LEARNING TO APPRECIATE YOUR LIFE.
Most of us have been indoctrinated into some identity confusion from birth. We were indoctrinated into roles as sons or daughters, as grandsons or granddaughters, as nephews or nieces. We were informed that those family roles were permanent in relation to those who forced them upon us. Those of us who had traditional binary parents who remained in their marriages were indoctrinated into seeing ourselves as heterosexuals expected by some mystical force to mate and procreate.
Adult awareness comes to more intelligent minds during adolescence. Those of us who are different in some way often develop a critical view of our indoctrination earlier on. That critical view is a defense born of fear. Fear of the inevitable rejections we will suffer as we assert, or simply live out, our true natures.
Defenses can grow into calcified habits and rituals. Trauma and fear of trauma can lead to an ongoing view of human life as a mine field of rejection, failure and even persecution. Whether that fear is realistic or baseless does not always matter. Its corrosive effect on developing a confident and functional identity is guaranteed.
Drag queens have always fascinated me in this way. As a gay man born mid-20th century, I emerged into a gay male society where drag performers and amateur transvestites were commonplace, but certainly not predominant. The one predictable characteristic of a transvestite in that world was an acidic wit and a vicious defensiveness, if triggered. Those qualities provoked fear in the young me, but I observed them provoke greater fear in heterosexuals who were stupid enough to harass drag queens in public.
The post-Stonewall world has seen drag turn into popular cult. So much so that it has seemingly emboldened some to exploit its popularity. The gender identity industry is one such group. Instead of an outlet, gender play has been transformed from a symptom/defense into a path to self-mutilation by wily medical personnel and psychologists. The homophobia intrinsic to mutilating confused gay boys and lesbian girls into transgender adults is never addressed in contemporary media, which has backslid into 1950s denial of the basic dignity of being born homosexual.
Transgender regret is a growing issue. It could have been avoided if the medical establishment had begun doing right by homosexually inclined children after homosexuality itself became more widely accepted as a valid identity in itself. But the medical establishment allowed mutilation to become common treatment, as barbaric as bleeding with leeches, despite their mythical mantra, "First, do no harm."
This is an example of the many barriers which human society places in the way of appreciating oneself from an early age.
A symptom of my own isolation and trauma occurred when I was in second grade. I was forced with my elementary schoolmates to attend Catholic mass once a week. My early years had already led to neurotic problems. My home was fraught with a violent relationship between my mother and her Russian mother who lived with us. My older brother, by 6+ years, had not embraced the idea of a younger sibling. My parents strained through seemingly endless hours of work in multiple jobs in order to jump up to the middle class.
So, my body and I were at total odds. I twitched. I had incontinence issues. I was socially withdrawn. My teachers, Catholic nuns from poor Irish families, were not sympathetic. I was an object of open derision from time to time. Then came my second-grade experience.
As I sat in the front pew of our massive Catholic parish church, I perceived a mist forming around the gothic stained glass behind the altar. It was four stories high. At the apex of its gothic arch stood Jesus, as glorious and handsome as ever portrayed in statues and religious books. He beckoned to me. I stood. I walked forward and found I was walking on air, ascending to the space above the altar. And I reached him.
Jesus placed a cool hand on my cheek as he looked down at me with piercing eyes. "Paul, you are special to me," he said softly. "Go back now and don't be sad. Everything will be alright." Then I was back in my pew, and Jesus had gone. My teacher was sitting next to me and looked down at me with a strange expression. After mass, she pulled me aside and asked me what had happened in the church. "Nothing, sister," I replied.
I mark that experience as a turning point in my life. My sense of self emerged after it. I no longer lived in a distracted cloud which stood between me and the world. Soon I stopped twitching and my incidents of incontinence ceased. I connected with my paternal grandfather and grandmother, who took a renewed interest in me. They invited me to stay with them frequently. I benefited immensely from their worldly tutelage and obvious affection.
In short, I began to take possession of my own life. This had its downside in my half-ethnic family. My mother's occasional cruelties were seasoned with verbal denigration in response to my self-assertiveness. She was not going to make my development as a unique individual easy by any means. And much of the next dozen years of regular conflict and misery centered on her attempts to bring me to heel. And her manipulation of my otherwise compassionate father to do the same destroyed the good relationship I had with him from early childhood.
I offer this history to show where I began in learning to appreciate my own life as it has been.
Coming out at age 20 was like walking out of a prison gate. I left home on bad terms with $400 and a VW Beetle. My college degree was a ticket to employment only. Not based in any subject that ignited my intellectual passion. So, I set to work to build an independent life. And I found love, companionship and fulfillment without much of a road map.
A handful of intimate primary relationships enriched my life between periods of happy solitude. Later my HIV infection developed into AIDS. I recovered. Then I was confronted with cancer. I went into remission after extensive radiation damaged what gains I had made when recovering from AIDS. I was alone and in my 50s. But I never gave up a sense of a better future.
I offer this history to show that my earlier acceptance of my own life and appreciation of it has been key to my survival mentally and physically.
Meeting Peter by chance 17+ years ago would never have evolved into the joy of my life if I hadn't been capable of understanding what true good fortune is in life. That good fortune in my life was simply having the intelligence to observe, understand and move along with my circumstances without resenting them or yearning for some alternative fantasy life. I became a builder of my own life as a child. And, as an old man, I can happily stand back and behold the edifice I have built with its shortcomings and successes.
There is great peace in this. I dare say that it is an exceptional peace in contrast to what I see on the faces of many of my peers whose lives superficially would most likely seem more prosperous and conventionally fruitful. Unlike most of the peers I see, I do not need to flash pictures of my grandchildren to feel justified. Nor do I need The State to validate my relationship to Peter. Nor do I need to delude myself into think I am immortal.
If you are reading this, I encourage you to clear away any camouflage that you may have assumed to disguise your own true and individual life. Look at yourself, not as you wish to be perceived by the world, but as you truly are in your most private thoughts. Learning to appreciate your life begins with this honesty. Putting off a realistic assessment of what that life has been, and is, simply deprives you of any deep appreciation of it. And, if you decide there are things in that life that simply cannot be appreciated by yourself, roll up your sleeves and try to change those things. You will find the attempt, whether successful or not, is what matters most.
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