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.