WHAT ARE YOU DOING NEW YEAR'S EVE?

The year is winding down. At the stroke of midnight a new month and a new year will be ushered in. With the advent of a new year will no doubt come numerous parties and celebrations for many. For others, it will be just a quiet evening at home, perhaps with a kiss or toast at midnight. Still for others, it will be just a regular Monday evening. In my case, if history repeats itself, which I've no doubt that it will, Parker will be in bed, fast asleep, long before the stroke of midnight, while I am watching television and surfing the web. No revelry, no fanfare, no passionate kisses. I'm not really complaining. I'm not really a party animal. Truth be known, I'd probably prefer nesting in a comfy blanket than being in a crowd of revel-raisers. Yet, the thought of snuggling under the comfy blanket with a special someone does sound intriguing as well.

Here's my confession: No revelry, no fanfare, and no passion—that basically sums up my relationship status. I'm likely to spend New Year's Eve reflecting on the changes already occurring in my life, and looking for ways to make others happen. I've done a significant amount of changes in the last year, but there is still work to be done, especially in my relationship with Parker. There are so many more things I want to change about myself. Careful planning and the setting and balancing of realistic goals and priorities will be the keys to my success.

What are you doing New Year’s Eve?

GRATITUDE: WEEK 5

This is my fifth week to pause, reflect and chronicle my gratitude. I indeed have much for which to be grateful. Certainly, it is easy to be grateful for the things that are obvious-good health, food, shelter and friends. However, truly delving in and going past the surface requires some work. It's easy to just sit back, take things for granted and to bitch when things don't turn out exactly the way we had planned. Gratitude, true gratitude, holds the power to transform us and to make us better in every facet of our lives.

To be perfectly honest, not all things in my life are perfect. I have an estranged relationship with my parents; my home, my brand-new home, has a big hole in the ceiling above my living room, where I accidentally poked my foot through the attic last week. I have friends with whom I’ve lost contact or don’t contact often. My relationship with Parker is in a major rut. Each day I feel we drift a little farther apart.

While I may have estranged familial relationships, mild damage to my home, friends with whom I am not in contact as often as I should and I may not have as happy a home life as I once had, upon reflection, I am reminded that I so have an amazing “family” of friends who love me, listen to me and support me. My home may be damaged, but at least I have a home, and am grateful that the accident was no worse than it was. The mild pain and a few minor bruises I’ve dealt with over the last week are nothing when compared to the sufferings of others. My relationship may be falling apart at home, but I see peace and some sort of resolution coming in the near future.

Here’s my confession: I don't want my blog to become trite or my gratitude to become forced. I want to be honest and sincere and not just be writing for the sake of writing. As I pause for reflection this week, I am so grateful for the blessings this week has brought. All the activities revolving around Christmas were exhausting, yet, the grateful part of that is that I actually was blessed to have had holiday activities in which to participate. I’m grateful for very special people in my life who genuinely love me and accept me for the person I am and for the person I am becoming. Though near or far, my friends are an absolute lifeline to me. I know there are so many who long for just one friend, yet I have been blessed with several. I’m grateful for the medication and encouragement of my dear confidants which have helped me focus on the changes I’m making in my life and for the peace that is coming into my life every single day. Although there have been a few days of set backs in the last couple of weeks, those are only a natural part of the ebb and flow of life. I’m grateful for a future full of hopes and dreams ahead of me and a lifetime of special memories behind me. I am always mindful that in the blink of an eye all that I hold dear could be taken from me. My wish for you this week is that you will pause, reflect on your busy life, and let the power of gratitude transform you!

SO, THIS IS CHRISTMAS?

So, this is Christmas? Mass is done, the meals have been eaten and gifts have been exchanged. Yet, it feels just like another ordinary December day. I suppose it's really just a state of mind. It is just getting to that place that is the difficult part.

It's just difficult to get excited about Christmas. The Nativity Story- it's a tired old story we've no doubt heard hundreds of times. I'm sure that for most of us it is simply another story we gloss over, rather than make an effort to truly meditate upon its meaning as though we were hearing the story for the very first time.

It's difficult to get excited about the gifts. Searching for perfect gifts is a hassle, dealing with crowds and actually devoting the time necessary to make the magic happen is often an insurmountable task, given the demands most of us are under at this "most wonderful time of the year". Receiving gifts is an altogether different story.

Here's my confession: You can breathe a sigh of relief. I believe this is my last rant for the year about Christmas. I know I am blessed beyond measure, both at Christmas and always. I have an abundance of gifts, love and friendships. My material possessions are more than I perhaps deserve. I'm well aware, as I think we all are, that it could all be taken from me in the blink of an eye. I guess what it boils down to is that the "magic" of Christmas has somehow, for me, been stripped away. It is a season approached more with a sense of dread than excitement.

I just have to come to face the truth that the Christmases I experienced in my childhood are part of the past. It is time to move along and create new traditions. My interaction with my family is not as amiable as it once was. My life, in general, is in a state of flux. Many changes loom on the horizon.

So, this Christmas is history. Perhaps the merriment will return next year. Meanwhile, I'll keep in mind the blessings I've received, and have a thankful. I hope your Christmas was full of peace and happiness.

REFLECTIONS OF GRATITUDE

I've been on vacation this week. I'm grateful for the down time. Parker and I made a quick trip to visit his brother's family in Louisiana at the beginning of the week. I'm grateful for our safe journey.

While this week has not been perhaps as productive as I had somehow hoped it would be, the thought comes to me that perhaps that is actually the point. Vacation-a time to relax, regroup, unwind. On some levels, I believe I've been able to achieve those goals.

I am grateful that my hole-in-the ceiling incident last night didn't cause any more damage to either me or the house. I went to the doctor just to be checked out, and it seems I am fine. I'm very fortunate, and indeed grateful.

I am grateful for the letter I revived from Brandee this week, and that the small hand-me-down gift I was able to send her brought her enjoyment and a bit of holiday cheer.

I'm grateful that this holiday season is almost over. Some people just don't understand my lack of enthusiasm over the holiday, while others understand all too well. I'm grateful for those who are able to celebrate the season with the childhood innocence and merriment, as well as for those, who, like me, approach the season with more dread than merriment and more contempt than celebration.

Here’s my confession: As I pause each week to reflect on my many blessings, I am constantly reminded that I have so much for which to be grateful. I am so guilty of taking the simple elements of the day-to-day for granted. The very fact that I am able to get out of bed each morning is something that many people are unable to do, yet, I don’t give it much thought. I am grateful for friends who encourage me. I am grateful for hopes and dreams and for the determination I’ve been given to follow through. I am grateful for the catharsis this blog brings to me.

DOWNWARD SPIRAL

It was all going so well, my vacation, that is, until tonight. While helping Parker move a shelf into our attic tonight, I made a misstep, fell backwards and put a hole in the ceiling above our living room, and am very sore where I fell on my side. After cleaning up drywall and insulation from the living room, we went out to get something for dinner, and then had a quick errand to run afterwards. That was going fine until we ended up having to spend more time than I cared to spend doing so, as we ended up having to visit with family for far longer than I cared to do. Then, listening to Sirius Out Q (Sirius Satellite Radio) on the way home, the host was talking about sex and things of a sexual nature, which quickly reminded me of another sore subject for me-my relationship. Sitting in the passenger side of Parker’s car on the 25 or so minute drive home, we barely spoke to one another, a situation that is becoming more and more common.

We get home, I’m tired, and ready to just relax. Of course, one cat had something different in mind, deciding he need to vomit, so I had to clean that up, and looking up, I am reminded of the fall I took earlier in the evening that will no doubt cost us money that we already don’t have to repair. I maintain that it was an honest mistake and what’s done is done, I shouldn’t spend any time dwelling on it. Yet, I think perhaps it was a stupid mistake. I should have known better than to step where I stepped, but how could I know where I was stepping…it was covered with pink insulation?

Here’s my confession: The events of earlier this evening were just enough to start me on a downward spiral. For the last few weeks, I’ve genuinely been feeling very well about life. I’ve been feeling confident and on top of life for the first time in as long as I can remember, perhaps ever. Yet, my fall reminded me of failings in my relationship, general unhappiness with other areas of life. I felt the feelings of anxiety and stress that I haven’t felt in at least a couple of months. Feelings of inferiority, insecurity and being a general screw up have manifested themselves this evening. It’s like being back on a roller coaster ride that I thought had ended some time ago. I’m sure this is just a minor set back, yet, I struggle to fight these fears which have, for so long, held me captive. Move along, I remind myself. “You’ve come too far to fall backwards.” I’ll bounce back. To quote a line from one of my favorite holiday songs, Dolly Parton's “Hard Candy Christmas”: “I’ll be fine and dandy, Lord it’s like a hard Candy Christmas, barely getting through tomorrow, but still I won’t let sorrow bring me way down.” That sums it up. In a holiday season when I’m having trouble maintaining the holiday spirit, I am long for simplicity. My inspiration is the special cat that is lying beside me sleeping very peacefully. He appears to have no stress, no worries. If only I could be so lucky.

MILESTONES

There were two significant events which occurred ten years ago today, December 18, 1997. It was just a regular Thursday to most people. For me, it was the day I finished work on my Bachelor of Arts degree with a major in music. It was the realization of a goal. The second event of the day, while not personally affecting me, was none the less significant. It was the death of Saturday Night Live actor and comedian Chris Farley. I remember hearing the news as I was preparing to leave my apartment that evening, and will always associate that news with the date that I finished my degree.

Certainly for me, the completion of my degree was a significant milestone in my life. Yet, for me, it was less about the lessons and theories I had learned, and more about the things I had learned about myself represented by my diploma. It was the lifelong friendships gained, the obstacles overcome and the fact that I had actually accomplished something I had set out to achieve.

Here's my confession: A decade has passed since I finished my undergraduate degree. There have been many amazing changes in my life since that day. I'm not the same person I was back then. I believe I am more mature, confident, focused, and, in a greater sense, altogether a better person. While that milestone I reached ten years ago was a significant one, there are other milestones which lie ahead. Growing intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually are goals for the days and months ahead. In recent months, I’ve begun taking active steps toward the next significant milestones in my life. December 18, 1997 was just a stepping stone in the larger picture of my future. So, I am declaring today, ten years later, on December 18, 2007, that I am committed to bringing major changes into my life, embracing new challenges

REFLECTIONS OF GRATITUDE, WEEK 3

I pause again tonight to reflect on the things for which I am grateful. This has been a week in which I’ve found it hard to be motivated to do much of anything. Perhaps it is the Holiday Season and all the hoopla that goes with it or certain situations going on in my life at this particular time, maybe a combination of all the above.

I am again grateful for the opportunities afforded me this week to share my musical talents with others, for those who have offered me words of encouragement. I am grateful for the passion for music, something that for a while had been lying dormant in me, but is now returning. I am grateful for future opportunities to grow musically.

I am grateful for the wonderful gift of memories-memories of more simple times, of special people who have touched my life in some form or fashion. I am grateful for the memories of holidays long gone, for those who are no longer with us.

I am grateful for friendships. I have a few very close friends who, even if I don’t get to see them in person very often, are such an incredible source of strength for me.

As I look back over the last week and reflect on the things which stand out in my mind for which I’m most grateful, I would have to say that I am most grateful for the prospects which lie ahead of me for the future. For those of you with whom I’ve shared these prospects and changes which are increasingly coming into fruition, I am grateful for your support and encouragement. They mean more to me than you will ever know. For those I haven’t shared with, stay tuned. More changes will become apparent in coming months. I am grateful for the guidance my counselor has been giving me. The future looks very bright.

I am grateful for a week of vacation which lies ahead of me. I am hopeful that it will be a time of rest, reflection and decisiveness.

Here’s my confession: Sometimes it really takes a lot effort to find things for which to be grateful. Life is not always easy, and it is often easier to focus on the negative than the positive. I’ve spent a great deal of my life focusing on the negative. However, it is far more beneficial to focus on the positive events, people and things in our lives.

As always, I am grateful to you, my most faithful readers, for your comments. They mean so much more to me than you will know, and make me feel that my work here is not in vain. Thank You from the bottom of my heart.

THAT RING DON'T MEAN A THING

Being the gay guy in the office, it seems I am often the go-to guy to figure out the sexual orientations of people in the workplace. Why this private bit of information is so important I haven't yet figured out myself, although, I admit, I am as guilty of wanting to know as much as anyone. I have an uncanny knack, it would seem, for gathering info on people. Really, I just have good research skills on the Internet mixed with a little bit of luck.

There is a guy in our office, I'll call him "Andrew". He's married (to a woman), has a couple of kids and, by most accounts, makes me look straight. He's always nicely dressed, is "one of the guys", and yet swishes around like he's a princess. I don't get it. He doesn't often make contact with me, but then again, I can understand his fear of exposure. "But he's married." if I've heard it once, I've heard it fifty times. I'm sorry...that ring don't mean a thing, except, of course, that he's possibly hiding his sexual orientation behind a marriage and family. There are many married men "keeping it on the down low". Many men are bi, or at least bi-curious. We live in an age when sex is relatively easy to come by, given the accessibility of the Internet to meet people. I have to wonder if it's more common now or if it's just more obvious. There’s another guy, I’ll call him “Tim”. He, too, is married, wears a wedding ring, but everyone is all abuzz about whether or not he is gay, straight or bi. Why it really matters, I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s the “novelty” of knowing someone who is gay, maybe it’s the mystery of knowing someone’s “dirty little secret” or maybe it’s just great fodder for office gossip.

I’m sure that these men, and countless others, have their own reasons for hiding behind their rings. Regardless of who we are, we all have skeletons in our closets. We all have things we don’t want to disclose to those with whom we interact on a daily basis. There are things, for whatever reason, we don’t want people to know about our personal lives. And, really, that’s probably the way it should be. Yet, in reality, it’s hard to hide everything, and speculation often runs rampant regardless of how open or closed we are, whether it be about our sexual orientation, if we’ve filed for bankruptcy, if we’re heading for divorce or any other number of circumstances in which we may find ourselves.

Here’s my confession: I’ve been sitting on this blog for nearly a month, not really knowing for certain why I was writing it until I had an epiphany of sorts a few days ago. I was thinking about the ring that I wear on my left hand given to me by Parker on the day we had our commitment ceremony. What does that ring mean? What was once a symbol of love and commitment, I’ve realized that lately, for me, is more of an accessory I wear than a symbol of something deeper. Many of those closest to me already know of this skeleton in my closet, some do not. Now, you do. It has taken me a while to be honest with myself about this situation and come to terms with it. Perhaps this is how those men I mentioned earlier feel about their situations. Maybe it is nobody’s business, maybe it is. At any rate, deeply personal issues can cause us to cower away from the truth, but is it not the truth that sets us free? Is it not the truth that makes us the bigger person? Does not being true to ourselves at the very core bring us a peace? Certainly all those ideals are easier to implement in theory than to put into practice. I know I have a way to go for the truth to truly set me free, but believe I will arrive.

SOLITUDE

I have always been somewhat of an introvert. Perhaps it is because, despite my repeated requests and pleas for a sibling, I am an only child. Perhaps it is because I was born under the astrological sign of Cancer. Perhaps it is just a culmination of all my life's experience. Whatever the purpose, in recent months I have gained an even greater appreciation for these moments.

As I have journeyed down the trail of self-improvement and awareness, I have turned even more introspective. Just a few months ago, I could have been classified as co-dependent. I used to spend my evenings chatting online with friends. I always wanted to be around Parker. Now I rarely even turn the messenger program on. I now send Parker to run errands by himself. I've filled my time with learning foreign languages, playing "brainy" games on my Nintendo DS or just lying with a cat or two watching television.

It is in the quietness of being at home alone in which I am finding the most peace these days. That is such a change for me. I’ve never been able to truly relax. I continue to look for ways to improve myself. I’m committed to making more time for solitude as I approach the days ahead and certainly in the New Year.

Here’s my confession: I’ve always enjoyed being alone, because for a large portion of my life, that is all I’ve ever been. Now, learning how to make those rare moments of solitude and quietness in a world that is full of obligations most productive is my goal. I believe it is in the quietness of these moments that I will grow the most.

REFLECTIONS OF GRATITUDE

As I pause this week to reflect on the things for which I am grateful, I am mindful that even in a week that was rather blasé to me, there are still far more blessings for which to be grateful than to be disappointed.

I am grateful for moments of solitude, moments in which I am alone with myself, my thoughts, my feelings, my raw emotions. I am grateful for the clarity these moments provide, the peace I am finding in truly delving into who I am at the core. I am grateful for the coming into a greater self-awareness.

I am grateful for those who offer to me their well-intentioned opinions, although perhaps not exactly opinions I am seeking. I am grateful for those who care for me on a deep and personal level. I am thankful for the depth and love that friendships can provide.

I am again grateful for my musical talents and the opportunities I’ve had to share those gifts with others, for the compliments that others give to me, for the edification their words bring to me.

I am grateful for Brandee, my college friend with whom I’ve recently renewed an epistolary relationship. I am grateful for the depth of her soul which she laid out in her epistle to me, and for the cathartic experience we both experienced in our writing. I am also grateful for the deep and enriching experiences she has shared with me, which are not unlike situations through which I myself am going, and will be going in the future. I am also grateful for G who is a constant source of encouragement through my blog and by her very presence in my life. She seems to see something deeper in me, and sees the potential that lies ahead for me.

I am grateful that in spite of my lack of enthusiasm for most of life this week, my fatigue and being generally withdrawn from life, that I have made it to the other side of this week. I am grateful for visions I have for my future, peace that I am gaining along the way to follow my dreams and for those holding my hand as I make the arduous journey.
I am grateful for being at a place in my life where I am finally being honest with myself.

Here’s my confession: This week has been tough. It’s been jam-packed with obligations. I’ve been very tired. Yet, I know that while it would be easy to stop and bitch, that is not beneficial. Pausing and looking at my life with a grateful heart and attitude are for more effective. There’s always someone out there who would give anything to have the life that I have. Whatever difficulties I am encountering along my journey, they certainly pale in comparison to so the situations of so many others. I must be mindful of that.

EVERYONE KNOWS BEST

It seems everyone has an opinion on the way I need to handle things in my life. "Just reach out to your parents again." they say. "You and Parker have a great relationship." "Maybe you guys just need a hobby." Not everything is that easy or that cut and dried. It is often so much easier to say than to actually do. The exterior view is not always as clear as the interior view. In almost every life there are skeletons in a closet. For example, the battered spouse tries hard not to expose those wounds for the rest of the world to see. And so it is with all of us. No matter how open we are about our lives, there's almost always an element we try to hide. We live a grand façade. We fear the rejection, the mumbling behind our backs and the vulnerability that may come about by our being completely honest with the people in and around our lives.

I suppose I should be grateful that people care enough about my happiness to express their thoughts and concerns, but there are times when the "sound" advice crosses a line, especially when the advice is unsolicited. It's one thing to ask for one's opinion, and quite another to be on the hot seat, so to speak, being told that you should do this or that, when a solution wasn't even being sought.

The things that are going on in my relationship are not things easily remedied by talking to one another, finding a hobby, finding different ways of connecting. They go far deeper than that. Things with my parents aren't as easily resolved by writing a letter, or reaching out in some other way that hasn't been tried before. Most of these issues have been compounded over the years. The Berlin Wall wasn't built in a day and its destruction didn't come about in a day, either. So it is with these relationship issues in my life. The "walls" have taken a period of time to be built up. And, if there is to be resolution, or breaking down, as it were, it will take time as well.

Here's my confession: I am grateful for the people in my life who show care and concern for me. However, sometimes it is hard when those who don’t know the whole story are the first to offer advice. It’s frustrating when you’ve done so much work on your own and some people negate your progress by saying “oh, you’ve been working on this or that? I hadn’t noticed.” Sometimes, it seems that people are more willing to point out the splinter in my eye while ignoring the plank in their own eye. Maybe that’s just human nature. At any rate, I’m going to just keep my chin up and realize that one day, all my problems are going to meet their solutions. It may not be today and it may not be tomorrow, but it will happen. Everyone has opinion. We just have to learn when to keep ours to ourselves and when they are welcomed by someone else.

REMEMBERING CHRISTMASES LONG, LONG AGO

There is something about childhood and Christmas, at least for me there was. It was about family togetherness. Christmas Eve was when we would all gather for the celebration with my mom's side of the family. There was always a huge meal, extended family and friends would be there. It was, as I recall, about as perfect as a Christmas could possibly be. It was a time of togetherness and love, in spite of whatever dysfunctionality there may have been. It was a far more simple time. It was a happy time. It just seemed like Christmas is "supposed" to be. Christmas Day was generally always spent with my dad's side of the family. We'd eat another big meal, exchange gifts and usually having a hymn sing-a- long, commonly referred to as "pickin' and grinnin'".

That was then. This is now. The times have changed, the people have changed. Some of those who made the holidays so special are no longer living. Those of us who remain are all older now. Time has changed us, too. The family dynamics aren't what they once were. There have been marriages, divorces, deaths and the birth of a different generation. The family friends who would join us all have families of their own now. My young cousins are now adults with spouses of their own. I have come out as a gay man and moved away after college. My last fond Christmas memory was twenty years ago. Something truly changed after Christmas of 1987. Yet, I do not know what.

Here's my confession: Once a time of great expectation and anticipation, the holiday season is now just a time of dread and a source of fatigue. I, myself, haven't been home for Christmas in over five years. I haven't spoken to my mother in nearly two of those years. Celebrating Christmas seems merely an obligation now, rather than the images a Norman Rockwell painting might evoke. Putting up the Christmas Tree was once an activity which was looked forward to ,but is now just another chore on the already too long list of things to prepare for this "most joyous of seasons". It's hard to remember what truly giving a gift from the heart felt like. And those dreadful holiday songs! They are like love songs with a holiday theme. They evoke images of fantasies and fiction. When, honestly, was the last time you went gliding in a one-horse open sleigh? Exactly. Never, and neither have I. I've experienced the occasional White Christmas, if you want to call it that. Maybe I should try looking at Christmas through the innocence of a child's eyes, rather than my jaded and tired adult eyes. Maybe, just maybe, the wonder and merriment would return.

GREETING CARDS

For those who care enough to send the very best, Hallmark claims to have a card for you to send. There are mushy cards about love, every variety of card immaginable from every occassion from your birthdays to holidays, going away cards, sympathy cards, even symphathy cards for the loss of a beloved family pet. The cards range from side-splitting hilarious to sappy and sentimental.

Even in a society where writing letters has fallen to the wayside, the greeting card is still very much alive. The store rows are packed with people trying to select the perfect card for Mother's Day, Father's Day, Christmas. Sometimes, though, it just isn't possible to find a card that fully expresses one's heartfelt emotions.

Here's my confession: Sometimes, no matter how hard you look, the perfect card is just simply not available. For those of us, like me, who may not have a great relationship with family members, the mushy crap about what a great mother you are, what a perfect aunt, etc. just don't suffice. Greeting card companies should develop the Dysfunctional Relationsips line of cards-something that says "Happy Holidays Mom and Dad! You sucked as parents and screwed up my life" or "Happy Anniversary! You are a sorry excuse for a wife", "Happy Birthday, Son. You were a mistake, but we decided to keep you anyway". What about same-sex couples? There's no mainstream line of cards for this segment of the population and thereby must resort to chosing something generic to give their loved one.

If you are going to the time and trouble to pick out a greeting card, don't you want to find one that honestly expresses your true feelings? There's nothing more disappointing than coming up empty handed, or worse-settleing for something less-at the card store because sometimes no matter how hard you look, there's just not a "perfect card".

GRATITUDE

This is my first installment of what I plan to be a weekly part of my blog. I’m going to take the opportunity to pause and reflect on the things in the week, and my life, for which I am most grateful. I plan to do this on Friday of each week.

I have so many people and things in my life for which to be grateful. As I reflect on this week, I am grateful for friends who have been there to lend me an ear as I decide where my life is headed. I am grateful for my counseling session on Tuesday which left me with a sense of empowerment.

I am grateful for the things in my life which are far too easy to take for granted-things such as the fact that I don’t have any major health issues, aside from a mild cold. I have money in the bank, a warm bed to sleep in. I have the ability to see, hear, taste, feel and smell. I have shelter and more than enough food.

I am grateful for my musical abilities and the lady (who I didn't even know) who came up to me after Mass on Sunday to tell me that my music was inspiring to her. I’ve carried that with me all week long. I’m grateful for my beautiful baby grand piano. I’m grateful for those in my life who encourage my musical abilities, and for the opportunities I’ve been provided to share and nurture these gifts.

I am grateful for my best friend and confidant, Truvy. She’s been an absolute constant in my life for nearly a decade. While I don’t get to see her in person very often, I am grateful for the cute text messages we share during the day and the few times we are able to talk on the phone. I am so grateful that I have a place in her heart. I’m also grateful for my dear friend, “Germy”, who has been a rock to me since the day we met in 1994. There is absolutely no way of knowing where I would be without him in my life. We’ve shared so much. I’ve heard it said that in life, you meet a lot of people, and if you are lucky, you have a couple of friends for life. I have been blessed beyond measure.

I’m grateful for the unconditional love of the cats who are lying here on the bed with me as I write this. They bring such a calming presence into my life and a love that is unparalleled. I’m grateful for the few moments of solitude I’ve had this week. I’m grateful for the prospects my future holds, for hopes, for dreams. I’m grateful for the last six months of my life which have been a period of tremendous growth for me. I’m grateful for the medication and counseling. I’m grateful for my resolve to grow, and the support I’ve found along the way.

Here’s my confession: I don’t pause as often as I should to reflect on these things in my life. Yet, I know, it is a very necessary and essential thing to do. I hope you’ll be inspired and uplifted as you continue to read my blog. I know I have a few faithful readers, and I’m grateful for you. May you find peace and blessings in your own life. Thank You from the bottom of my heart!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS?

There was a story on the news last night about the great debate over whether retailers should be saying "Merry Christmas", "Happy Holidays" or "Season's Greetings". Is the tree called by its traditional "Christmas Tree" or the more politically correct, all encompassing "Family Tree"? The story noted that more than 30% of the population prefers "Merry Christmas". Retailers have taken note of that statistic because no retailer can afford to lose 30% of their customers.

This afternoon I received an email from someone-one of those lovely "forwards" we all love so much. It was a rant about the whole what do we call Christmas thing...and how it's Christmas. We shouldn't be messing with tradition, it said.

Here's my confession: I really feel we should be sensitive to one another's beliefs. Sure, it is "Christmas", but there are those among us, for example, in the workplace, who may be Jewish or even Jehovah's Witnesses, who may not celebrate Christmas, which is, arguably, a "Christian" holiday. At our company holiday luncheon last year the employee choir sang mostly Christmas hymns-Joy to the World, O Come All Ye Faithful, O Holy Night. Even though I was a participant, I felt that was inappropriate in the workplace. Matters of faith in the workplace are a touchy subject. I am a Christian, but I don't feel I should broadcast it at work. In the workplace, if there is to be a celebration, it should celebrate the season and the accomplishments of the year, not be an in-your-face Jesus fest. I know there are those who will disagree with this postion, saying we should keep Christ in Christmas. However, the counter argument could be made that Christmas was not always a Christian holiday. Instead, it began as a response to those celebrating pagan festivals. So, was Christ ever truly in Christmas? The bottom line here is that we should respect one another's personal convictions regarding the holiday. It really seems as though it had gotten out of hand. So, however you celebrate the season-Season's Greetings. If you don't celebrate-have a nice day. Maybe that's the answer to world peace.

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I try not to let my blog become a daily diary. I like to think it's deeper than that. I must say though, the day started out rough. First, I have a cold and didn't sleep well at all. While getting ready for work, I notice some bills I've forgotten to pay. Then, while getting ready to leave for work, I dropped my iPhone on the tile in the bathroom, only to discover a few minutes later that the top quarter of the glass front had shattered. Parker came to the rescue and put a piece of protective adhesive on it. No worries, I thought. It's nothing that a trip to the Apple store can't fix, right? I get to work and show my phone to my co-workers who reacted with much horror. All the while I still have a smile on my face. I then went to my appointment with my counselor. We talked about the many changes I've made in my life and the great progress I've made. We spoke of my ambivalence in some areas of my life, my dissatisfaction in others, and my goals for the future. It was, as usual, a very good session.

Here's my confession: In retrospect, I probably should have crawled back in bed, covered my head and buried my head for the day. Yet, in reality, I don't know when I've been in a better mood. I've been so high on life today that it's almost frightening. Maybe the Lexapro has kicked into overdrive today, maybe I'm just THAT at peace with life. Whatever the case, I feel like I could conquer hell with a water pistol today. I'm almost at a loss for words to describe how I feel. Everything seems right in my corner of the world today. I'm not certain, but I think it's a feeling that I want to stay around.

PEOPLE WATCHING

One of my absolute favorite things to do is to people watch. It is a very fascinating thing to do. I could literally spend hours sitting in a food court or at a mall, just looking at people—watching their interactions, their mannerisms, their idiosyncrasies. People Watching is the ultimate experiment in sociology.

Everyone who has ever lived has a story-but what is it? What is this passerby's story? What about that one? Why are the dressed that way? Are they happy or sad? Are they married? Gay? Straight? What makes them tick? What is their name? How old? What kind of work do they do? It is, of course, difficult to answer these questions just by looking at the exterior. Furthermore, why does it even matter? In the grand scheme of things, it probably doesn't matter, but still, enquiring minds want to know.

Here's my confession: After an entire life of people watching, I still haven't mastered the "art". I've been told that I'm extremely obvious when I am watching. I haven't learned to delicately observe my "subjects". Rather, I stand there like a dog salivating over dinner. Admittedly, that is neither cool nor attractive. There have been times when I've been caught. Busted. Called on the carpet. For example, there was one incident at the gym several years back (which I've tried to retire to the deepest recesses of my memory without success) where I had been watching this guy for probably six months to a year. He was cute, who could possibly blame me? Anyway, he came up to me and asked me if we knew one another and why I had been staring at him. I apologized and pretended to know not that of which he spoke. Oops! That was extremely embarrassing. I suppose there is a fine line between people watching and ogling. But how does one strike a balance? I know I’m not alone in loving to people watch. I just wonder what is it we are hoping to find? Are we looking to discover something new about ourselves? Perhaps it’s a little bit of both.

THE LIFE I THOUGHT I'D HAVE

Life has a pretty amazing way of taking us in directions and places we would have never imagined. Fifteen years ago I thought I would head back to my small little hometown after college, where I would become a school teacher. Eleven years ago, I was certain I would be living in Knoxville, Tennessee, though I'd have to figure out the job situation later.

I suppose deep down, I've always known that I'd be living in a city. I'm just not meant for the small town kind of life. I imagined living in some high-rise apartment overlooking a bustling city below. I'd be living a very cosmopolitan type of life.

Here's my confession: Life's realities often have a way of converting our dreams and visions into something quiet different. I had never sat foot in Alabama until a college choir trip brought me here in 1996. Even then, I didn't realize that our first stop on the tour, Birmingham, would one day be home. No, I don't live in a high-rise apartment building overlooking the bustling city, the life I live is hardly the image of "cosmopolitan" I had envisioned in my mind, and professionally speaking, I would have never thought I would be traveling the avenue I've traveled for nearly a decade.

Life is an ever-evolving process. Maybe I haven't yet arrived at my ultimate destiny. I remain open to what lies ahead. I feel I am on the brink of a personal metamorphisis. I've just been along for the ride up to this point. There are things I'm ready and willing to change, yet others I'm hopeful will remain the same. Only time will tell the ultimate outcome. But, as time has shown in the past, there's just no predicting the twists and turns along the journey's way.

THANKSGIVING

It is almost clichè to write a blog about Thanksgiving today. All too often I think that we take our day to day events for granted. How often do we truly pause to reflect on those things for which we should be thankful, even on a day such as today, which is set aside to give thanks? Thanksgiving Day has become, it seems, all about the turkey, an overabundance of food, football games and just another day off from work.

As I pause today to reflect on my blessings, I know there are many. I have a comfortable new home to go to each day, a loving and supporting group of friends. I haven't missed a meal lately-and if I did, it was of my own volition. I have money in the bank, clothes to wear, I have no major health problems. The list could go on and on.
Here's my confession: I am guilty of all too often taking my many blessings for granted. I know that in the blink of an eye, I could have an accident and everything could disappear. The unforeseen could happen. I could fall on hard times financially. Friends could foresake me. Those are realities that none of us truly wants to face. It is so much easier to take each day and its many blessings for granted.

My hope and prayer is that I be more thankful each day, not just on Thanksgiving Day. Life and its many precious blessings are too fragile to not live a life of gratitude. This is my prayer for you, my dear reader, for I am indeed thankful for the time you take to read my confessions. Happy Thanksgiving!

HANDWRITTEN LETTERS

In an era not too long ago, a popular mode of communication was the hand-written letter, delivered via to you via the United States Postal Service right to your mailbox.

I was introduced to this form of communication at an early age by my grandmother. She began writing letters to me as a child and I would correspond back to her. This correspondence continued throughout my college years. In fact, I have practically every letter I received from my grandmother from the time I went off to college in 1992 until she died in 2000. Several months ago I went through those letters, organized them by date, and placed them in a plastic storage container. Some of the letters, especially near the end of her life, brought back warm memories and even a few tears.

My college friends and I, in an age before the prevalence of electronic communications, would spend our summers writing letters to one another. It was not uncommon to send and receive a 10 or 12 page hand-written letters. Now, I would be hard-pressed to even tell you the last time I received a hand-written letter. It may very well have been the final letter I received from my grandmother, just weeks before her death.

Here's my confession: I miss this by-gone form of communication. After my grandmother died, I would go to my mailbox for several weeks waiting for that one final letter from her. It never came. Writing letters to me has always been a cathartic outlet. From time to time I will still take the effort to write a letter by hand, but sadly, not nearly as often as I once did. I have fallen into the electronic communications age. While not hand-written, I do tend to write long emails when I do write. Writing has long been my chosen form of expression. Whether hand-written or electronic, it's still a part of my heart. However, I have to admit that I still long for the warmth that comes from opening the mailbox and finding a card or letter from a loved one. It doesn't happen that often, so I guess that's what makes it all the more special.

GETTING TO KNOW ME

No, this isn't one of those survey thingies. It's something more relevant, more personal. It's about the process I've been going through for the last several months. It's about change. It's about discovery. It's about action. Change is never easy, especially when it happens on a personal level, but change is also necessary in order to grow. As humans, we are creatures of habit, and would often prefer to just sit back, accept the status quo and live life in the rut we've created for ourselves rather than take the steps to get out of that rut. I know. I've been there. For me, something, somewhere along the way, snapped. I had been enveloped by a rut and knew that I had to make changes. It was something I had to do for me.

After suffering from anxiety for a long time, I sought the help of a counselor and my physician. Working through various issues has been a liberating experience. I can't say I've totally arrived, but I am well on my way. I've learned to let go of a great deal of the things in my life causing me pain. I've started getting to know ME. I'm making changes in my life for ME. I don't think it's self-centered. It is, however, a gift of self-love.

I received an email from a friend last week who said that the changes he's noticed in me are good for me. He noted that I am more decisive, assertive and determined, that it's like I'm finally becoming the person I am meant to be. I have to agree. I'm a little more proud of myself, a little more focused and this is just the beginning of a process that I believe will continue to change my life for the better.

Change has involved the conscious decision to stop worrying about relationships in my life that, despite my attempts to make amends, have not resulted in reconciliation. It's involved my sitting down and asking myself the hard questions: What is right for me? In what areas of my life do I want to grow? Where do I see myself in five or ten years? It's being honest with myself. It's the willingness to be open to the changes, and the determination to be able to put a plan into action to see results come into fruition. It's separating myself from those people and things in my life which bring me down rather than build me up.

Here's my confession: This has been the most difficult blog I have written yet. It's because I struggled to find the words to fully describe the process of me getting to know me. I spend a lot of my time thinking these days. The process of discovering who I am and where I'm headed in life has been incredibly invigorating. The blog has provided me with a very necessary catharsis and the acknowledgement from others that I am not the only one noticing these changes is a motivating force. It is my hope and prayer that the momentum keeps up. Stay tuned for updates on the changes still to come.

CAFETERIA CHRISTIANITY

We live in a time when faith in "organized religion" is declining and where many are looking for the place where they can find their spiritual niche, that place where our beliefs and faith intertwine. If we are honest with ourselves and take an honest look at our faith, we find it is a difficult process to find a place where faith and doctrine collide. The Reverend Doctor Billy Graham once said if you find the perfect church, don't join it because if you do, you'll spoil it. His point is very valid. We all want to find the perfect church, but it doesn't exist. We then turn to "Cafeteria Christianity", picking and choosing our beliefs much like lunch time at Piccadilly. A little Methodist here, a little Presbyterian there, and let's throw a little Catholicism in, too, just for good measure.

It is difficult to find a set of doctrines with which we can completely agree. No church (denomination, that is), however much they might like to claim it, has cornered the market on Theology. We argue whether or not Jesus is truly present in the Body and Blood, whether the Bible should be taken literally, whether we should do things this way or that way, and thus we have a vast variety of offerings in this expansive cafeteria line.

Here's my confession: I am a cafeteria Christian. I've been Southern Baptist, United Methodist and Roman Catholic. I'd be lying if I said I believe everything that any of those three faith traditions teaches. Having been a Southern Baptist gives me a knowledge of scripture that many Catholics just don't have. Having been a United Methodist, I gained a great appreciation for the liturgy. Practicing Catholicism, albeit Cafeteria Catholicism, is the best marriage of my convictions. Certainly I don't agree with the church's views on hot-button topics such as gay marriage or birth control, but I feel more complete spiritually as a Catholic than anything I've ever been. Striking a balance and developing our own convictions is important in having a well-balanced spiritual life. Often, it takes stepping out of the structure of our old faith practices and into the cafeteria to realize our spiritual potential. Your families religious convictions may not be yours. It is not an easy task, but the journey is certainly worth the trip! So, step up to the cafeteria, the menu is ready for the choosing.

WHAT IF GOD WAS ONE OF US?

Is God some aloof being out there who moves us around like pieces on a chess board? Or, is God a loving being with whom we are able to have a personal relationship? Is God a Man or a Woman? Both? Who is God? If life is a journey and that journey is to move us towards God, how then are we to know who God is? Is not all of humanity on their quest for God striving to reach the same God, be we Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu or something altogether different?

One of my favorite songs of recent years is Joan Osborn's "One of Us". The song poses some very deep questions about God. The song puts the deity in human terms. "If God had a name, what would it be and would you call it to his face, if you were faced with him in all his glory? What would you ask if you had just one question? If God had face what would it look like? And would you want to see if seeing meant that you would have to believe in things like heaven and in Jesus and the saints and all the prophets? What if God was one of usJust a slob like one of us, Just a stranger on the bus, Trying to make his way home"

Well, how do we answer those questions? Even those of us who profess a faith in God might be challenged to answer those questions. The imagery of those lyrics is staggering. Would we be so bold as to call God by name? The most striking image in the lyrics to me is that of being on the bus with God, being just like us, trying to make his way home. It doesn't get much more personal than that.

Here's my confession: I believe there is some truth in all the world's religions, although I profess to be a Christian. I believe that God is ultimately a loving and caring being who allows us the freedom to make our own choices. One of the most beautiful prayers I have ever heard was by a United Methodist minister who once opened her prayer with "God our Father and our Mother..." That was deep. That was profound. It was at that very moment I began to see God in a new light. God is everything we need. God is a Mother, a Father, a Lover, a Friend. It's unfortunate that some groups view God as a hateful, evil dictator, for I believe this view robs humanity of peace. God is often used as a scapegoat to justify hatred. So, what if God was one of us? What would you ask if you had just one question? Would you want to see if seeing meant that you would have to believe?

DEATH: LIFE'S GREATEST MYSTERY

November is the month many Christian groups traditionally set aside to remember the dead. What happens when we die? Where do we go? Where is Heaven? Where is Hell? Do either really exist? These are probing and prolific questions to which we can only theorize an answer. Death is the great uniting force. Regardless of our culture, religious practices, whether we are young or old, rich or poor, it is the one thing that every single being is certain to experience. It is an experience that will ONLY happen once. Although some have had near-death experiences, and their experiences all seem very similar, none of us truly knows what happens after we die.

The study of death and dying, known as Thanatology, offers insight into how we die, however, offers no concrete evidence as to what we experience post-mortem. Terminally ill patients often die in a very similar manner, actually, some might say, choosing the time of their death-perhaps they are waiting for a loved one to come, a holiday or special occasion to finish, but they know, on some level, when their time has come to die. Hospice workers are trained to look for signs in the patients under their care, and can often predict within a number of days, and sometimes, even down to the hour of death.

Here's my confession: Death is incredibly fascinating to me. A subject many find morbid and disturbing, death, to me is a great mystery. What really happens to us when we die? Are we aware of the goings- on here on earth? Is death an ending, a beginning or just a continuation? Is not death just a part of life? Looking at this from a Christian perspective, we are given broad and sweeping descriptions of the afterlife, but are these descriptions purely allegorical or are they literal? It's all a matter of interpretation, I surmise. There are probably as many interpretations of the after-life as there are people. I have lost some very dear loved ones to death, and I think of them often. I wonder where they are, if they can see me, what "life" is like for them. Death is many things. Certainly, death is the ultimate in finality. Saying a final farewell to someone we love is never easy. Yet, there is a beauty and peace in death to which nothing compares. From a very young age, I was exposed to death. In fact, one of my favorite past times as a child was to visit cemeteries with my grandparents. I have found very few places on earth where there is as much serenity and peace as there is in a cemetery. And, so, as you pause this month to remember your beloved dead this month, do you, as I, wonder where they are?

YOU GIVE GOD A BAD NAME

There is a middle-aged man who stands on the street corner in the financial district of downtown Birmingham during lunch several days a week holding a sign that reads, simply, "Trust in God". He's done this for years. He's quiet, respectful and gentle. Motorists passing by will honk their horns at him as a symbol of their agreement with his message, smiling and waving at him as they go about their business.

In stark contrast to his methods, there is another group of "evangelists" who have arrived at this same corner over the last week or so to "spread the Word". They have come bearing signs, some indicating that "Jesus Is The Way" and, my personal favorite, a hand-drawn banner on a white bed sheet held up by two sticks, stating that "Marriage is between a man and woman, with a hand-drawn picture of two men holding hands with a circle and a line drawn through them. In addition to their message through their signs, they are also handing out Gospel tracts.

The first day I passed these "new" evangelists, I politely took one of their tracts. When I crossed the street, yet another young man offered me yet another tract, which I politely refused. I couldn't help thinking about the message they are sending and the message they came to promote. Was this what Jesus meant when he issued "The Great Commission", admonishing us to go into all nations, proclaiming and baptizing..." or did he have something more subtle in mind?

Here's my confession: I know I am preaching to the proverbial choir here. The people who need to be reading this probably never will. Were I not already a Christian, I doubt that these "evangelistic methods" would persuade me to become one. I wonder if they realize that while their hearts may be genuine and their motives pure, their tactics are quite possibly turning more people away from Christ than they are actually bringing to Him. They offer a fundamental, literal and sometimes brain-washed interpretation of the Gospel. Is guilting someone into repentance true conversion? We live in a society that has been damaged by this approach. We live in a society that often views organized religion as inherently flawed. Street corner evangelists screaming "REPENT AND BE SAVED!" aren't helping to change this perception. We also are fortunate to live in a country where we are free to express our opinions and religion. So, I ask, What Would Jesus Do?

A BIG BOWL OF SELF ESTEEM

My best friend, Truvy, gave me the greatest gift in the world for my birthday earlier this year-a big bowl of self-esteem. It is really just a cute tchotchke, but to me it is a symbol of accomplishment and work in progress. Those closest to me have noticed the changes happening in me and know how hard I have worked to become more confident, less anxious and more focused. Although my friends' comments about my growth do encourage me and move me forward, I have to realize that I cannot rely on their encouragement alone as a basis for my self-esteem. Self-Esteem can only come from one place-myself. Deep inside. For someone who has spent most of his life battling with low self-esteem, it has been an exciting adjustment to see myself becoming more confident, self-reliant and less needy. I've never felt good enough to do anything, and I don't know why. Perhaps it all stems from never feeling like I was good enough in elementary school. I was always backwards-academically, athletically, socially. For whatever reason, I wasn't engaged in those areas of my life from an early age. Maybe it is because of parents and grandparents who were perhaps a little too overprotective of me, who, in their attempt to shelter me from harm, actually did more harm in the process. Perhaps it was the cruel words from my schoolmates who found me an easy target that wounded my young spirit. There could be an endless list of "why" I have suffered from low self-esteem. In the end, none of that really matters. What matters is that I have arrived at a place in my life where I am ready to allow myself to move forward, far beyond the cruel words of the playground, away from the "you can't do that's" and the deeply ingrained fear of failure.

Here's my confession: I've come a long way in a short time, but the journey to move towards positive self-esteem is, I believe, a daily process. There are going to always be highs and lows, but the difference is how I deal with those situations. Leaning on others is fine, as long as I don't make them a crutch. Self-esteem has to come from within. It's an inner confidence that has to bubble up. It's simple daily affirmations. It's a pausing each day to reflect on my accomplishments, both tangible and intangible, and realizing that I should be proud of myself. It's not in comparing myself to others, but celebrating the strengths that are coming to fruition within me. And, it's the peace and pride I feel each time I look at my big bowl of self esteem. Hopefully, my big bowl of self-esteem will runneth over, that's where I look forward to being a year from now.

FAMILY RELATIONS AND DIRTY LAUNDRY

From the outside, it may have appeared to be a fairly normal upbringing. I have always been a bit of a loner. I guess being an only child will do that to you. Growing up I didn't have any real friends to speak of. There were no friends coming over to play, no sleepovers, no birthday parties. There were a few neighborhood children to play with, but no solid friendships there. It was pretty much me, in my solitary little world. I was the oldest grandchild on one side of the family and the youngest on the other, therefore, all my cousins were either a good deal older or a good deal younger. There I was stuck in the middle. I didn't even have a strong relationship with my parents. It felt like I was plopped into this family who had no clue what to do with me. And so it goes. I went through elementary school, junior high, high school, living my lonely life. By all accounts, growing up I was a good kid, and rarely got in trouble. The problem was that I lived with these people, my parents, for nineteen years, but they had no clue who I was. Then comes college.

College is where I realized just how dysfunctional my family was. I made friends, real friends, for the first time in my life. I met people who actually had relationships with their parents. What's up with this? What a foreign concept to me. These people genuinely held their parents in high regard and enjoyed spending time with them?!? School breaks were torture for me. I spent them mostly sequestering myself in my room, counting the days until I could return to school.

It wasn't until one cold evening in February, 1996 that I opened up a door in my parental relationship. It was on that night that I told my mother that I needed to talk. She came into my room, and I uttered the words I had been preparing to say for a very, very, long time. "Mom, I'm gay." I said, as the tears started to flow from my eyes. What followed was about three hours of the deepest conversation we've ever had, an overwhelming amount of love and support. She told my dad for me a day or so after I left. Things were going well for a few years. Then, something, somewhere along the way snapped.

Here's my confession: It's been nearly two years since I've spoken to my mother. I used to call every Sunday, but after a series of situations between us, I had finally had enough. There were issues related to my commitment ceremony, not cleaning the house for my partner's first visit, and finally the straw that broke the camel's back: after inviting her and my father down for a visit, she called to let me know they were going to have to postpone it by a day. The morning they were to arrive, I called and they hadn't even left for the 5 hour trip and they were supposed to be here in two hours. I informed her at that point, it didn't make any sense to come down because by the time they got here, it would be almost time to turn around and go home. In my mind, I was only speaking the truth. Months after the situation arose, I received an email from her asking what she had done to cause such a rift between us. I thoughtfully, over the course of a week or so chronicled my thoughts to her. I never heard another word from her. I've reached out with cards and letters, to no avail. I don't know what else to do. Maybe I've been petty. Maybe I should have a more understanding and forgiving heart. I don't know. What I do know is that I have tried. I don't know if we'll ever be able to talk again. I'm just not that strong yet. In some ways, it feels that my mother has died and I wasn't invited to the funeral. I'm working, but am I alone? Doesn't everyone have family relations issues and dirty laundry?

LOVE IS...FOREVER?

The game of love is so complicated. It's fragile, it's enduring, it's heated passion, it's cold and frigid. It's a constant roller coaster ride of emotions, and it's supposed to last forever, right? I'm not talking about the love between two friends or two family members. What I'm talking about is the love between two partners who have committed themselves to one another, for better or worse.

There was a popular song by Michael Martin Murphey a number of years ago posing the question "What's forever for?" The song tells the story "that there are love hungry people, trying their best to survive, while right there in their hands is a dying romance and they aren't even trying to keep it alive." Certainly, no one goes into a relationship expecting it to fail. Have we become a generation of people who give up too easily? Or, do we really just grow apart with age? Is there really just one "perfect" person for you, or is that just a myth? How did our grandparents' generation keep the love going? Why are we so eager to throw in the towel?

The early stages of a relationship are the exciting period. It's when the endorphins and emotions are running crazy. Then there is the cooling off period, when individual differences come to light. Sometimes those differences can bring strength to the relationship, and still others can prove to be a divisive. No two couples are the same, no two situations are the same, and ultimately it is up to the individuals to make the decision as to where the relationship is to go.

Is love something we take too lightly in our society? Do we confuse love and romance, or are the two one and the same? I once heard it said that Romance is what you do in the bed on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Love is what you do at 7:15 on Tuesday morning when you are hurrying to get ready to go to work. In a lot of ways, that is true. Love isn't necessarily a "feeling", and all too often, I think we tend to forget that. It's going to naturally have its highs and lows, but when the low turns into a rut, that's a call to action. The question is, will you answer the call or simply ignore it, hoping it will go away..

Here's my confession: I want to know what love is. I'm one of those love hungry people, trying my best to survive...I want the passion, the common interests, the spark that keeps love going. Life is moving along briskly for me and I'm tired of feeling like a "roommate". A relationship can't be one-sided. It has to be balanced. One partner can't play the martyr and say "look at all these sacrifices I've made for you." while the other sits idly by. Relationships are not easy. They take a tremendous amount of work-not by one member of the relationship-by by both. I'm going to keep working, until I find the answer.

I WAS COUNTRY WHEN COUNTRY WASN'T COOL

I am a child of the 80's. And I do love 80's music. However, the type of 80's music that I love is not what one considers traditional "80's music". I love 80's COUNTRY music. Growing up in East Tennessee, I grew up listening to WIVK in Knoxville. DJs Claude Tomlinson, Bob Thomas and Ed Brantley kept me company. The cool country sounds of Ronnie Milsap, George Straight, Alabama, Barbara Mandrell, Conway Twitty, Kenny Rogers, Ricky Skaggs, just to name a few, were staples in my life. I can still vividly recall the day we got The Nashville Network on Cable, as it was a highlight of my young life. I lived to watch the comedy show "I-40 Paradise", which was set in a community only a few miles away from the little town where I lived, and a couple of the shows on the network even filmed their opening credits in my hometown, using our main street downtown as their backdrop, and our huge vintage theatre (now replaced by a drug store) in its opening. That was exciting to me. I was a huge fan of "Nashville Now", a nightly country talk/variety show hosted by Ralph Emery. My 13th Birthday was spent in Nashville, complete with a tour of The Country Music Hall of Fame, a tour of the Ryman Auditorium—and I even got to see the Grand Ole Opry in person!

Here's my confession: While my peers (and even my own mother) were listening to 80s Rock, It was country music for me. Like Barbara Mandrell, I was country when country wasn't cool. When my peers today wax poetic about 80s music—or even when there are songs on the radio from the 80s—I can't relate. They mean nothing to me...but put on some Ronnie Milsap...and that gets my attention. Today, Country music is one of, if not THE most popular genres of music. So, I was a head of my time. Today, however, I have a more ecclectic ear for music, changing my listening preferences when the feeling strikes. Sometimes it's classical, contemporary christian, pop, alternative and certainly country. Something happened in the mid-90s where many of these genres blurred lines and meshed together. I think that's a good thing. But, it's still the memories of 80's country that takes me back to a much less complicated time.

FOOTBALL FOR FAGGOTS

I grew up in the southern United States and I've lived here all my life. Fall and Football go hand in hand. Even if you aren't into football, you can't ignore its existence. It's everywhere. You can't be in Tennessee, especially East Tennessee, in the fall and not in some way acknowledge the Orange and White that permeates the area. You can't live in Alabama and not have an answer to the question: Alabama or Auburn? It's just not allowed. Amongst the sea of Crimson and White and Orange and Blue, you had better be prepared with an answer or you'll be looked at as though you are some creature who was just dropped off from somewhere in outer space. To many, football is a religion. It is the reason they live, move and have their being. It is a doctrine taught from the moment they escape their mother's womb, be they male or female. After all, this is a world in which Paul "Bear" Bryant is still very much alive, even nearly a quarter century after his death. I guess you could say he ranks right up there with Jesus.

Here's my confession: I don't understand football. I don't understand sports, for that matter. I never had anyone to teach me. I was that child-all the way throughout my school years-who was the last one chosen during P.E. Who would want me on their team? I was the uncoordinated little queer who didn't know what he was doing. There was one teacher in the 7th grade who took mercy on me and tried to teach me a little bit about Football and Basketball, but it didn't really help. The few football games I've been to in my life have basically been social events for me and my friends. I was fortunate, about a decade ago, I had my boyfriend at the time to sit down and explain to me what was happening. It was intriguing, but I couldn't get all the jargon down, although I have a somewhat working knowledge of football now because of it. I just don't have the attention span to get into it. That's a little sad to me because I really would like to be able to be able to have an intelligent conversation about what's going on, especially when I know women who can spout off what's going on far, far better than I'll ever be able. It's not an outright affront to my masculinity, but it does make me wish things had been different somewhere along the way. Someone should offer a course for fags of all ages: "Football for Faggots". I'd be first in line to sign up. I mean, I don't hate football, I just don't understand it. Oh, and just in case you're wondering...if asked to choose, I'll say ROLL TIDE! anyway of the week.

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR

There is a man in the mirror looking back at me each time I take a glance. He’s gone through a lot, has a lot to look forward to, and has certainly grown a lot. But the man in the mirror is empty. He’s empty, he’s hungry, he’s searching. He’s searching for his soul. He’s searching for love and desperately trying to hang on to the things he already has. You see, the man in the mirror has gone through a great deal of self-awareness and awakening. Perhaps it’s the medication, the counseling or a combination of both, but the man looking back at me in the mirror, he’s found a sense of self, a shred of independence and aspirations for the future he would have never thought to fathom even as little as a year and a half or two years ago. It’s brought him a tremendous amount of freedom but also made him feel alone and alienated from others in his life. He has his stable friends. He has his friendships that have certainly seen their fair share of testing. He’s also got a relationship which is in a major rut, but no idea how to get out of it. He’s got a fine house, nice possessions. He has, by all accounts, everything going for him. He has a nice job, a few close friends who truly care about him. He is truly and completely blessed.

Here’s my confession: I am the man in the mirror. In spite of my many blessings, there are more questions than answers, more fear than peace, there are friendships that have certainly hit bumps in the road. One friend is jealous of another friend. I come home and the cats are chasing one another. And my partner and I just had a heavy discussion about where things are headed. Again, more questions than answers. So much uncertainty. There’s a man in the mirror looking back at me each time I take a glance. I’ve no doubt that man is going to get just a little bit better as time goes on and works out the plan for the future. However, in the waiting, it takes an enormous amount of energy-energy that is waning at best, and a mixed bag of excitement and anxiousness to see what the man in the mirror becomes.

ALGEBRA

I'd be willing to bet that most people don't know anyone who sits down and does Algebra just for fun. However, if you know me, you can say that you do. Now, let me give you some background. All my life, I've been very poor in my math skills. So poor, in fact, that in elementary school I was in the "special" classes because my test scores were so low. I failed Algebra I my sophomore year of high school (I did pass it the next year when I retook it). In college, I wasn't required to take an Algebra course, so I took a basic math course. It wasn't until 2003 when I was planning to go back to school to become a mortician that I was forced, once again, to confront my fears of Algebra. I enrolled in Intermediate College Algebra as a pre-requisite to enter the program. After the first class, I was nearly in tears because I didn't understand a thing that had just been said in the preceding 90 minutes. However, I stuck with it. I went to every class, studied and studied and studied and then studied a little bit more. I bombed almost every test and had a good, solid F going into the final. However, when I checked my grade the day after the final, much to my surprise, I had a "C" in the class. All I can figure is that I my professor had mercy on me. I had honestly learned more in the class than my grade had shown, but I was fully expecting to have to repeat the course the following semester. I ultimately decided that I didn't want go proceed with my plans (at least at this point) to become a mortician, but I still feel that semester I spent in Algebra was such an incredible investment for me.

Here's my confession: In my quest for self-improvement and thirst for knowledge, I have pulled out my algebra book and notes and am basically going through the course myself. Maybe I have too much time on my hands, maybe I have finally lost it, but I find the challenge it gives me to be stimulating. At any rate, I'm doing algebra just for the fun of it now. Maybe that makes me a nerd, and if so, I think I'm ok with that, because it's truly stimulating my brain and that can't be a bad thing, can it?

PRAYER IS...

On Sunday, my priest started his homily with "If I were to give you a homework assignment to fill in the blank to the phrase "Prayer is____." What would you say? He basically lost me at that point, but it did make me start thinking. How would I fill in that blank? It's a simple question, yet very complex, I thought.

Prayer is the link between an Almighty God and the human race. It is how we make our needs known to God, yet, it is also the way we praise the same Almighty God. Prayer is not merely speaking, but also encompasses our thoughts and our actions. Singing is a form of prayer, as is simply being silent. Prayer is a two way form of communication with an inaudible voice. Prayer is so simple that a child can understand it, yet at the same time so complex that all the world's theologians together cannot even scratch the surface on what prayer truly is. I believe that all prayers are answered. I believe that prayer is powerful. Some people believe that if a prayer is not answered in the affirmative, then it has not been answered. On the contrary, I believe that a "no" may be just as legitimate answer as "yes". If you go to your earthly father and ask for something and he says "no", has not your "prayer" been answered? Indeed it has. Jesus told us to pray always. That certainly can't mean talk all the time. That's where the listening part comes in, for if we spend all our time talking, we may miss the answer. Prayer may take on many forms. Muslims, Jews, Buddhists and Christians all pray. These different spiritual traditions approach prayer quiet differently. In each, it would seem, that the common thread is that prayer is a communion with God. Even within Christianity, with which I have the most experience, prayer is viewed differently between denominations, sometimes even within the same denomination. Many protestants do not understand why Catholics would pray to a Saint. Many Catholics don't understand why a protestant wouldn't pray to a Saint. Something meant to unite us, it would seem, causes such division.

I've been Southern Baptist, United Methodist and Roman Catholic. I've always been intrigued by prayer. When I was confirmed Catholic, I chose David, a patron saint of Prayer, as my own saint. I've always viewed prayer as an important and essential part of life. I think that's common among the majority of people. Most of us, if we are truly being honest with ourselves and everyone else, only pray when we "need" something from God, as if God is some magic granter of wishes somewhere beyond the blue. It only takes one tragedy to get our prayer lives right back on track and how quickly afterwards it usually dissipates.

Prayer is a discipline. It takes practice. And, just like getting in the routine of going to the gym everyday, it takes time to get in the habit. I've experimented with "Centering Prayer", which I've found quiet effective, but never developed a regular routine of practicing. I even have two beautiful rosaries in my house, yet, seven and a half years after becoming Catholic, I still don't know how to pray the rosary.

Here's my confession: Prayer has not been a priority in my life of late. A number of years ago, I began writing letters to God as a way of expressing my prayers, rather than bumbling around talking, saying trite and meaningless phrases and getting nowhere with my prayer life. I must confess that while prayer is important to me, I don't do it nearly as often as I should. It has probably been a year or so since I've written anything in my prayer journal. I've said a few prayers here and there, but, far more often than not, prayer is an out of sight, out of mind activity for me. I pray that I might find the discipline to take a few moments each day to get back on track.

LOVE AND MARRIAGE

The song goes "Love and Marriage…you can't have one without the other..." Is this a true statement or just clever lyric writing? It seems the more I go through life and observe couples who have been together for an extended amount of time reach a state in their relationship of just being. It’s neither love nor marriage. It just is. It is just a co-coexistence of sorts. I don't know if this is an exception or a rule. I think of the people in my own life, my very own family, even. Both sets of my grandparents had separate bedrooms. I rarely, if ever, saw them being affectionate with one another. Does familiarity breed contempt? Yet, I sometimes see elderly couples who have been together for decades who appear to be more in love today than they were the day they married. What is their secret? What causes some couples to draw closer together as they age and some to drift apart like rafts caught in a rapid current? Certainly it can't be a generational thing, as my grandparents are evidence. Certainly relationships takes work, but have we as a people, young or old, lost the ability or desire to invest the time necessary? Or, would we rather just throw in the towel at the first sign of tension? Do love and marriage go hand in hand? Why do some couples live to love one another and some can't wait to be apart? Why do some couples love so much that when one of them dies the other immediatly follows, and yet others can bury their companion and go on like nothing ever happened?

Here's my confession: I've been in two long term relationships and at some point in both of them, there has come a time of indifference. Am I normal or do I just suck at relationships? Do opposites really attract? Am I a product of my life experiences? I don’t really know. What I do know is that I have a fear of failure. What I really desire is normalcy. Undoubtedly, “normal” is different for each individual and certainly each couple. Ultimately, it boils down to communication. It boils down to clearly defining the goals of the relationship. Whether the relationship is to last 5 months or 50 years, is, to a great deal, up to the couple, with a little bit of fate thrown in. So, Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage…you can’t have one without the other…or can you?

RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS...

If there is one thing I dislike about living in Alabama, it is that it just doesn't rain enough here. I've always loved the rain. There is nothing more peaceful than a rainy day...just lying in the bed, watching TV, covered with a blanket, just me and a cat or two. That doesn't happen very often around here. It's always sunny here...and on those rare occasions that it does rain, it's a passing shower and the sun is right back out in 15 minutes. What a bummer. What a waste of a good rain shower. When those rain clouds dissipate, it brings back memories of when I was a child and it would snow (something else we don't get here in Alabama), when the sun would come out and start the melting process...and you knew it was just a matter of days until we'd be back in school. The fact that we are in the midst of a drought here doesn't help matters. I don't know why, but I've always loved rainy days. Something about a rainy day makes me feel safe, protected, secure. It regulates my mood.

Here's my confession: I've never understood the phrase "Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down." Ok, so I can understand the Monday thing, but Rainy Days? Come on! I would love a month of rainy days. Rainy days somehow, someway regulate my moods. Flowers need the rain to grow. Perhaps I'm just like a flower...I need rain to grow. It is in those moments of solitude and rain that the most inner peace is found. I'm not talking about a damaging, tornadic, storm. I'm talking about a peaceful, steady rain, dark skies and the gentle sound of thunder in the distance. I absolutely cannot think of a better way to spend a day. I could really use one of those days. The energy that comes from a good, steady rain is unparalleled. Let's pray for rain.

WHAT YOUR PIANO TEACHER DOESN'T TEACH YOU

While years of piano lessons can prepare you for many possibilities, hours upon hours of playing scales can increase your agility and Hanon Studies can get you just a little closer to carpal tunnel syndrome, there's something piano teachers don't teach you in piano lessons. It's a trade secret called "faking". Faking is a skill that is used by all levels of musicians, from the novice beginner to the seasoned professional. The skill involves interpreting the Chord Symbol and creating the accompaniment. A working knowledge of music theory is helpful, and the ability to read simple musical notation in the treble clef and where those notes are on the keyboard are essential.

Here's my confession: After years of playing piano as well as completing a music degree, I recently became a faker. I'm totally sold on the concept. Quite often, one ends up playing more notes than the original accompaniment might have written. It usually even sounds better! I've learned more about chord construction as a faker than I ever learned in Music Theory I, II, III or IV. My only regret is that I wish I had known about his earlier. Just a little practice goes a long way—and there are even a couple of good books that teach the concept. Scott the Piano Guy (http://www.scotthepianoguy.com/) (from PBS) has even made a career of teaching this technique to the multitudes. Maybe that's how I'll make my next million!

REMINISCENCES

Driving this morning, the air was different, the scenery changing. It dawned upon me that it is October. Although the thermometer may not have gotten the memo here in Alabama, it is fall. Fall has always been one of my favorite times of the year because it conjures up fond memories of times spent with my grandparents as a child. I had the great fortune to know all of my grandparents and three of my four great grandparents. I have already written about the relationship I had with my maternal grandmother. I wouldn't be where I am today without that relationship. But it was my time with Doskie, my maternal great grandmother, which had such a profound impact on my life. As a child, it was Doskie who was perhaps my best friend and confidant. She and I would take long walks in the woods together. Those long walks were such an adventure for me and I think it helped keep her young, too. We were peas in a pod. She shared with me so many family secrets...many which I'll never repeat.

I would spend as much time with her as possible. Weekends, school holidays, summer vacations. I suppose she was a "cheap" babysitter. Yet, I'm not sure who was there to babysit. I think we were there for one another. She was 63 years my senior, but we were there, in essence, to watch one another. I was always given instructions of what I was to do if she was in need of medical attention. I think we identified with one another so well. She was an only child, too. I think she knew the loneliness I felt.

Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall. I have memories of them all. But, as I go through life, it will be the memories of long nature walks and family chats with Doskie which I will carry with me. It is the taste her cornbread (made the old-fashioned way, with lard), her fried potatoes, her beef roast that I'll cherish. It is the memory of locking her out of her house while I sent her to get the mail and decorated her house for her birthday—after, of course, I had her make her own birthday cake. It is the carolers from the local churches who would serenade us at Christmas and deliver a fresh basket of fruits and nuts that will resonate in my head. It is falling asleep well before midnight on New Year's Eve, but having a celebration, just the two of us. It is the sound of her nightly gossip sessions on the telephone with her friends from yesteryear, her profound faith in God, though she didn't really go to church, her example, that helped mold me. It is my first Bible that I will forever cherish, for it came from her. It is making preparations for our large family (and extended family) Christmases, Thanksgivings and other gatherings that still linger in my mind.

Here's my confession: I didn't see my great grandmother the last few years of her life. She was moved to a nursing home. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing her in that environment. I did write a letter to her about a year or so before she died, and she wrote me back. While I didn't visit her in person, I think I visited her in her dreams, for in her mind, it seemed that I had just been for a visit. That brings me some comfort. I wonder, was I "there" with her as she peacefully went to sleep that night and woke up in the presence of her Lord? In so many ways, she knew me best, but in others, she never had the chance. I wonder, would she be proud of me today? Would she accept the person that I am? I have to believe that she knew certain things about me long before I did. I have to believe that she's somewhere out there, looking down on me, with a smile.

GOING TO THE GYM

It started out in 2002 as my "Lenten Sacrifice". I decided rather than going with the traditional "giving something up" for Lent, that I would work on my body. After all, the whole idea of Lent is to do something positive that will make a change in your life, right? So, I joined my local YMCA.

So, to the gym I went religiously, as it were, for about a year and a half. It was a positive experience and something I really enjoyed doing, and even looked forward to. Things changed in my life and I dropped the gym membership. I continued to work out from time to time, and even joined another gym for about a year, however, I view that period of time as a colossal waste of time and money because I didn't go enough to make it worth it.

So, about two years ago, I returned to the YMCA. The YMCA is convenient, as it is just a few blocks away from me during the day. I have to be a member of a gym because I'll never work out at home. I'm just not that motivated, even though we have a full gym in our house, with nice equipment. It works for my significant other, not me.

Here's my confession: Even though I returned to the gym two years ago, I'm finding it difficult to be motivated. I'm not exactly suffering from obesity. In fact, a lot of people tell me that I look the best I've ever looked. Still, I know that I need to go to the gym. It's essential for my physical well-being, not to mention my mental well-being. I don't anticipate my ever having a six pack or appearing on the cover of Men's Health. I do a minimal amount of exercise while I'm there, but I guess the fact that I'm going is good, if only I would go consistently. I try to motive myself by saying that it is costing me $11+ per week. That doesn't even work like it used to. I've considered hiring a personal trainer to motivate me, but that would cost a little more money than I can really spare right now and I would like to go to the group Yoga classes, but I've never done it before and don't want to make a fool of myself.

How do I get myself out of this quagmire? My priorities are not about having the finest body on the block. I'm far more interested in stretching myself intellectually these days than I am physically. Besides, if you stretch your mind, you're not going to be in pain. If you stretch a muscle, you could tear it or injure yourself. Who wants that? Until then I get out of this rut, I'll just keep chanting my mantra: "I'll start back at the gym on Monday. I'll go everyday."

But today, I'm just going for a chicken tender meal at Milo's.

THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE

All of my life, I've viewed myself as nothing more than average. Growing up, I was (or at least I felt like I was) always average or slightly below. Elementary school was one of the most boring experiences of my life, I believe. When I got to Junior High school, I once made the A/B honor roll. Wow! In high school, I had a goal to be a member of the Beta club. I was always just a few points away from being able to be a member. It wasn't for lack of trying, that's for sure. I tried and tried so hard. Maybe I tried too hard. Then comes college. College wasn't too bad. I admit I didn't choose a college to challenge me academically. My college was, in fact, a glorified high school with college courses in some regards. I was an average student. Yet, I came out of college not with a lot of classroom knowledge, but rather a lot of interpersonal experiences. Now, nearly 10 years after college I finished college and armed with a Bachelor of Arts degree, I find myself asking...what did I learn in college?

Here's my confession: I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge these days. It's something I've rarely, if ever, experienced before. I want so badly to be able to go to school and study something. I can't really afford to go back to school at this point. But, someday, I shall return for another degree. I really want those little letters before my name "Dr." before I die.

In the meantime, I'm doing some self-studies online. I'm focusing on brushing up on and expanding my knowledge of French. After that, I am going to focus on Spanish. I have a goal of achieving fluency in both languages by the time I reach 40, so I have a little more than half a decade left to achieve that goal. Maybe by that time, I will have decided what I want to study when I head back to college for a Master's, and ultimately, a doctorate.

Why do I want to go back to school so badly? I suppose it's multi-faceted. It's a self-esteem thing, to prove to myself that I can; It's to perhaps have greater opportunities in my life; and, now that I am older, I feel that I would be more focused than I was in college for my Bachelor's degree. While attaining my Bachelor's degree, I gained a lot of knowledge about who I am and where I fit in. Now, I feel, it's time to grow more intellectually. With age has come maturity and with maturity has come the desire to succeed beyond my wildest expectations.

A LOVE FOR MUSIC IS BORN

I suppose in some ways I have been a student of music all my life, having been so delighted each time I would go to church with my grandmother. She would make sure I had a good view of the organ, so I could watch the organist play that old electric drawbar organ. How I wanted to be just like her. The organist could make such celestial sounds come from that old organ. It was then and there, in that old Baptist church, that my love for music was born. I would go home and try my best to recreate on my grandmother's tiny, tiny Casio keyboard what I had just seen at church. It never happened, but it sure was fun trying. I must have been around 8 or 9 when I first experienced that majestic sound. I began begging my parents to let me take piano lessons. I had a piano at home, a Kimball Whitney, it had been given to me by my grandmother when she and my grandfather moved out of town. There it was, in bad need of a tuning and someone (namely me) to be trained to play it. Instead, it was just another piece of furniture that needed to be dusted in the living room. For years I begged my parents to let me take lessons. Grandmother taught me as much as she could-where the keys were located , how to read time and key signatures and how to read the treble clef. However, this was the extent of her knowledge. This went on until I was 14. That's when my grandmother stepped in. She paid to have the piano tuned and found me a piano teacher. I was very clear with my teacher that I wanted to learn to play in church. He started me with a series of repertoire books designed for the church musician. None of that Bach, Beethoven & The Boys for me. It was only the fine works of Fanny Crosby, William Kirkpatrick, and Bill and Gloria Gaither for me! Armed with my 1975 Baptist Hymnal, I was ready to establish a hymn repertoire others would envy! Many parents have to force their children to practice the piano. Not mine. Mine were having to tell me to stop...that it was time to go to bed. I'd practice from the time I got home from school to the time I went to bed! I progressed very quickly and a little over a year after that first lesson, I was filling in for the pianist and organist at church. I had arrived. Shortly after that I began accompanying my high school chorus, substituting as pianist at other churches in the area and was even elected "Most Talented" in my senior class. I then went off to college, majored in vocal music and picked up a few classical pieces here and there.

Here's my confession: I've always wondered what a difference it would have made if I had started piano five or six years earlier, when I first began asking. I've wondered what a difference it would have made if I had actually studied the fine works of Bach, Beethoven & The Boys! Would I have a different technique? Would I be a professional concert pianist? A recital accompanist? Would I be another Jim Brickman? Or, did my progression of my largely self-taught musical knowledge mold me into the musician I am today? I guess those are impossible questions to answer. Of this, however, I am certain. Each week when I sit down on that piano or organ bench to accompany the choir or congregation, I am totally in my element. I'm living a dream that began so many years ago. And that, my friend, is a priceless feeling!