a brief time, until one boy flew too close to the sun and plummeted to the earth.  This film evokes in me a desire to be alive to my self

August Rush

I love this film because it is a story about rising above one’s apparent assigned existence, having faith that destiny has called you somewhere else, and then having faith to go seek out and meet that destiny, believing all the while that others are called to meet you on your path and that they will come.  It features great music and wonderful performances by, among others, Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Robin Williams.

Invictus

What can I say?  A movie directed by Clint Eastwood about Nelson Mandela, South Africa, rugby and my favorite poem, featuring a truly inspiring (true) story with an amazing performance by Morgan Freeman.  And did I mention that Matt Damon plays the captain of the Rugby team?  Definitely a favorite.

Ordinary People

Ordinary People is a 1980 American drama that tells the story of the disintegration of an upper-middle class family in Lake Forest, Illinois (wealthy suburb north of Chicago), following the death of the older son in a boating accident.  The film won that year's Academy Award for Best Picture, and Robert Redford (Best Director) and Timothy Hutton (Best Supporting Actor) also won Oscars.

I loved this movie when I first saw it, and I was wondering how I would feel about it upon watching it again.  Once I got past the hair-styles and the very dated cars used in the movie, I found the message of the movie to be as timeless as it was when it first came out in 1980. It addresses the conventions of (upper-) middle-class families; the lack of genuine communication and of authentic relationships; the absolute need to keep up appearances and never, ever go below the placid surface of a family life that is, at whatever cost, to be maintained.

Timothy Hutton plays the role of the son (Conrad) who survived a boating accident; his older brother did not.  The movie explores what happened to Conrad in the wake of the accident, as well as what happened to his parents.  Conrad goes to see a psychiatrist, Dr. Berger (Judd Hirsh), who helps Conrad work through his trauma. 

Some quotable lines from Dr. Berger:  “It takes more energy to hold things in than it does to let them out.”  “Let me give you a little advice about feeling:  don’t expect it to always tickle.”  “Feelings are scary and sometimes they’re painful.  But if you can’t feel pain, then you can’t feel anything else, either.” 

Like I said, this film deals with issues and asks questions that resonate with me as much or more today as they did when I first saw the film years ago.  Particularly relevant was the depiction of the chain of events that ultimately led to Conrad’s father (Donald Sutherland) deciding he could not go on living a false existence with his wife.

It’s a Wonderful Life

I believe any man who has sacrificed all or a part of himself for the good of his family and/or for the good of others, while at the same time feeling like life’s parade has passed him by, can strongly relate to this movie.  Even though it was made over 50 years ago and depicts events going back to soon after the turn of the last century, it is timeless in its message. 

I am not at all sure that I had seen this movie before my mission.  One of my missionary companions said it was his all-time favorite movie, and I was embarrassed that I couldn’t recall ever seeing it.  This was remedied upon my return, and I now faithfully watch it every December, preferably on a dark and snowy night.  I annually work through the catharsis with Jimmy Stewart from that of hopeful youth, to (overly) responsible young man, to lost dreamer, to responsible married man, to resentful cynic, to – ultimately – a man who sees as he is seen, who is blessed with the rare and wonderful gift of understanding that his life has truly made a difference.  What can I say?  It makes me tear up just thinking about it.

Miracle

This is my favorite sports movie that goes far beyond being just a sports movie.  It tells the remarkable true story of the 1980 U.S. Men’s Olympic Hockey Team.  Inspirational, exciting, and nostalgic, capturing the mood of the country and the sense of the times.  Ordinary people – amateur hockey players – achieved something truly heroic and helped Americans renew their belief in themselves and in their nation.

Molière

This French film released in 2007 has become my favorite comedy.  It imagines what happened in a period that is undocumented in the famous French playwright Moliere's own biography: the years between his release from prison in 1645 at age 22 (because his theatre company went bankrupt and he could not pay his debts) and his return to Paris 13 years later after a triumphant career as a travelling playwright and actor.

Though in French (with English subtitles) and set in the middle of the 17^th century, the film to me is very accessible, truly funny and extremely entertaining.  The story begins upon Molière’s release from debtor's prison by Monsieur Jourdain, a wealthy commoner with social pretensions, who agrees to pay the young actor's debts if Molière teaches him to act.  Jourdain, already a married man with two daughters, hopes to use this talent to ingratiate himself with Célimène, a recently widowed beauty with whom he has become obsessed, by performing a short play he has written for the occasion.

Molière, however, who has been presented to the family and staff of Monsieur Jourdain as Tartuffe, a priest who is supposedly to serve as tutor for the Jourdains' younger daughter (even though Jourdain is clearly Protestant), proceeds to fall in love with Jourdain's neglected wife, Elmire. The threads of the plot weave in and out, featuring true comedy and terrific acting. Many scenes follow actual scenes and text in Molière's plays (including Tartuffe and Le Misanthrope), and Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, whose principal character is also named Jourdain), in a manner that implies that these "actual" events in his life inspired the plays of his maturity.

Romeo and Juliet (Zeffirelli)

This film, when it first came out in 1968, revolutionized the way Shakespeare’s play was taught in high schools across the country.  A beautiful Italian and English production, it depicted the star-crossed lovers as they actually would have been – teenagers – and beautiful ones at that.  The exquisite costumes and cast, together with the haunting soundtrack (and, of course, Shakespeare’s play), make this one of my favorite movies, even though it was made over 40 years ago.  It won Academy Awards for Best Cinematography and Best Costume Design and was also nominated for Best Director and Best Picture.  It holds special meaning to me because of what my freshman English class and teacher meant to me.

The Sound of Music

I started to write that nothing needs to be said about this movie.  But then, I thought I wanted to say this:  Apart from the wonderful music, apart from the themes of love, exploration of self, and resistance to tides of change – above all this for me is the story of ordinary people who did something extraordinary; who faced evil and chose to gamble everything on an opportunity to live free.  This is true courage, and this is ultimately why I love this movie.

Fiddler on the Roof

I selected this last choice because of the music and the story behind this musical.  Dealing as it does with being a people apart, endeavoring to maintain tradition and to find meaning in that tradition in the face of changing times.  Being swept up and carried away by changing times.  Attempting to love one’s children while at the same time feeling the pull of tradition, of belief.  Choosing between children and belief.  Loving.  Laughing.  Living. All between the gates of sunrise and sunset.  It may be brief, but it is our human experience – and I love movies that explore the meaning of that experience and celebrate it.

Honorable Mentions

I also love the Harry Potter movies, the Chronicles of Narnia movies and the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  I consider them in a class by themselves.

A new favorite is The Pianist – another one of those R-rated movies I never watched and have only recently seen.  (The only reason this movie has an R rating, by the way, is because of graphic brutality to humans, which one might expect in a movie about the Holocaust.) 

This movie is based on the autobiography of Polish (Jewish) pianist, Władysław Szpilman, and recounts what happened to him from the time of the German invasion to shortly after the liberation of Warsaw.  There is much in this film to write about, including the lovely music, and I hope to a post in the future about some of the aspects of this film that both touched and troubled me.  The film won Academy Awards for Best Director, Best Actor and Best Adapted Screenplay and was nominated for Best Film, Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design and Film Editing.  The film also won Palme d'Or at the 2002 Cannes Film Festival and seven French Césars including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor for Adrien Brody (who became and remains the only American actor to win one).

I also really liked the movie Defiance, based on the true story of Jews who went into hiding in the forests of Belarus during the Second World War, shielding women and children while carrying out guerilla attacks on German soldiers.  Of the same, but different, genre was Valkyrie.  This was a thriller, again based on a true story of German military men who tried to stand up to Hitler.

I haven’t seen enough gay-themed cinema yet to comment on this genre.  I loved Shelter.  I found A Single Man thought-provoking and interesting. 

Were the World Mine was whimsical and fun.  Next on my list are Latter Days, Brokeback Mountain (no I still haven’t seen that) and Milk.   Thanks to those who have offered their suggestions regarding this genre.

Postscript

The result of this exercise:  I think, I feel, I AM.

The Labyrinth

For a very long time, my efforts to understand myself and what life was doing to me and I to it, seemed to be going nowhere.  I went for counseling.  That helped somewhat – sort of like taking an aspirin when you have a full-blown migraine. 

Then I went for neuro-feedback.  I can’t really say whether that helped or not.  The theory was that my mind could learn to think in different ways that could make me happier and more content, as though my mind has a mind of its own.  I don’t know, maybe it does.  Intuitively, though, I sort of think it doesn’t; I kind of think it’s connected, at least tangentially, to the rest of “me.” So, all in all, I don’t really think that helped.

I tried prayer.  I think that helped, at least at some really important times when the stars must have been aligned just right and I was blessed with some really profound insights into myself.  I don’t know; maybe they were just moments of “higher consciousness” or something like that.  But I looked at life a little differently after these experiences, which didn’t happen very often.

I tried meditation – for a couple of weeks or so after I went with my wife to see Eat, Pray, Love.  I also read the book.  I thought the book was pretty good; there were some really cool, insightful things Elizabeth Gilbert had written in there.  I thought about looking for my own guru, thinking that might help, but it didn’t take me long to give that up as being a little “out there” and not really very practical. I still like the movie as a chronicle of another pilgrim, but I felt that I was on a different sort of journey than was Liz.  (Do I hear laughing out there?)

I then read a book about the psychological concept of transference, written by a Roman Catholic who is also steeped in Buddhist tradition and principles. Many of the concepts in the book were revelatory for me in the context of dealing with the after-affects of child abuse.  I thought that perhaps Buddhist principles might hold a lot of promise in my quest for self-knowledge.

In all these efforts – which have been going on in one form or another for years – I felt like I was following pathways through a labyrinth (or what we typically call a maze), searching for the pathway that would ultimately lead me all the way to my center.  The problem was, I kept running into dead ends.  Some of the pathways went on for quite awhile, but the result was inevitably the same:  dead end.  I would then have to back-track, looking for yet another path to try, hoping that it would lead to the center.

This situation abruptly changed in early October.  Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I was handed Ariadne’s thread, and that has made all the difference.

To explain, I must go back to a mythological character I have previously referred to:  Daedalus.  Besides constructing wings for his son, Icarus, he was a legendary artificer who built an elaborate labyrinth at Knossos for King Minos of Crete.  The purpose of the labyrinth was to hold the Minotaur, a creature that was half man and half bull.  Daedalus made the Labyrinth so cunningly that he himself could barely escape it after building it. 

King Minos had a daughter named Ariadne.  She fell in love with an Athenian named Theseus after he had come to Crete to slay the Minotaur.  Before he entered in the labyrinth, Ariadne gave Theseus a ball of thread so that he could string it along as he went through the labyrinth and use it to find his way out after (hopefully) killing the Minotaur.

In early October, I stood deep inside the labyrinth of my own persona, wondering which path would take me to my center.  Suddenly, as if by magic, a scarlet thread lying on the ground was unexpectedly revealed to me.  I picked it up and started to follow it, but instead of leading out of the labyrinth, I soon realized it was leading directly to the center of the maze.

After following false paths for years, hoping to make sense of my life and find happiness, I finally realized that my “Ariadne’s thread” was – you guessed it – my gayness.  Accepting this reality about myself is leading me directly to my “center.” 

As I sift through my past and view it through the lens of my gayness, I am able to better understand myself.  I can feel old wounds healing.  I feel doors to hidden memories opening.  I feel a sense of wholeness coming into my life, whereas before I had felt a maddening fragmentation. 

I also feel fear.  And challenges.  And looming struggles.  Perhaps when I reach the center, I will have to do battle with a metaphorical Minotaur.  But I know that I am finally on the right path, and this nourishes me with strength and courage.

All of this is still very much a work in progress, but I know that someday I will come out of the labyrinth, a changed person.

Glee-ful: Affirmation and Pursuit

 

Okay, so as I wrote here and here, I’ve realized that when I got married, I abandoned most of my own interests and tastes in favor of those of my wife in order to feel like I had truly “bought into” my heterosexual marriage.  There were some after-effects of child abuse in the mix as well, but the bottom line is that I substituted a false persona for my real identity.

Having made that discovery and come to some understanding of how this substitution had come to pass, my next item of business was to start working on removing the false persona and re-discovering my true identity.   To do this, I felt that one of the first things I needed to start doing is to actually affirm and embrace my own interests and, if necessary, to separate myself from my wife in so doing.

I should probably explain that my wife has always seemed very confident in her own skin, and this is something I’ve frankly resented over the years.  And because I was not confident in my own skin, I always felt inferior to her.  I was afraid to embrace my own interests because that would separate me from her and would possibly subject myself to “gay analysis” by her (since she has known since before our marriage that I was and am attracted to men).

And because of this inferiority complex, I also felt very vulnerable:  I felt like she would make fun of me or treat me as somehow inferior for, e.g., listening to classical music instead of rock, or watching a movie she thinks is “weird,” or reading a book that she has no interest in.

After I wrote the foregoing, I had an epiphany of sorts, experiencing a significant insight into my own childhood and past.  I can clearly see now that I behaved in much the same way when I was a child: I hid my true interests because I was afraid of ridicule from my parents (mainly my father) and my older brothers.  (Hence, one of the reasons that I have suffered from a fragmented and repressed identity for most of my life.)

One of the most traumatic emotional experiences I can recall from my childhood was when I was in 4^th grade.  My brother and I each had bulletin boards that we hung in our shared room.  There was a period of time when I enjoyed decorating my bulletin board with seasonal themes like the teachers did at my school.  I would go to the local office supply store and purchase construction paper and cut-out items, such as pictures of cats and pumpkins for October, or Pilgrims and a turkey for November, etc.  I would come up with a design in my head, create a background out of construction paper and then proceed to put the rest of the items up to complete my design.

I recall that it was January, because I can picture in my memory a frozen skating pond on my bulletin board.  My dad said something at dinner one night about my bulletin board.  I can’t recall what exactly he said, but I know that the message was that creating these bulletin boards was kind of a sissy thing to do.  What I can recall very clearly is going up to my room, and while crying and sobbing uncontrollably, ripping everything off my bulletin board and tearing it into tiny pieces.  I never again designed and created a bulletin board.  I had learned my lesson ...

So, getting back to my wife, I can now see how I have been repeating the same pattern with her, afraid to express my true interests for fear of ridicule.  (How pathetic is that?!)  The pattern in our marriage in this regard has always been:

• I defer to her interests, and
• I don’t express or pursue any of my interests, because
• She is not interested in anything I am interested in, and therefore
• If I pursue my own interests (alone), I will possibly subject myself to ridicule and/or “gay analysis” and also create “space” between her and me, and
• This has pretty much never happened before in our marriage.

A therapist I’ve seen recently has explained to me that, any time a long-standing pattern in a marriage is disrupted, it can and usually does cause some problems.  But I won’t go into that.

Suffice it to say that, for me, to actively pursue my own interests for the first time in our married life is a pretty big deal.  To do so means overcoming fear of ridicule and fear of creating space in what has been (I’m being honest) a pretty codependent relationship (at least from my side of the street – again, just being honest.)

(Parenthetically, I am reminded of something that I was told some years ago by a counselor, an extraordinary man with incredible insights.  After a couple of sessions, he remarked, almost off-handedly, that I had never allowed myself to have passions, let alone act upon them.  I have often pondered that comment, which has grown in meaning and increasingly resonated with me over the years.)

Sooooooooo …. ALL that being said, I took a small step Tuesday night:  I went into our bedroom and watched Glee on TV for the very first time.  I almost felt like I was watching an R-rated film – not because of Glee’s content, but because I was actually nervous about it, afraid of the disapproving look on my wife’s face if she were to come in and ask what I was watching. (Glee wouldn’t be her cup of herbal tea, and it would be fertile ground for “gay analysis.”)  And I had actually recently heard a Mormon kid refer to the show as being “bad” and “inappropriate.”

You know what?  I loved it!  Now I understand why it is so popular – at least with some people.  And I wanted to share this experience on my blog.  Because even though it is just such a small thing, it is one of the steps I have taken and am taking to affirm and pursue my genuine interests, on my way to becoming a real person instead of a cardboard cutout.

So, I’m “Glee-ful” today … because I loved the show and the music and because I’m full of the other meaning of “glee”, i.e., delight.  I am delighted (“greatly pleased”) that this insignificant little thing has made me feel more alive to life and to who I am.  Gee!  I feel like … like … singing in the rain!

No Longer Worthy Enough: One Father’s Voice

This past Sunday, I went to church just like I have for almost every Sunday for the past 20+ years since becoming a member.  I went to priesthood meeting, just like I always have.  The opening announcements were made, just like they always are. 

Then, everything changed. 

The bishop announced that a worldwide priesthood leadership broadcast had been held the previous day and some important changes to the Church Handbook of Instructions had been made, one in particular being relevant to the priesthood holders then assembled.  He then went on to paraphrase the following passage from the new handbook:

“Only a Melchizedek Priesthood holder who is worthy to hold a temple recommend may act as voice in confirming a person a member of the church, conferring the Melchizedek Priesthood, ordaining a person to an office in that priesthood, or setting apart a person to serve in a church calling.

As guided by the Spirit and the instructions of the next paragraph, bishops and stake presidents have the discretion to allow priesthood holders who are not fully temple worthy to perform or participate in some ordinances and blessings. However, presiding officers should not allow such participation if a priesthood holder has unresolved serious sins.

A bishop may allow a father who holds the Melchizedek Priesthood to name and bless his children even if the father is not fully temple worthy. Likewise, a bishop may allow a father who is a priest or Melchizedek Priesthood holder to baptize his children or to ordain his sons to offices in the Aaronic Priesthood. A Melchizedek Priesthood holder in similar circumstances may be allowed to stand in the circle for the confirmation of his children, for the conferral of the Melchizedek Priesthood on his sons, or for the setting apart of his wife or children. However, he may not act as voice.” (pg. 140, 2010 CHI)

I felt as though the proverbial rug had been pulled out from under me.  Suddenly, and devastatingly, the church no longer looked the same to me as it had five minutes before.  Something very profound had happened to me, and I knew I would never be the same again.

A bit dramatic?  Perhaps.  But I’m entitled.  Let me explain.  But before doing so, I want to say that a number of things could be and have been written about this new policy, mainly by people who aren’t directly affected by it.  I will let others expound in the abstract on the whys and wherefores of this new directive.  Their voices are valuable, but they aren’t mine.

This post is my voice.  The voice of one LDS father who, as with the stroke of a pen, is no longer worthy enough to exercise his priesthood on behalf of his family.

I’m going to drop a veil or two in this post, but I feel like it is worth it.  My voice is only my little voice, but I feel it needs to be heard in sincerity, in broken-heartedness, in pain and sorrow at losing something that, I fear, can never be regained.

Over the past several years, my wife and I have adopted several young children overseas.  We had biological children; but as a result of a series of events that I won’t go into, we felt compelled to seek out and adopt these children.  We didn’t have the money to do it, but we did it anyway, trusting that God would provide.

Unfortunately, the financial crisis and the Great Recession hit us hard.  We had borrowed money to finance these adoptions, and we found ourselves between the proverbial rock and a hard place as we struggled to pay off this debt.  Still, we tried to trust.  But we got to the point where we had to make some hard choices, and we reluctantly reduced our charitable donations, including tithing.  We just couldn’t do it and survive.  Some might have said that we needed to exercise more faith.  To those I say, Sorry, we’d already been there and done that (i.e., with the adoptions) – in spades.

A few months ago, my temple recommend expired and I was not in a position to renew it.  I felt badly about that at the time.  However, I felt that God understood our situation, and I hoped that, someday soon, I would be able to become a full tithe payer again.  It was unfortunate that we would not be able to go to the temple for a time, but we could live with that.

That was then.  Before the announcement of this new policy.

You see, one of those children that we adopted is about to turn eight.  I was planning to baptize and confirm this child.  I had been looking forward to pronouncing a blessing upon this child’s head.  My wife and I had been through so much with these children.  Starting down the adoption path.  Travelling overseas.  Meeting the children.  Making the decision to adopt them.  Bringing them home. Integrating them into our family. Dealing with serious and long-lasting attachment issues that were so stressful and affected our family so deeply that I wondered at times if we had made a terrible mistake, wondering if our family would ever be “right” again. 

Then, the good times.  Seeing them make progress.  Seeing them start school.  Watching them learn and grow.  Looking forward to the milestones of their baptisms.  Thinking that perhaps the Spirit, in the course of their confirmation blessings, would share some clue as the wondrous mystery of their adoptions, how the fates had brought us together.  Looking forward to that time when these two little orphans would become members of the church.

That was before the announcement of the new policy.

Now, I will not be able to confirm my child. That is certain.  If the bishop is so guided, I may be allowed to baptize my child.  I also may be allowed to stand in the circle as someone else confirms this child, if the bishop feels so guided. 

But I ask myself, why would I want to merely stand in the circle?  After the humiliation of being denied the right to act as voice because of a new policy, why on earth would I want to stand in the circle with other men who are not even related to this child and listen to a blessing pronounced by someone who had not been through what I have been through in raising this child?  If this was meant to be some sort of consolation, then I’m afraid that, as far as I am concerned, it has rather widely missed its mark.

When I first heard the announcement on Sunday, I felt sick inside.  I left the meeting.  I not only felt betrayed, I also felt like the church – not the bishop, mind you, and not the stake president, but the CHURCH – had suddenly and without warning cast me out into the street as no longer being worthy enough. 

Even though I have been active ever since joining the church.  Even though my wife and I have made huge financial sacrifices in adopting these children.  Even though we have been paying tithing consistently for years.  Even though, in every respect except the payment of a full tithe, I consider myself worthy enough to perform these ordinances, and I would have been considered such – prior to the adoption of this new policy. 

Some might say (and have so written online concerning this policy) that this change should serve as an incentive to me to exercise more faith and pay my tithing so that I can then be “worthy enough.”  There might have been a time in my life when I might have agreed with this statement. 

But not now. 

Why?  Because, in my situation, for me, right here, right now, after feeling like I have been cast out into the street, to embrace such an attitude would be tantamount to purchasing the right to confirm my children, or to ordain my son.  And for me, that simply makes me feel sick inside.  Nauseous.  Empty.  Gutted.  Disillusioned.  And very, very, very sad.  Because something inside of me that once was very precious has been lost, and at this point, I fear it will never be found or regained.

My Gay Identity: Betrayal and Abandonment of Self – Part 2

In turning away from my true sexual identity, I think – subconsciously – that my gay self felt that it had been betrayed.  It had emerged to some degree on my mission, but now it was to be repressed and discarded, not only temporarily, but forever.  But one cannot deny the essence of who one is and remain healthy, mentally, emotionally and even physically.  Perhaps for a time; but not over an extended period of time.

Though consciously I felt like I was willingly making this choice, I have only recently begun to realize how deeply that betrayal of my gay self affected me subconsciously.   It created a tension in the very core of my being that gradually built up resentment and anger, continually being added to and hardening like the dome on a volcano.  In retrospect, I now clearly see the presence of constant pressure, which made day-to-day life a challenge, difficult, frustrating, void of happiness, full of stress.  This pressure would also build up and erupt from time to time, expressing itself in anger that, combined with the after-effects of child abuse, made for a toxic mix.

The situation might have been different if I had not been on the “priesthood path” – if there had not this constant pressure to be a model husband, a model father, a model provider, and a model priesthood leader, i.e., if I had had just a little more freedom to be me.   But I was determined to do everything expected of me, everything asked of me, in order to prove (to myself, ironically) that I could overcome my “same sex attraction” and be a “faithful” “worthy” priesthood holder, a successful Mormon husband and father.  I became my own worst enemy.

As it was, my rejection of my gayness was virtually complete and total as I steered clear of any “distractions” (i.e., any situation that would in the remotest degree entice or tempt me to indulge to the slightest extent my gay self).  Meanwhile, the subconscious pressure created by the truly existential bind I had put myself in manifested itself in migraine headaches, irritability and a general sense of deep unhappiness.

However, in addition to this “existential bind” resulting from a betrayal of my gay self, I now see that I also abandoned many other aspects of my identity at the time of my marriage.  Because I felt the need to commit myself heart and soul to the marriage, I felt that I not only needed to repress the gay me, but I also had to abandon many other aspects of what had been my identity. 

Why?  Because the old me – the one who loved music, drama, art, literature, history – was tainted with homosexuality.  The presence of the old me would only have been an embarrassment; he would have been a third wheel in our marriage, out of place in the “new order of things.”

How a third wheel?  Well, letting go of my old identity, I embraced a new one.  My wife and I really have very few things in common; our interests are quite different, even divergent.  The one thing we had in common when we got married was a belief that we were “supposed” to get married to each other, along with a belief that as long as we remained faithful in the church, everything would work out. 

Beyond this, however, we had virtually no common interests.  Over time, I simply adopted or adapted her interests as my own.  I listened to the kind of music she wanted to listen to; we did the things she wanted to do; we socialized primarily with her family, etc., etc.  We never went to movies, we never went to the theatre, we never went to concerts; what held us together and united us was our growing family, and all our time, attention and effort went into that family (i.e., what time and attention was already taken up with my career and church responsibilities).

The situation might have been different had my wife been interested in the same things I was, but she was not.  If I had not been determined to do practically whatever it took to make my marriage a success (partly because of my parents’ failed marriage, but also to “overcome” the “gay factor”), if I had not had the specter of my homosexuality always in the background, threatening to “out” me and destroy my celestial marriage (perhaps it was my gay self, seeking revenge), then I never would have subjected myself to this abandonment of my old self.

I now realize the toll that this abandonment exacted.  Subconsciously, it created another huge conflict that only added to the conflict I felt after betraying my gay self. 

Looking back on it, I can see how much I subconsciously raged against this abandonment.  I had abandoned my “core,” but yet I raged against feeling that I had to adopt someone else’s core as my own.  I raged against feeling like I had to be a certain way in order to be accepted, to be true to the path I had chosen.  Yet I had to be accepted in order to fulfill the path I had chosen.  It was a hopeless conflict that played itself out day after day, month after month, year after year, adding to my sense of unhappiness, alienation and lack of fulfillment, exacting a terrible toll.

Let me state plainly that I am not blaming my wife for any of this.  No.  This was my problem, my fault.  And I am not prepared to say that getting married was a mistake, nor am I saying that my marriage has been all bad; far from it.  But, in terms of my identity, my psyche and, as a result, the mental and emotional health of me and my family and children – in terms of all this, my decision to get married took a dreadful toll.

So, where do I go from here?  I begin.  I began by deciding to affirm my sexual identity instead of continuing to try to repress and deny it.  Perhaps I also need to apologize to my gay self for betraying it those years ago. 

I then began the process of trying to recover my identity – the person I was before my marriage (and then the person I was before I joined the church, and then the person I was or might have been, but for the abuse I suffered as a child).  I have started, beginning with something as simple as compiling a list of my favorite movies.  This may seem silly.  But it has been instructive, for as I have gone back and watched movies that were favorites of mine, I have had to do so alone; my wife is not interested in the movies I enjoy.  But rather than fear the fact that I am different from her, I have embraced and affirmed this difference; and this has been empowering.  Rather than fear a growing space between us as I separate and affirm myself, I accept this as healthy and, ultimately, inevitable.

A couple of nights ago, I went out to the video store to rent a movie for my son.  On the way back, I decided to call my sister.  I pulled over to the side of the road.  It was dark, and the lights of the valley spread out before me below.  We talked of what I have written here.  We both cried. 

Near the end of the conversation, she told me that she wished she was closer so that she could be with me, so that I wouldn’t have to be alone.  I responded without thinking:  “I am not alone.  I have my old self here with me now; he is with me.”  I then realized what I had said, and tears of happiness and hope coursed down my cheeks.

 

My Gay Identity: Betrayal and Abandonment of Self

This is one of the most important posts I have written since starting my blog.  I have had another major realization this past week that I think will ultimately be life-changing. 

About a week ago, I wrote that “coming out” (to the extent I have) had helped me to realize that my identity has been fragmented for a very long time.  I have sensed that this fragmentation has been caused by several factors, among which were joining the church and getting married. 

In that post, I included passages from e-mails that I had recently received from my sister, describing how she felt I changed when I joined the church.  In a follow-up e-mail, my sister wrote even more poignantly and directly about her perception of what happened to me at that time:

Losing you [when you joined the church] was like a guillotine blade that beheaded the loving richness I had in my life.  [After you joined the church] I saw you withdraw from life. The relationship between your withdrawal from life and your involvement in the church appeared to be proportionally related: the more you became fervent about the church, the more withdrawn and less talkative and sadder you became.

It was surely due to the instinct for survival that you beheaded your true self, or tucked him away under the folds of your memory and heart. In order to survive and achieve a happy life that the church promised to be yours after so much trauma, guilt, shame and lack of love [in my childhood and youth], you had to get rid of your Self. As you couldn't actually kill that self, you had to pretend that it never existed.

My sister’s very astute perceptions validated very strongly what I already knew.  I sensed this even while on my mission.  But this realization was locked away a long time ago and frankly took a back seat to what I want to write about today.  For, the realization that came to me this past week concerned not what joining the church had done to my sense of self, but rather the consequences that flowed from my decision to reject my gayness and abandon much of my old self when I got married. 

I use the term “reject” deliberately.  It was – paradoxically enough – while on my mission that, for the first time in my life, I came the closest to truly accepting my gay identity and choosing to live life as a gay man.  I also felt that, toward the end of my mission, I was starting to recover some of who I was before I joined the church.

Then I came home and embarked upon an extremely tumultuous “courtship” with the woman who became my wife.  One of the reasons for the tumult was my struggle over what to do with my life:  gay or straight; active Mormon or leave the church; married or not married?

Ultimately, I made my choice:  heterosexual; married; Mormon.  I knew I was gay; my wife knew (before our wedding) of my “struggles” involving same sex attraction.  However, in getting married (and buying into everything that went along with that) I felt that I was making the “righteous” choice, i.e., the choice sanctioned by God and his church.  I would get married because it was the “right thing to do”; and, similarly, I felt I could reject my gayness and repress any homosexual inclinations because that, too, was the “right” thing to do.  I had decided that I wanted to, and could be able to, function as a righteous heterosexual priesthood holder should.

I did not then realize the toll that this choice would exact upon me and – ultimately – upon my wife as well as my children. 

I use the word “toll” deliberately, in the sense of one of its definitions:  “a grievous or ruinous price.”  Only now, in hindsight and after finally accepting who I am, am I beginning to understand the nature and extent of this price – the price I paid to deny and betray my true sexual identity, and the price I paid upon abandoning many aspects of my identity. 

In turning away from my true sexual identity, I think – subconsciously – that my gay self felt that it had been betrayed.  It had emerged to some degree on my mission, but now it was to be repressed and discarded, not only temporarily, but forever.   But one cannot deny the essence of who one is and remain healthy, mentally, emotionally and even physically.  Perhaps for a time; but not, I have learned, in the long run ... 

(To be continued …)

His Eyes - Variations on a Theme

Okay, I had a bit of a revelation this past week.  As I wrote here, for most of my life, I have had trouble maintaining eye contact with many men for fear of what they might see in my eyes, i.e., that I’m gay.  I have written how I have been consciously working at maintaining eye contact in an effort to affirm myself and conquer that fear.  I’m still working on that; every day I work on that.  And I enjoy the small victories when they come and coach myself when I think I could have done better.

Well, a couple of days ago, I went to a local tire shop to have my snow tires put on.  The guy who helped me was probably about 27, clean-cut, not unattractive.  As soon as he handed me the form to fill out, however, my developing gaydar went off ever so slightly.  He seemed a little nervous.  But I thought:  tire place?  This is a bastion of deer-hunting, truck-driving, sports-watching, pot-bellied masculinity.  Nah, not him.  (Besides, it’s probably, I thought, just my gay adolescence again.)

I went and sat down to wait for the tires to be changed.  It wasn’t long, however, before he came around the corner and told me that my existing tires were totally shot and that I really needed new tires.  He told me he could give me a “killer deal.”  Again, the look, the je ne sais quoi that made me sense that this guy was covertly attracted to men.  I asked him to get me a price.  He came back a few minutes later.  Again, the same feeling.  I decided to get the tires.  He smiled a big smile (did his face redden slightly?) and he disappeared around the corner.

By then, the place was filling up with several men that fit the description of the type of men I would expect to see in a tire place (see above).  And, again, I thought, Naw, Not this guy.  I must be mistaken.

But the clincher was when my car was finished and I went to pay the bill.  Glances.  Eye contact. Hand my card.  Trouble with their card transmission thing.  Said I’d pay by check if that was ok.  Eye contact.  Nervous smile (on his part).  (I was being, I’m very proud to say, cool.)  The clincher was when – during this going back and forth, smiling, eye contact – he actually blushed – profusely – at one point.  Then, I felt I knew.  I smiled, thanked him and left.

Okay.  So what’s the point of this story?  It didn’t dawn on me until the next day:  I realized – duh – that not only have I spent my life avoiding eye contact with certain men because I was afraid of what they might see in my eyes, but also because I was afraid of what I might see in their eyes.

Simple to say, but this realization hit me like a ton of bricks:  I have, since puberty, been so paranoid, so afraid of being “recognized” and called out to any degree (even when it could have led to what I secretly desired), that I have studiously, assiduously avoided eye contact with many men for fear of what I might see in their eyes.  This experience with the guy at the tire store taught me that, and for that, I am grateful.