The Way

We will all die.  Death can happen in an instant or seventy years from now.  I know that being alive is the ultimate jackpot, even to be a tree or a frog (or a tree frog).  The probabilities are against anything being here-if one motivated sperm hadn’t made its way thirtysome years ago to meet an egg at just right time then I am not typing.  Experiencing the world is not a certainty.  Each day of life is an amazing opportunity, but also one of the most taken for granted.  Many of us are killing ourselves in one way or another: we drink too much; we eat too much; we hate our Self; we stress about the meaningless; we take pills to anesthetize our spirit.  So many of us are just slowly killing ourselves.  Living a life not worth living.

The most substantive casualty of death is the survivors.  They have to deal with the loss, the guilt, the loneliness.  No one knows what happens when we die.  We do know that dead people don’t interact with us anymore.  They are not here.  It is our loss and the deceased’s squandered potential that makes death sad. This lost potential is the tragedy of death-not the loss of the survivors.  A high schooler killed in a car accident-tragic.  A thirty year old father is killed in war-tragic.  A mother dies of cancer-tragic.  A 105 year old man kills himself after his wife of eighty-five years dies-acceptable?   Most people are probably less shaken by the latter.  We say “Well look at all he did.  He lived a good life.”  Sure people are still sad, but it doesn’t shock us on a base level.

Our potential makes us great and gives us hope.  Oftentimes we don’t realize our potential because we are afraid of failing.  We stand by paralyzed by the fact that we might not succeed.  Our brains probably naturally avoid failure like death.  Going with what works is the safest bet, but it takes risky behavior to breakout of the ordinary.  We are where we are because we took risks, but we are also where we are because we have been afraid of failure.  A total lack of such fear is obviously not healthy, but you have to take risks to be great.  And we all want to be great or at least really good, right?  So have fun, take some risks and try not to die today.

Tom Robbins said it better and much more concisely:

“The principal difference between an adventurer and a suicide is that the adventurer leaves himself a margin of escape (the narrower the margin the greater the adventure), a margin whose width and length may be determined by unknown factors but whose navigation is determined by the measure of the adventurer’s nerve and wits. It is exhilarating to live by one’s nerves or toward the summit of one’s wits.”
―    Tom Robbins,    Another Roadside Attraction

I spent the first five years of my life in a house with orange shag carpet.  My earliest memory is sitting on the stairs of that house, crying.  I cannot remember specifically why I was crying, but I remember being alone.  No sign of my family—all alone at the top of the stairs, bawling.  I do not cry with the cathartic ease of a toddler anymore. Uncontrollable heaving, snot spewing forth from nostrils, eyes shining red with tears.

According to Science, there are three types of crying: basal, reflex, and emotional.  The chemical compositions of the tears resulting from the various types of crying are different.  Emotional tears contain chemicals not abundant in reflex tears, which are 98% water.   Emotional tears contain leucine-enkepahlin and andrenocorticotropic hormones.  The former is an endorphin that reduces pain and works to improve mood, while the latter indicates high stress levels.  Research has shown that fighting back the water works may lead to increased chances of heart disease and hypertension.  There is also evidence that those who have a negative perception of crying may suffer ulcers at a higher rate. Crying is a healthy, natural response.

I can cry.  I just don’t bawl.  I want to sob, heave and wail for a minute.  The last time I really let it go was over ten years ago.  I was in college and driving back to Tulsa from Springfield.  My father had just berated me about something and made me feel like a greedy, little ant.  Tears began flowing uncontrollably as I drove down I-44 alone.   It has been over ten years since I let it out like that.  Divorce, death, heartbreak.  Yet, all I can muster is one or two tears.  I am emotionally constipated.

I use various means to numb myself. While, traditionally, my coping regimen has incorporated some of the usual suspects-alcohol and tobacco (Editors Note: Matthew L. Christensen has proudly abstained from tobacco since January 29, 2012). There are a litany of means to numb yourself: illegal and pharmaceutical drugs; television; the internet; food; sex; work; exercise; religion, self-mutilation; relationships; etc. All can serve as distractions from dealing with the weight of existence. I do not think it is necessary or appropriate to totally abstain. Heroic monasticism is just another means of coping. The middle path is where I want to be.

Some people can drink a couple and call it a night; others drink until they pass out. Some can have a cigarette once in a blue moon; some light up when they roll out of bed. Some people can work out and maintain a healthy body, while others can’t help but succumb to anorexia or bodybuilding. {Please Read this Gawker Article on Bodybuilding}.  Choose your poison.

Must of us glom on to something to avoid our lives; it is tragic-literally.  The best solution is usually the simplest. (Fallacy Alert!!!!)  I started off talking about not crying.  My inability to cry is likely a symptom of my emotional constipation.  (Unfounded Assumption!!!).  My simple solution is not Visine, but the middle path-the Way.  (What does that mean??)  I should identify those activities, substances, and people that I lose myself in and regulate those interactions.  (You don’t say??).  I must realize why I succumb to the intoxication of something and address it.  (Ok.).  As these layers are stripped away,  the fears that paralyze me from feeling my life may be identified.  (If I am lucky).  Problem solved in less than two hours.

Who knows?  In the mean time, enjoy an awesome song.

I promise to live my life.

I promise to be honest when I shouldn’t.

I promise to Love at every opportunity.

I promise to respect more than I judge.

I promise to give more than I get.

I promise to do the things I might otherwise have regretted.  

Am I desperate,

or am I close to a breakthrough?

It remains to be seen>

Don’t judge me based on what you see here.

It really doesn’t matter.

I fall, you laugh.

Bleeding, I rise, accepting.

The life I have is my own making.

I am not crying, so don’t.

What you have,

What you are called

Where you have been

Doesn’t matter

The only thing

that matters

in life

is

how many people

are better

because of you.

I am not sure how to follow up my trip to the Grand Canyon.  It was a mighty powerful experience for me.  I left Tulsa for Las Vegas on Thursday.  I read for most of the flight.  About forty-five minutes before we landed, however, the pilot announced that to our right we could see the Grand Canyon.  I contemplated not looking; you know, for dramatic effect.  I looked.  

From my aisle seat, I stared across the noses of my row companions, whom I hadn’t spoken to yet.  I mumbled something about how amazing it looked.  Both of my “single serving friends” replied in the affirmative.  I told them I was renting a car and driving there when we landed.  The woman in the seat next to me responded that the Canyon is an amazing place.  In fact, she told me, her father had quit his job and moved their family from Alaska to Arizona after visiting the Canyon for his first time.  Now he operates a tour guide service out of Phoenix.  This hole in the ground had change that guy’s life and my row companion’s life.  Surely it could change my life.

The plane landed in Vegas.  I slid into my rental and headed off over the Hoover Dam across the desert to my long-awaited moment.  I enjoyed the drive.  As night came, it got a little boring, except that as I climbed in elevation the semis on the highway seemed to stand still.  I flew by them as the Mazda four-cylinder hurtled me through the darkness toward unexpected possibilities.  I also  found it mildly stimulating due to the increased fear of being blown off the road by a crosswind or slamming into an elk (signs posted every two miles implanting the image of possible decapitation by mammal in my brain).  It really wasn’t all that exciting, but I was scared inside for some reason.

I got to Grand Canyon National Park around 10:30 PM, well after sundown.  I found my campsite after some driving around.  I set my tent up and opened a bottle of wine I bought en route.  I laid down on the picnic table and stared up at the stars for a good hour at least.  The Park is pretty isolated from ambient light so interference with the stars was limited.   In the morning, I woke up and made my way to the Rim, and this is what I found.

Its pretty amazing to see.  I spent the whole day walking up and down the South Rim Trail.  I went down the Bright Angel Trail a little way, but it was pretty icy and I was in running shoes, so I decided to save that for my next trip.  I met many interesting people.  The best story happened at the end of the day.  A woman ran up to me and asked me to take a picture of her and her friend.  After asking me to take their picture, she exclaimed in an Australian accent ”We just got engaged!”  They had traveled around the world to sit on the edge of the Grand Canyon and promise themselves to one another for the rest of their lives, and I was the first person to know.  I felt honored to share their moment with them.

The Grand Canyon is an intimate place.  It reminds me of the feeling I have after a good session of yoga.  You feel blissful, quiet, friendly, yet vulnerable; at peace, but aware that you are still attached to this world.  There are no strangers, yet being alone is not strange. I am not sure if that makes sense to anyone but me.

The Grand Canyon is inspiring, spectacular, awesome, and, yes, grand.  It is the most amazing sight I have ever seen.  Photos do not do it justice.  If you haven’t been, you must go.  After I got back, I told a friend that a certain song that I was about to play for her was no longer relevant to me.  Of course I couldn’t just tell her; I love the  dramatic revelation…………

I have been surprised how many people I know appreciate my blog.  A lot of the people I went to law school have mentioned that they relate to the ideas and feelings I am discussing.  Recently, my friend, Anon, who lives in San Francisco contacted me, and he wanted to write a guest article. 

When I moved to San Francisco I had never really had many gay friends.  The first girl I dated when I moved here was best friends with a gay guy.  I never had anything agianst gay people, but I didn’t like him very much at all.  It wasn’t really his fault; he just got caught in the middle of a bad relationship.  He served as a saftey buffer between my ex and I, but neither she nor he has anything to do with this essay.  I subsequently have made other gay friends.  I lived with a gay roommate.  Two of my best friends are a couple of lesbians.  My favorite SCUBA buddy is gay.

To be clear, this essay has nothing to do with being gay.  This essay IS about coming out of the closet; because, my friends, gay people are not the only ones hiding in closets.  Imagining what it feels like for a teenage boy going through puberty who is gay and doesn’t feel he can safely express who he truly is is beyond my comprehension.  At that age, the ridicule that would have accompanied such a pronouncment would have been frighteningly debilitating.  The worst part is teachers, ministers, coaches and parents would probably have joined in.  The fact that I did not have an openly gay friend during the first half of my life is no surprise; they were all hiding.

The closest I can come to understanding this fear of discovery is from my experiences with church growing up.  I was raised Catholic, but I never believed that Jesus was the son of god or any of that.  I remember at church one day I questioned the immaculate conception to a friend.  I then explained that I didn’t believe that Jesus was God’s son anymore than I was.  (I also told him Santa Claus wasn’t real–I got in more trouble for that than anything.  Go figure.).  I never again spoke freely about religion in mixed company.  The only people who knew my feelings were people I knew for sure would accept me and my thoughts or people whose opionion mattered fuck to me.

What does my closet look like?  Its tiny, suffocating, claustorphobic.  The worst part is I don’t even realize it is the closet anymore.  It has become my reality.  Inside is another world; another identity.  I live entirely in my closet.  I live in a world  I have created and forced myself to accept for far too long.  There are a million excuses I have for why I stay in my closet; money being the primary.  Coming out would be the best thing for my physical, mental and spiritual self, but I cannot bring myself to take the first step.  There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of……..so here I come.

I hate my job, and I will not always be an attorney. (Sorry for the let down-if you were expecting a shocker).  By many standards, it is a great job.  I make over $230,000.00 a year.  Many people would kill to have the opportunities that I have, to do the work that I do, to have the clients that I have.  I am killing me, however, to stay on this career track.  My image of myself is so tied up in this job that  I cannot see myself as doing anything else.  I am the only one who is stopping me from opening the door.  If I came out, all I would find is support from people.  No one would ridicule me.  Society wouldn’t reject me.  Little kids wouldn’t stare.    I will die a miserable person if I stay in here too much longer.  So consider this a crack because  I am coming out.