Mirror, mirror... I am no Adonis

I read of girl who once refused to look in a mirror for an entire year. It bothers me that at the thought of the very prospect of emulating her, I become terrified.

Vanity! It runs in my veins. I can appreciate the beauty of another. I can see someone as human, with feelings, thoughts, fears, loves, and imaginations. I, however, can only appreciate what cold, unfeeling surfaces reflect of me when I wish to appraise me. It's a bitter truth. I feel most vulnerable when I admit it.

Of course I have worth. Of course I am attractive, sexy, and whatever else is supposed to matter! So are you. But can we face our admirable qualities if we were to strip ourselves naked in front of the nearest looking glass? Mirror is a harsh material, and I am an unrelenting critic.

Why is it so hard to love yourself in the same ways that others love you?

We have so much to fight against. Fashion, video games, porn, movies, art, history... These are just a few things that inform me, a gay man, of how I'm "supposed" to look. It's paralyzing to realize just how pervasive their messages are... But there is little I can do, save I just be me.

Once upon a time, I was anorexic in just about every sense of the word minus the official diagnosis. I'd eat hardly anything, and pound away on a treadmill for hours at a time. I hated myself for what I did there, and it's been scary and weird trying to build a trusting, loving relationship with food and exercise ever since. I'm not good at this, but I'm trying.

I'm trying to accept the man I am. I'm trying to accept that my ideal is, well, an unknown ultimate. A magazine can't tell me what I'll look like when I'm healthy. The internet can't tell me either. Even my friends can't give me what I'm looking for. This is about how I perceive myself, and only I can give myself the green light to live and reject the ideals projected by popular culture.

And after everything, if I give in to pressures and forces outside my control, the thing that will surprise me most is that I was me the whole time. My hair might be longer or shorter. My body toned or not so much, depending on how much I exercise. Perhaps I will have wrinkles, or yellow teeth, or something else so human that it's deemed airbrush worthy. Wherever time takes me, a person I was waiting to be will have always been locked up inside. I wouldn't ever live fully, because I was waiting to be, well... beautiful.

But perhaps I can make my own kind of beautiful now. Perhaps I can celebrate what is me, and what will be mine now and always. Maybe there is a person out there who finds me interesting, worthy of love, who needs me and wants me no matter the mirror.

I was crushed by a mirror today, metaphorically speaking. This is just a matter of getting back up, and walking away from years of worthless, self-destructive rubble. I forgive myself, love myself, and never wait to live. Keys open locked doors, not mirrors.

Putting the Muse to Rest

Until we meet again...

I'm completely out of the closet. When I say that, when I think that, I recognize that these days I breathe easier. Close friends say that there's a noticeable difference in the way I act; they're probably right. I will always be coming out to people, but the bulk of my work has been done. I can walk away from the closet now, and leave it behind for good.

But there are parts of me that I've had to say goodbye to. There were compliments to my closet that I can no longer access because they are no longer a part of me like they once were. Once, there was a Muse who attended me. She guarded me with songs and plays. I would voraciously eat through paper and pencil, and the results were heartfelt compositions. I was proud of them, and I thought there would never be a day that I wouldn't be driven to create in the way that she pushed me. Well, that day has come. Writing and drawing and composing are different to me now. All are still special to me, still a part of me; but my motivations are quieter. This is a calmer, quieter thing.

Huddled in a dark closet, fewer things kept me safer than she who made me burn with stories and songs. Perhaps it seems strange to you for me to personify this part of me the way I do, but she feels like an other. We've parted ways, and I'll always remember and be proud of what we made together. I was afraid to move on without her as a part of my identity. If I wasn't an author and composer all my life, who would be? Well, it turns out I can be a very interesting person. It's interesting that after accepting being gay, I find a whole new host of ways to define myself.

She smiled when she saw a new dawn in my eyes. Hand in hand, we walked out of a closet, and stepped in a maze. I chose one direction, she another. A brush of fingers as our hands parted was the last contact we had.

And I'm okay. I'm in love with life, with people, with everything. My memories will always be fond when I think of the Muse that whispered through my closeted dreams.

There are things we can never stop thinking about, things we can never get out of our heads. Some make us long for the past, and some make us antsy for the future. Either way, we are trapped in the expansive prison of the present. Today, you are the great reconciler. Today is the day that you mediate between yesterday and tomorrow. This betweenness is what we live in, it's what we flow through. We live when we forgive time and space and make peace with the reality of now. May we all find a way to ally our pasts with our futures. All will be clearer, all will feel safer, and there will be peace :)

Going Somewhere?

I just love this picture. That is all.

Isn't it interesting that as one walks a step forward, one also steps back?

I move forward in school, and I get wrapped up in redefining aspirations and life goals.

I move forward in spirit, and I encounter more natural and familiar worship.

I move forward with friends, and I wish that I was better to those who have come and gone.

I move forward in music, and I learn to trust my spaces and limitations.

I went to Provo High's GSA meeting today. For an hour, I was back in high school again. I think its funny that I felt bathed in nostalgia, although I've only been out of high school for two years. I was so impressed by them. They were smart and funny; much more put together than I was when I was in high school. Things are different than they were for me, and it shows. My point? Things and places change quickly, and there's no guarantee that time will treat you fairly. Better keep moving forward.

I move forward, out of the closet, and I step into my home. It always feels like I'm going back to something I knew, when I go up and further in. The recognition and the familiarity and the nostalgia tug at me when I'm most content, and that's how I know that I am in the right place.