Pussy?

Sometimes I think I'm a pussy. Whether it be innate cowardice, years of emotional baggage, prior whacks to my self-esteem, or just nature, I cannot bring myself to go up and introduce myself to someone that I am interested in. I see a person across a room, often staring or smiling at me, and I just can't make a move. For years I have carried secret crushes on people and have been unable to start a conversation.

Even as I write this -- and the inspiration for today's blog -- I am sitting in Starbucks pining away for two guys. One, I have wanted to meet for at least ten years. The other, a more recent crush -- only the past four months. I should go up and introduce myself, but can't. Pathetic, huh?

I always describe myself as shy. This makes those that know me absolutely guffaw, as I am known to be a very outgoing, open, entertaining person. But when it comes to that initial contact, I clam up. Once someone talks to me, I am completely open and can carry on a conversation with the best of them. But unless someone else approaches me first, it just won't happen. Probably explains my dating life -- or lack thereof...

So what is the root of this inability to approach others? I think it could be traced back to a multitude of hurts and disappointments in my life. Could it be the abandonment I felt when my father disappeared from my life at age three? Never having a male role model to teach me confidence, strength, and go-gettedness I'm sure took its toll. I certainly wish I could've had the confidence my father was known for. He was a tall, masculine, good looking man who, from everything I've heard, could have any woman he wanted -- and basically did...

Could my apprehension come from the sexual abuse I suffered in my early teen years at the hands of a Catholic priest? Certainly my trust issues stem from the abuse -- hard to be a gay man when you have trouble trusting men. Certainly my ego was bruised, and my sense of self was destroyed during the years of secrets and hiding in the aftermath...

I wonder if it could be due to the basic insecurity I felt as a closeted gay boy in high school in a small South Carolina town. Unable to ever approach anyone for fear of being ridiculed, ostracized, outed or beaten, I lived a lonely existence in high school, almost reclusive, with only a few good friends. This pattern has extended into my adult life, as I have rarely had more than a few close knit friends, not wanting to cast the net of trust too wide.

It could be the hurt I've experienced at the hands of past boyfriends who decided, for one reason or another, that just having me was not enough and strayed into the arms of other men. This has certainly made me wary of relationships and, of course, only adds to the caution I give before extending trust.

Clearly I have good reason for not putting myself out there. But why can't I get over it? Friends say, "What's the worst thing that could happen? That someone rejects you?" Ummm...yeah. That's a pretty significant result in my book. Some people can let rejection roll off of them. My skin is too thin. Rejection seeps in and stirs around my body and mind, staying around a bit too long before rolling off.

So, what do I do? Just wait for other people to approach me? Do I try and go outside of my comfort zone and take the chance on acceptance/rejection? Could it be that easy, to let go of all of the past baggage and just allow myself to move forward? It sounds good in theory, but the reality is much more difficult. Maybe I should make a silent vow to approach the next guy that I find attractive... Maybe I should think of it as a work in progress and continue to work on the issues that have lingered from my past. Maybe I should accept that this is just a part of me and accept myself as I am, unable to make the initial reach out to another man...

UPDATE: Apparently writing this blog entry has been cathartic in some way. While I was writing, a very cute man walked by the window at Starbucks, headed to the gym. We exchanged glances. I've seen him before and wanted to say hello, but, well... So, I look up a few minutes ago and he was in Starbucks. Again we exchanged glances. He got his drink and sat not too far from me. After quite a few more glances and some smiles, I decided to myself, "You know what? You cannot let this happen again and let this one get away without even speaking." So I did. I struck up a conversation, and we chatted for a while until Starbucks closed. Walking out to our cars I asked if he'd like to go out. He said "Yes." I got his number and am, at this moment, on cloud nine.

Maybe all I needed was to challenge myself to break an old pattern. Time will tell. Looks like I'm off to a good start!

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The music that completes today's look is "I Remember You" by Eurythmics.

What Becomes a Man

I never had anyone to show me how to be a man.

My parents divorced when I was three years old. I only saw my father once after the divorce, when I was eight. I heard from him only once after that, at twenty-seven. I grew up never really missing having a father. I have always credited my mother with doing a superb job raising me so that I never really needed a father. I don't think I ever gave any thought to the fact that there was a presence missing from my life, an influence that should've been there, but for whatever reason, was not.

The first time I ever missed having a father was when I went away to college. I can remember my first night, in my dorm, crying to my new roommate, adrift because I had no idea how to act like a man. I was surrounded by a campus full of other men who, I assumed, had a fatherly influence and took away from that how to walk, talk, act, and be like a man. I was missing that experience. I felt lost. Not knowing how to act like a man is hard. Not knowing how to act like a man when you are gay is overwhelming. I struggled through, burying the fear and unknown -- as I had done with so many things in my young life -- until it was accepted and not thought about again. Until now...

So, here I am today, a 42 year old man. I know that I am a man. Everthing in my consciousness tells me that I am a man. But how did I get here? How did I become a man? What makes a man a man? Is it having reached the age of twenty-one? Is it having responsibility, a job, bills, others who depend on him? Is it self-awareness? Is it knowing that you are drastically different than the opposite sex? Or is it simply the basic biology of a male homo sapien - facial hair, chest hair, rugged features, a penis..? For me, up to now, I have just been accepting that I was a man because that's what I was told I am. I have never stopped to think about what exactly has made me a man, what has made me the man I am today.

I have recently begun a journey of self-awareness. I have been trying to discover who I am as a person. What activities do I enjoy? What do I require in those I call "friend?" Accepting the body that I have. Being able to admire what I see in the mirror. How I express myself as a person -- vocally, in writing, and in what is unspoken. Becoming comfortable in my own sexual skin, accepting what gives me pleasure, and allowing myself to ask for what I want to make me feel good. Knowing that I can stimulate a partner, mentally, physically, sexually. In this journey I am becoming to understand what makes this man a man.

This is what I know:

I have my beliefs. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that karma exists. I belive that good can be found in everyone and in every situation, sometimes you just have to look closely to find it. I believe that there is may be a higher power, though I do not belive it was the one I was raised to believe in.

I have my needs. I need to be heard. I need to make a positive change in this world, no matter how small in may be. I need the company of friends, friends who accept me unconditionally for what, and who, I am. I need to accept myself, flaws and all. I need to keep close the traumatic things that have happened to me in life, because I now understand that without them I would not be who I am today. I need to feel wanted.

I have my desires. I desire to leave this world having made an impact that will be remembered. I desire to make a living as a writer. I desire to be the type of person who can go to the closet, pull out anything, put it on and leave the house feeling comfortable that I look good. I desire to have the self-acceptance and sense of self to not worry about what others think of me. I desire a partner that loves me unconditionally, allowing me to be my own person, but wanting me with him whenever possible. I desire to be asked for my autograph. I desire the winning lottery ticket (LOL!). I desire... to be desired.

I know that these things make me human. Do they make me a man? Well, these things are me, and I am a man. So, in part, yes. But I think that becoming, and being, a man is an ever-changing experience. What makes me a man today may make me more -- or less -- of a man tomorrow. The trick is discovering what it is in myself and my life that makes me the man I am, and how I can alter those things to make me a better man, and the man I want, and need, to be.

I have an idea of who this man is and who I need, and desire, him to be. As my journey of self-discovery progresses I hope to understand why I went through life without that male influence that could've made becoming a man easier. But as I stated earlier, I believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe if I had had a father, I would never have had the opportunity I have now -- to discover myself and who I am. Maybe I would've been just as adrift having become a man the "traditional" way. Maybe I would still be questioning what makes a man a man.

All I can do now is take a deep breath and accept what I know this man to be. Then exhale and become the man I will be tomorrow...

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The music that completes today's look: "Wild Is The Wind" by Nina Simone.