This weekend was heavy. Not only for my feet and body, but for my soul, emotions, mind and future. In addition to being challenged physically I found myself being challenged mentally. Let me first tell you how I expected this weekend to have gone. I knew it was going to be gay-palooza and I would be surrounded by lesbians as well as straight people. I thought I would naturally find myself amongst the elderly and be making friends with people twice my age as I typically do. I envisioned my goodbyes being something like “tell your daughter I said ‘hello’ and good luck with that garden.” I also expected God to use people to speak to me. It seems the only way I know how to hear Him right now, so I was looking for signs. The first day I met a girl named Jennifer.
I had gotten there at 5 a.m. and it was freezing. I was trying to stay warm by hanging around this big metal “barn”. I was alone and was generally just standing there hoping to meet my friends for the weekend. I had been standing there for about an hour when I realized this girl to my right had been there equally as long and by herself, too. Then I slipped in my opening line “how are these girls wearing shorts and tank tops?” Then I made my first friend Jennifer. This was her third year and she had it down. She was kind enough to share a hand warmer thing with me, which made a HUGE improvement on my body’s willingness to stay. (Key Note: I was never going to LEAVE but my body often had talks with my brain on “what if” I did leave. Unfortunately for my body, my brain won every time.)
Jennifer and I made our way to the front of the Opening Ceremony and we waited to be released on our journey. We talked about everything and kept each others pace nicely. I learned about her engagement to a man destined for her. They lived in the same complex, worked near each other and met (randomly enough) on MySpace. I shared with her part of my story. I had made it a goal of mine to listen to other people first and share myself second. I told her little pieces about my family, job and dogs. Looking back I realize I didn’t really share much. At the time, I didn’t know how she would feel about me being Bi so I left that part out. We both realized we were going to be setting tent up next to each other and were wondering who our tent mates were. We knew their names but nothing else. When we got to camp (with much pain) we found our second walking buddy: Nikki or as I call her Nicole.
I don’t know why I was all about calling her by her full name, but it suited her to me and I couldn’t stop. Nicole quickly became atom of curiosity. On the outside she was colorfully adorned with detailed tattoos and carefully positioned piercings. She was a child of two bikers with supportive love. As I got to know her I became stumped by her. Not stumped at her but at myself. I would say she was about 27-28 and completely herself. I didn’t know what to do with her expect be curious about my own reflection. I learned about her girlfriend, turn fiance and her dreams of a wedding. She poured out her life before me with ease. To each story she revealed new details that left me completely curious about my own life. Here she was, to two complete strangers, sharing who she was. She was expressing the very thing I’ve been longing to do: Become an open book. She didn’t care how we felt about being gay or tattoos or her family or her points of view. She was real, honest and expressive. I didn’t know what to do but sit back in awe.
Our fourth and final walker to be added to our journey was Ellen. She was a 49-year old musician performing and working as a freelance private teacher. She remembered every detail and had a vocabulary that made me embarrassed to even attempt the “Bushanisiums” of my way of talking. I learned about her past, her ex and her parents. When she asked me about myself I became broken with words. She asked about “if I was dating someone” and I don’t know what I said to her, but I think it was along the lines of “blahblahblah…working it out…parents…blah…blahblah…she…blahblahblah…blah.” I couldn’t believe I was talking to a complete stranger about my life and that was the best I could do. Generally, I love when people ask that question because then I get to steal the whole conversation towards my tidal wave of emotional relationship with Amy, coming out and what-have you. For some reason, because I never said anything in the beginning I couldn’t find the words then. Both Ellen and Nicole were gay and I then learned that Jennifer’s dad was as well. Here I was thinking I had to protect people from having to judge me or have to choose and everyone around me was in some way okay with the gay. I’m so new to this.
As the weekend went on my legs were not the only sore things happening. My heart was breaking down because as I sat around these honest people I found myself hiding. For the first time in my whole life I was hiding at a huge event. I do really, really well in crowds of people I don’t know. Surprisingly, I find more confidence in crowds of people I don’t know versus those I do. Weird, I know, but that’s how I am. So, it was killing me that here I was surrounded by acceptance and women who were fighting the same disease as I was that I was hiding in my tent hoping it to be the last day.
As I said in my other blog, I didn’t realize this error until the night of the second day. Sunday (final day) was much better, but it took one long phone call to Amy, a few tears and a journal in the memory tent for me to snap out of it. I wish I could say I became this billowing waterfall of personality after that moment, but it wasn’t until today I realized the silver lining revelation of this weekend. All I did was stopped complaining about the cold, the pain or the excitement of being in my own bed in one day. I started digging into their lives and choosing to stop making it about me and support them. I became myself again without having to say much.
Today, as I recover on my couch, I found my revelation moment. I’m watching “Little Miss Sunshine” and preparing myself to cry. This is one of my favorite movies for many reasons. The part that I cry the most is when (spoiler alert) the brother realizes he can not accomplish his dream of being a fighter pilot because he’s color blind. He has taken a vow of silence until he reaches this goal. It’s at this point that he breaks it and breaks down. He’s refusing love and care from any of his family members until his sister comes down puts her arm around him. She says nothing, but just loves on him. I cry every time. It’s in watching this movie I realize what pains me about this weekend, why I was so infatuated with Nicole and why it felt so good to cry during this movie was because I just want the freedom to be me. I’m not a 100% sure who that is and my main hesitation is to fail miserably and taking people down with me, but I want the freedom to be me. I want the freedom to careless what people say, feel, or think towards me but what God says is the most important.
What is life, but a prolonged time to eternity. If you’re not a believer in a Christ heaven, this paragraph makes no sense to you. These years I have on this earth are small days in comparison to my end. Sometimes I wonder what the point to life was if in the end it wasn’t the same. I believe we won’t know each the same way in heaven. I believe that nothing except God’s radiance will matter. I won’t care about life on earth or who’s next to me. All I’ll care about is the perfection of Christ. My body won’t matter, my personality won’t define me, my name won’t separate me, my existence won’t matter except to one. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it to fight for things that in the grand scheme of things don’t matter. It doesn’t matter what we do to our bodies while on this earth. They’re ours and we’re given the choice to do what we want. We don’t take them with us when we die. Our scars, our tattoos, our hair color, our differences don’t go with us. So what’s the point? I can only say it is to worship Him, right? To live as myself is foolish because “self” will be lost in the end, but why is it so hard?
Why is it so hard to be “me”? Why can’t I tell people my story without fear or reservation? Why can’t I embrace my story and live it to the fullest? Where does the line exist between “self” and “world”? Are they the same?
Basically, in my flesh I live here with passions. I wake up every morning desiring certain things, things not everyone around me shares. I love hospitals. I love being in the places where last chances are giving out hope. I love music and listening to it with full intensity. I love cooking for friends and loved ones as a way to share my talent. I love talking to people about life and who they are because I believe everyone is worth a beauty we often believe isn’t for us. I like not always wearing make up because I don’t think it should change who I am with it on. I love taking the weekends for movies and lazy couch days because I love to see what other people are doing with their talents.
I wake up every day, by God’s hand, and go about my day in habit. With that, I seek to pursue passion and change in myself because I don’t want to live the days I’ve been given foolishly for granted. I don’t want to waste my time sitting in a chair with pointless tasks five days a week, forty hours a week affecting no one.
I’m scared to be me.
I’m scared that if I live as me I will loose support from my family. I’m scared that I will have to fight every single day for the life I want against those who view things differently.
I’m scared that one day I’ll not know my own reflection because I’ve taken on everyone elses and have become tolerant to every thing.
I’m thankful I’m only 24 and have (hopefully) many years before me, but for some reason find myself in this holding place. Like if I don’t move forward I won’t ever get burned and I won’t have to worry about standing up. I don’t even know what it’s like to stand up anymore.
I use to think these parts, the sorrow filled parts, were worth being delivered from permanently. Like if God could never let me exist here I would always be great. I think in these parts, though they seem huge and long, are the shaping of my character. Not really sure what that means in the grand scheme of eternity, but right now it gives me some hope that God will have pleasure in my person and be proud of me.
Perhaps it seems silly for me to put myself in the boat of “pleasing a god” but I find humanity severely struggling to survive without Him. I would rather be foolish for Him than foolish for the world’s idea of righteousness. I’ll never measure up to His and can’t really say I intend to. All I want to do is never loose sight of His face and never be satisfied with out Him.
Because I’m scared to be me I exist in just today. I’m hoping that in existing just in today, God will work all things out in His glorious plan. I met these girls this weekend for a reason. I’m here, in this place, for a reason. Broken, tired and completely afraid for a reason.
