The Color Gay

Tim Berners Lee, the man who created the World Wide Web, once said, "We need diversity of thought in the world in order to face new challenges" and I think that the same idea can (and perhaps must?) be applied to individuals. Obviously, when we strive to broaden the circle of people in our lives, we broaden the opportunities that life can present. I choose to surround myself with people who think differently than me, who look differently than me, who fuck differently than me, not because I want to boastfully inflate my contact list, but because I love to learn and the best learning often comes when you step beyond comfort.

And I will honestly admit that sometimes those words come easier than those actions.

I recently moved to an area of Brooklyn, NY that has, quite forcibly, provided me with the opportunity (that's the word I'm choosing to use, though the action feels much more hostile than that) to learn a great deal about diversity. I am clearly the only white girl in my new neighborhood; add to that my colorful wardrobe and my semi-posh computer bag and I more than stand out. Most of the time I don't notice, (it is an intensely fun neighborhood with children dancing in the streets, music blaring from the roofs, and laughter lingering throughout the air) but the other day, while I was on the way to school, I got the feeling that everyone was starring at me...and, for that moment, it made me thankful for the fact that homosexuality isn't a skin color. While I am sure that NOT everyone was starring at me, and assuredly if they were, it wasn't generated from a place of judgment, I felt grateful that as a white, middle-class female, I'm not the minority. I mean, I am the minority, just nobody knows that I am.

I think that there is something about sexuality that offers a bit of convenience. Take, for instance, our vocabulary. More so than any other minority, sexual minorities can adapt their vocabulary to their audience, enabling them to feel a sense of ease while still standing true to who they are. If a homosexual is having a bad day and just doesn't feel like standing up or standing out, then they can choose not to. If a homosexual is just too tired to deal with the bullshit of inequality, then they can head home sans harassment. There is this definite sense of convenience. Think about it, what other minority has a closet? (Perhaps religion does, but our country is more afraid of religion than religion is of our country; so while it might technically be a minority, it will never be a discriminated one. Which, don't get me wrong, I think is great. But what makes the gays scarier than the Lutherans?) And what other minority maintains that you can be in that closet (say you're in the closet when it comes to your family) and yet still be an active part (you go to the clubs, you sleep with people of the same-sex) of that minority? What do you think that Martin Luther King Jr. would have said if black people could choose not to tell anyone they were black?

I will assert that while the closet has its protective and comforting appeal, it is the single biggest thing holding equality back. The closet implies a sense of shame, which is clearly counterproductive; and even if your reasons for being closeted aren't shameful, those fighting against gay rights surely aren't going to strive to make that distinction. In some ways I think this makes us stronger, because we do have to actively and intentionally choose to stand up, but that only applies if we actually choose to stand.

I'm not advocating for a universal forehead tattoo here, but we could at least start by holding hands. That sounds nice. Are there any girls in NYC that want to hold my hand?

New in New York City

I believe in the power of change. I think that volunteering yourself for change can open doors that remained previously undiscovered and then, consequently, you can discover things about yourself that remained previously unknown; and I think that the more you discover about yourself, the better suited you are to stand true in the face of involuntary change. It's the cycle of change.

Some people, though, use change as an avoidance tactic, as a way to evade life's current circumstances. People change banks as a way to deflect overdraft fees. They change jobs as a way to ditch an unpleasant boss. They change partners as a way to ensure that they aren't the ones dumped. And when change is utilized as a process for escape, it loses its integrity and becomes a vehicle that transports you farther away from your undiscovered self.

I've been thinking a lot about this blog and what changes it will go through as I go through this massive relocation. And the thing is...I'm not interested in turning this blog into a journal about my new life in New York City. I created this blog for a number of reasons. I wanted to create something in my life that would challenge me to be better; a better writer, a better woman, a better lesbian. I wanted to create something that would offer me accountability and routine and a broader sense of connectivity. I wanted to have a collection of writing samples under my belt, so that if someone choose to offer me an avenue into the publishing industry, I'd be prepared. The egotistical reasons abound, but more than anything, I created this blog because I felt like I had something to say to, or for, the lesbian community, and their allies. My desire to reach out and open up to the lesbian community hasn't changed just because I changed my address, which is why I don't want to bog down this blog with all things N.Y.C.

I also can't deny that New York City is at the forefront of my mind nearly everytime that I sit down to write; so...I've decided to expand my repertoire. I will be divulging my tales of New York City in my new blog http://newinnewyorkcity.blogspot.com. Check it out if you want to see all about my crazy and sporadic NYC adventures.

UPDATE: This blog was really more about being lonely than it was about a genuine desire to write about my adventures...turns out I just needed to make some friends...so it is no more.

Which Direction Now?

Today, someone asked me for directions while I was on my way to Bryant Park. It made my freaking day! Granted, I didn't know the answer, but still, it just goes to show you that attitude is everything.

Speaking of directions...I've been thinking a lot about directions and paths and trajectories lately. Today is the 28th of July and I don't start school until the 28th of August; which means that I have exactly a month to do absolutely nothing. My life hasn't been in this particular position since I was in middle school, and I am trying to remain excited, though if history has anything to say about it, I'm not really very good at doing nothing.

I am a Gemini through and through; meaning, I thrive in the dichotomy of an unquiet nature and a methodical/unrelenting drive. Sometimes I forget to STOP! and just be. I keep thinking that these days should be filled with perfecting my resume and looking for internships and actively working my way through the publishing world. And all of that is assuredly important; I'm not incredibly interested in starving my way through life, but I'm also not incredibly interested in plowing my way through life.

Today I sat in Bryant Park without a book or an IPod or a to-do list; I just sat. I listened to a man in a green costume tell children a story about field mice getting bopped on the head, it really made me smile. I am going to strive to have a month filled with these kinds of anecdotes; reading in central park, running along the waterfront, eating pizza and red-velvet cupcakes, and generally exploring this vast and exciting city. I will continue to look for opportunities into the publishing world and I will continue to challenge myself as a writer and a woman; but all of that doesn't have to come at the cost of enjoying this rare and relaxing moment in my life.

I have a feeling that this blog will really benefit from all this new found free time ;)

Rat Pack

Last night I saw my first subway rat. I thought that it was exciting...the people that I was with did not, but I mean, come on!, a New York Subway rat isn't just any kind of rat. I tried to take its picture, you know, to document the momentous occasion, but alas, the rat was too quick for my exhausted fingers.

I have decided that subway rats are going to be my NY good luck charm. You know how the crickets are good luck in Asia, I think that the subway rats should be good luck in NY. Though not good luck like the penny or the four-leaf clover, because I think that it would be ill-advised to carry them around in your pocket all day.

New York, New York

When I was little the only thing I ever dreamed about was working for the church and for most of my life I pursued that dream with great fervor. The technicalities of my dream transformed as I transformed, but the underlining ideal that my life would be committed to the ministry rarely wavered. When I realized that the path that I had so fervently drawn out for myself no longer held any integrity nor was it likely to bring me to any kind of place of righteousness, I decided that it was time for me to leave that dream behind...and I did so with very little guilt and with very little doubt. The ministry was all that I knew, it was my whole life, so when I withdrew from that inclusive environment, I had very little to turn to.

I have spent the last two years rebuilding my life. In many ways, it was like I had to start all over again. It wasn't just my career either; I had to reformat everything. I made myself answer questions like what values/morals could I take ownership of and which values/morals were just mindlessly mimicked? I took career aptitude tests. (They all said that I should be a lawyer; I didn't think that was a very good idea.) I explored new areas of the library. I embraced and acted on what I considered to be uncomfortable thoughts, i.e. I started fucking girls. And then I, unexpectedly, became a woman that I'm really proud of and a woman that I enjoy going home to every night. So...when it became time for me to change my life once again, I did it with the inner assurance that it would be different this time; this time it was about moving forward not starting all over.

I have been an official resident of New York City for three days now! Much of the last few days have been filled with things like standing in the DMV line and getting a new cell phone plan, but none the less, I now live in New York City. There are moments when I feel really sad, I left a lot behind and I don't know anyone here, and there are moments when I've been in total awe. I already feel tired and I'm sure that's not a feeling that's going away any time soon. But more than anything, I feel stoked to get this new chapter of my life going...and it certainly doesn't hurt that there are a ridiculous amount of hot ladies in this city.

P.S. In the spirit of change, I've decided to institute a few new alterations here @ LEZ give 'em something to talk about. You probably already noticed the new layout and I changed my location in the profile. I'm also going to try and post more than once a week; this is the city of innovation and if I want to embrace my new life in the city, I think that means embracing the sorted world of the interwebs.

Peace and Love,
Steph

Daddy's Little Gyrl

This past weekend my father got remarried.

My dad and I don't have a relationship, or at least we don't have a relationship that extends beyond the world of single syllables. Ever since I can remember, our relationship has been rooted in the conditional acceptance that he has chosen to offer me and because I refuse(d) to comply with his fairytale version of an ideal daughter, he chose not to be a part of my life. I'm proud of the woman that I have become and I'm excited for the places that my life journey will undoubtedly take me and if he doesn't want to share in that...that is his choice and it's his loss.

My father lives his life in a lot of fear. His life is the pragmatized equivalent of a house of cards; a shatterable existence that requires perfection and submissive solidarity to sustain and/or survive. In a house built of cards, not one card can be placed out of line, not one card can stray from the design plan. One misplaced or rebellious card can, and will, ruin the entire house. A house of cards cannot stand successful in the face of adversity, nor is it likely to stand if its creator is not constantly protecting and preserving the fragile piece of work. And when a house of cards begins to tumble, as they often do, the creator runs frantic, striving to maintain a foundation that will inevitably collapse. For my father, nothing, or no one, is more important than keeping his house of cards intact.

Because my father's world is so fragile, there is no room in his world for a girl like me. Last week I wrote about the strength that lies in the frangible and I stand by those words; I believe that there is beauty in the breakable...but, in my opinion, that only applies if you don't let your breakable nature dictate your behavior. The strength and beauty lies not the frangible nature itself, but in the ability to accept that you have vulnerable or breakable moments and yet still you choose to stand and proceed down life's path, no matter how fearful or stumble-driven that path might be. But my father allows fear to be his catalyst and I don't think there's any strength in that.

When I think about my dad and all of the missed opportunities that we had/will continue to have, it makes me feel sad and angry and lonely; but more than anything, when I think about my dad, I feel an overwhelming sense of compassion. I imagine that if your life's priority is to avoid anything that makes you feel uncomfortable and if you live in a constant struggle to maintain something that is essentially unmaintainable...well, I imagine that it can get pretty dark and lonely and paralyzing and I feel sorry that he lives his life in that kind of fear-driven mentality. But no amount of compassion, or love, will make me sacrifice the woman that I've become, the woman that I've become proud of, just because it will make him feel more comfortable. If the only way that I can have a relationship with my father is to adhere to his boundary-forced guidelines, I'm not sure that's the kind of relationship I want to fight for.

I'm not saying all of this to play the victim card, rather quite the opposite. It is true that I had a shitty childhood. I grew up not in a loving, supportive household, but in the equivalent of built-in child support. There was always food on the table, but there was never conversation. I always had the supplies for school work, but never any help for it. My father never took the time to get to know me and my mother was no peach either. (My mom once told me that it would be easier for her to love me if I was skinnier.) My parents openly preferred a daughter that adhered to obligation rather than independence; they never encouraged my spastic, nerdy nature, nor did they ever extend any kind of tangible love towards me...AND...I took responsibility for my life. I stood up and I decided to hold myself accountable. Every value that I have is because I decided to implement that value into my life and I put in the hard work and I strive, every day, to be the kind of woman that I truly want to be.

I hold out hope for my dad and I, I truly do, but not at the sacrifice of the things that I believe in and not at the sacrifice of the things I've chosen to stand for.

Frangible

As a young and semi-liberal lesbian, I've developed quite the luscious list of strong and empowering female role models. They vary from the women I've known intimately to the women I've read about in books to the women who have graced history and when I'm feeling down or lost about something, I usually turn to one of these women to help inspire me to find some kind of footing. Once, when I was having a bad day and I could feel the anxiety attack approaching, I took an hour between classes and read the end of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." I instantaneously felt better. Somehow the naive and spunky nature of this daydream-driven character helped me see that there is value in the crazy, yet extraordinary moments of life and that obsessive organization doesn't make life inherently better, (a lesson I've been forced to learn time and time again.) It's dorky, I know, but the list of fictional characters who have inspired me to be better is more than extensive.

But there is one woman, a real-life woman, who above all, never ceases to be my all-time inspiration. That woman is Maya Angelou. Maya is the woman that inspired me to become a writer; she is an incredibly strong woman and her writing perfectly exemplifies that strength, but it wasn't until I saw Maya in person that she became a true inspiration for me. Maya's writings do have an undeniable and unparalleled strength, but in person Maya is soft and gentle and quite the vulnerable female and I find that soo inspiring. Her soft, quiet nature doesn't muffle her strength, but rather accentuates it. Our society, so often, puts down women that appear vulnerable or frangible (sidenote: frangible is one of my favorite words, I use it all the time; it means "easily breakable," like as if someone was trying to say 'fragile' and 'breakable' at the same time and it came out as 'frangible' and then they just decided that it would be a word and now it is)...anyways...we put down women that appear frangible, because as a society we uphold strength, which is an admirable value to uphold, but not if it teaches women that being vulnerable and being strong are mutually exclusive, because I think that nothing could be further from the truth.

Lately, I've been putting a lot of effort into striving to be imperfect, which, I know, is an odd way to look at it, but in actuality I think that it's a productive way to look at it. Because perfection is so unattainable; when perfection becomes your ultimate goal, I think that you end up sacrificing a lot in order to get it. I have a very aggressive desire to be a strong woman, but sometimes in my quest to be a strong woman, I end up taking on the facade of strength, rather than actualizing strength; which I think makes me weaker, not stronger. Part of being a strong woman is having the strength to offer yourself compassion; the compassion to know that you don't have to be perfect to be great, that you don't have to hide from your history to move forward. And that part of being a strong woman is having the strength to accept yourself exactly as you are, even if that means embracing your frangible-ness.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned as a gay woman is that embracing exactly who are doesn't mean embracing the things that make you feel comfortable, it means offering yourself the compassion to feel whatever it is you're feeling and to go after whatever it is you want, no matter what (or who) it is you want. That's what makes a strong woman; not the facade of strength, but the actualization of strength. That's something I learned from Maya and I think that it's invaluable.