The Experiment, Part 9

The Destination

The next day, I had a lot on my mind.

There was, of course, the kiss. What did it mean? Was it a good thing or a bad thing? A sign of moving on or weakness?

Then, there was the whole question of Eric. He’d asked if he could take me to my last dinner in Canada. It was clear that he wanted to be a friend, but what did that mean?

And finally, what did returning home mean? I’d had the trip of a lifetime and experimented with my very identity. This was a direction I intended to keep going in life. Despite the residual heartache of breaking up with Mark, I knew I was in a better place in life. As the trip came to an end, I knew I had to bring part of that satisfaction back to my everyday life in Utah.

It was a misty, gloomy day. A day that the morning fog rolled in and dropped anchor. I spent my time walking around the city alone. It provided me more time to explore while visiting the last museums on my itinerary. These were my last glimpses of history and culture before I made my way home. My mind weighed very little on the matters of my thesis and research, constantly jumping back to what life would be like in less than twenty-four hours. How could I take part of this life back with me? Being satisfied? Being open and happy?

I met up with Eric after the museums had closed and he’d finished his shift at work. We’d both had a good day, but a lot was on our minds. Making our way from the dorm towards the waterfront we stopped at the Economy Shoe Shop Restaurant.

“So what’s on your mind, GMB? What time are you leaving tomorrow?

“4 am,” I said in disgust.

“You’re probably better off staying up all night then. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I knew I was going to see my family and friends so soon.”

“That’s my plan, but for other reasons. I’m paranoid of missing the flight and sleeping through my alarm.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll keep you company. We can just chat all night.”

A few hours later, we were in my dorm room sitting on the floor next to each other. We pulled out my laptop and shared pictures of our exes. He opened up about his breakdown after Alan’s infidelity and I revealed that I was afraid I’d never feel the same again.

“You won’t,” Eric said. “Your first is always your first. You’ll meet somebody different, but feel just as good. Someday.”

It was one of those moments in which irony trailed behind the words as he spoke them and they reached our ears. It was time for both of us to move on.

We spent the next hours holding each other until the airport shuttle called. We ended the night with a single, tender kiss.

It was a goodbye. It was a thank you. It was joy.

It was an answer I pondered on the taxi and on the plane back into Salt Lake:

This is who you are and you have nothing to be ashamed of.

End of series.

The Experiment, Part 8

The Taste

Just as in my experience at the pub, the bar proved to be nothing intimidating. I was an alien to this culture and it seemed that being in this world of drinking and not being of it was more than possible. It was perhaps one of the most satisfying nights of my trip. Eric and Geri told me the stories about their breakups, their triumphs, their screw-ups, and their social lives.

It was the first time I felt like part of a group of gay friends. I had Cole, but branching out any further than that seemed too risky. What would people think if they knew?

“Time for your initiation,” Eric said as he and Geri pulled me towards the exit. “You’re going to your first gay club.”

“Reflections is pretty tame. It has a young crowd and we’ll keep you out of trouble.”

Eric paid my cover as he leaned over and whispered, “You’re fresh meat. All of the guys are going to be all over you if you don’t stick with me or Geri. It’s probably best we act like a couple tonight.”

Sure enough, as I walked in I was struck by two things: First, the atmosphere was breathtaking. It was just what I’d expected. Exciting, flashing lights. A packed dance floor. Loud, remixed music. And second, as I entered the room, I felt the piercing stares of thirty men interested in a new face.

Sensing my anxiety and my exhilaration, Eric and Geri flanked me on our way to the bar. “Two bottles of water,” Eric said. “One’s yours. Don’t be so nervous. We’re here for you.”

We all stood there for a bit, scanning the crowd. They took turns pointing out the deviants.

“That’s The Scotsman. He’s always after Geri even though he’s not interested.”

“Yeah. Definitely not interested. Oh, and that’s Alex, the Craigslist Cowboy.

“I’d advise you to steer clear of that one,” Eric chuckled.

Geri excused himself to go dance. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

“I’ll save the actual dancing for next time,” I responded. “Thanks for sticking with me, Eric. It’s all so new.”

We made our way upstairs to watch the dance floor and get a little space for a nice conversation. Acting the faux couple, he put his arm around me and I sat on his lap. He explained parliamentary politics and Canadian history as I told him about my mission, my research, and life back home.

As 3 am approached, he offered to walk me back to the dorms I was staying at. Midway back, I realized we were still holding hands. We stopped at some stairs in front of a church as the conversation waxed more personal.

“You know, GMB, you fascinate me. If I grew up in Utah, I think I’d be screwed up, but you’re so level-headed. You deserve a medal or something. I say you apply for refugee status and find a nice boy here.”

I blushed.

“May I kiss you?”

I was deeply conflicted. This was a special moment. We had connected on a deep level, but was it too soon?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said. “It’s so soon.”

“I understand.” He opened up a lot about Alan (his last boyfriend) now in Europe. I opened up more about Mark and what the trip had been like up to and including my breakdown.

“Are you sure a kiss wouldn’t help?” he asked.

It’s worth a try and he’s a good guy. It can’t hurt. I leaned in.

It was a rush of emotions. The warmth on my lips was relieving and wonderful in so many ways, but tinged somehow with the taste of betrayal. Had I made a mistake?

End, Part 8

The Experiment, Part 6

The Next Step

Like coins, every aspect of life has two sides.

I had reached the most lonely point in my life. I was in a land completely foreign to me with people who knew nothing of my situation. The other side of loneliness became more and more apparent as my trip continued. I spent four days on the road conducting interviews, taking pictures, visiting museums, and working hard.

Each day I told myself, “You’re lucky. There are few who are able to do anything like this as an undergrad—alone.”

There it was again. That word. I was alone, but in a good way. Exercising true independence for the first time, I was getting closer to becoming the person I aspired to ultimately be.

This trip forced me to plan and revise those plans as necessary. It took me to the ocean for the first time in my life, to the greenest on an adventure down a mineshaft, and through the greenest forests I’d ever seen.

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This was definitely marked progress. I was beginning to recognize what I amounted to despite what seemed like the ultimate rejection. The obvious revelation that my value didn’t hinge on someone else was slow-in-coming and not without relapses. I had to raise myself out of this depression by being what I’d considered selfish.

All of my actions were driven by those around me—driven by what they would feel or do or say about this innocent kid who had the single shred of acceptance of his sexuality pulled out from under him. I was being driven by fear when I needed to be guided by the very potential peeking through the cracks in the foundation of my crumbling life.

Pull yourself together. You have work to do.

became:

There is no reason not to love you. You live life the best way you know how. You care about others. You are living up to the potential bestowed upon you.

Being prideful (or what some would consider confident) and selfish (self-respecting) proved the necessary solution. Paradoxically, caring for and respected myself were the only ways I would keep myself from emotionally barricading myself or physically removing myself from my own life.

As I made my way over the bridge to the final destination of my trip, the capitol of the province, something came over me. What I was telling myself was finally coming together with the world opening up before me.

I was here because I belonged here. I had done the work. I had made the effort. I had used my time, my talent, and my intellect to do research that only I could do.

I realized just like any other of the hundreds of thousands of people in that city, I had my place and I belonged even if it wasn’t exactly the place or purpose I’d envisioned just months before with Mark.

End, Part 6

The Experiment

In the aftermath of the breakup with Mark, I found myself alone not only in the general emotional senses of the word. I was on a plane—excited to be traveling, scared to be on my own, and unsure about how I was going to handle Mark’s complete disconnect.

This was my opportunity to experiment with an identity totally new to me. One that I’d come to accept over time and perhaps even embrace. I was a gay Mormon and during this trip, I was going to be “out.”

As we all know, though, being out isn’t a matter of shouting from the rooftops, “I’m a flaming homosexual!”

From the beginning, being gay came up just as any other piece of my identity—my religion, my aspirations, my middle name—would. Things would simply come up when they came up. Also, I decided that I wasn’t going to skirt around the issues because I was going to the most accepting and liberal place I’d been in my entire life: Canada.

There would be no repercussions.

No judgments.

No misassumptions.

I could be me.

Part 1: The Number

The experiment all started on the way there. Once I’d crossed the Utah border, it was time to be a little more open. The journey entailed a few layovers and normal, surface-level conversations with my seatmates, but the topic never really came up with the biological engineer or the Atlanta housewife.

One particular layover turned out to be long enough to take a nice walk around the airport and get a feel for the travel culture of which I was practically a foreigner. I people-watched a great deal of the time analyzing the clothing, the conversations, the drink orders. It was totally enthralling to make up stories and contemplate the great, mobile matrix of humanity.

After a few hours, I found myself hungry and debating whether to buy some overly-priced airport food or wait another few hours for my in-flight meal. I wandered a bit trying to find something that I wouldn’t have to exercise off later. I also realized that my people watching had turned into checking guys out. I was letting myself admire the male body.

I caved and got in line at Au Bon Pain—mostly because someone had caught my eye. He was 5’9” with finely trimmed facial hair and dark features. He was listening to his iPod, enjoying sandwich and orange juice alone. Our eyes had caught each other on at least three occasions while I stood in line and I wondered to myself, Is he catching me checking him out or is he checking me out too?

Once I’d reached the front of my line and received my order, I’d realized that for whatever reason the stars had aligned. The only seat left was across from him at a table for two.

My hands were tied. The inevitable conversation began:

“Is this seat taken?”

He immediately pulled out his headphones, introduced himself as Marcelo, and started up a conversation about his job (as a flight attendant) and his family in Puerto Rico. Within a half hour, dating had come up and I was at ease. It felt normal not only to talk about Mark and how I felt, but also to speak of him in the past tense.

“You know, you’re a good guy,” he said. “You have a good head on your shoulders. You care about people. You want what’s best for them. That’s kind of rare.”

“Here’s my number. Let me know the next time you’re in SLC.”

“Thanks. I’d really like that.”

End, Part 1

Inevitable Goodbyes

You’ve probably noticed that, lately, I’ve taken an emotional hiatus from the more personal aspects of the blog. I feel that the appropriate time to be more substantive and reflective has returned.

In Vanished: A Stereotypical Gay Breakup Story, I described the difficulty of my first breakup . I felt like my world had ended because I knew that no one like him would come along again. Mark decided to leave me with a little more closure after a few weeks while I was on a research trip.

After I confronted him about disappearing, he offered the following explanation shortly before going on his mission (as always, names have been changed):

Thank you so much, I understand what you are saying completely and I know that (and am sorry that) I hurt you. I did take the cowards way out, I needed a change in my life, I needed to feel good about going on my mission, I needed to be completely ready. You have to remember I am young, I am afraid, I am immature, the only way I knew how to deal with this was to disappear. The Lord has blessed my life these past few weeks as I have prepared and I am so ready and excited to go, I couldn't have done that with a relationship on my mind. I don't know what the future holds for me, at this point my most realistic options are wait until I get home before I make any decisions... and remain celibate until I know what I want, as to avoid hurting anyone.
Again GMB I am sorry, truly sincerely sorry, and I hope that you can understand that, and my situation.
Goodbye.
--Elder Marcus Rasmussen

It was the goodbye I needed in order to move on and convince myself that what happened was not my fault. I replied:

I don't know if you need to hear any of this, but I got the impression from your last message that you should hear from me that I'm not angry.
I understand that you're figuring out how to deal with life and that your situation is a unique and difficult one. I seriously doubt that were I in your situation at that point in my life, I would have handled it as well as you did.
Again, you taught me the principle of self-worth and it's kept me from doing some pretty stupid things and letting people take advantage of me (esp. in the past few weeks). I know who I am and I really am grateful for that. Thanks.
I don't expect a reply to this; I just wanted to let you know (in this one last message) that I understand and that I'm fine. What I said in my last message was said out of honesty and concern and not out of bitterness.
Finally, have a wonderful two years. You'll love the people, you'll give it 100% and you'll do a lot of good in the lives of many people as a result of your decision to share the gospel. It'll be much harder than anything you've ever done, but, in the end, I'm certain that you'll be able to say to yourself, "That was the best decision I ever made."
I wish you the best, Elder Rasmussen.

I expect he went through every possibility in his head of how things could have worked out—as I did.

I see him crying a bit—as I did.

I imagine him being angry as the situation—as I was.

I think he even went to bed every night trying to get it all out of his head for weeks or months—as I did.

“The Wall-E Principle”

One of my favorite things about Cole the way he offers up random bits of wisdom. A certain tenseness comes across his face in anticipation of sharing. He smiles, turns a bit red, and commands everyone's attention as he draws a breath to begin whatever story he is about to tell.

For being just 24 years-old, Cole commands a lot of attention. He's accomplished a lot and has had more than his fair share of life lessons. He's also kind of loud, so that helps too, I suppose.

Cole refers to one gem of wisdom that he tends to share somewhat infrequently as "The Wall-E Principle." I was sitting next to him as he made this discovery in the theater last year, so I can give you a full account of his experience gaining this wisdom (as well as share with you the personal ironies of my love life which accompanied it).

I was seeing Mark at the time and we decided to go to Wall-E with some of my other friends. It was a nice opportunity for them to meet him (even if I wasn't able to introduce him as my boyfriend at the time). It was a big step for me. Everyone treated him like they would any other friend of mine.

As the movie started, I sat there between my best friend and my boyfriend. There was no other place I would rather have been at that moment. (Well, that's not completely true. Being in my home town did prevent me from holding his hand). As the music and opening credits began to roll, I looked over at Cole. He'd had a rough week, and the film immediately drew out of him some worries and emotions that had been in his thoughts that week. Before the credits had even finished, he was in tears. It didn't take long before a concerned father (who had brought his four children to see the movie) sitting on the other side of Cole to ask, "Are you going to be okay?" I smiled, but knew that this formed part of Cole's process of healing and renewal.

To my left, I watched Cole's reaction to the story. I could sense that it would produce (at least in a minor sense) some sort epiphany in my friend, following an abusive and emotionally draining relationship with a bad breakup to boot. He would later go on to explain how the movie details the most essential part of love. As the two main characters WALL-E and EVE are robots, they are very easy to understand. They possess singular, programmed motivations: EVE's to find life on earth and then return to the ship, and Wall-E's to collect trash (and, presented with the opportunity, maybe hold EVE's hand). However, by the end of the film, their relationship has led them to take on each others purposes: WALL-E seeks the plant that was in EVE's custody, while EVE desires to hold WALL-E's hand. Yes, they possess pre-programmed motivations, but as their relationship develops, they take on each others purposes.

The movie shed some light on the process of love as the two robots came together. Love is forgetting yourself in someone else. In his interests, his purposes, and most importantly his well-being. With Mark, I came as closely to that ideal as I have ever come.

Ironically, that was the last night I ever saw Mark. While Cole's face emanated hope and renewal, Mark's subtly communicated a hollow and reserved sense of reluctance. I didn't realize it at the time, but he had something he needed to talk to me about. He drove me home, gave me a good night kiss and another because I asked for it, then he left.

50 Days of Mark

I have a confession to make. For the first time in my life, I went to the movies alone this week. It wasn't really on purpose, but I wasn't about to let a great movie like "500 Days of Summer" leave my town without seeing it.

The movie begins expressly providing a disclaimer that it is "not a love story" but rather "a story about love." Although I genuinely appreciate fabulistic romance films such as "Penelope," "Enchanted," or "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," anti-fairy tales also provide essential messages to those of us living in reality. "500 Days of Summer" is a prime example offering an important lesson in perspective.

The movie's strength lies in the fact that it looks at the same story multiple times. It is a movie of contemplation ("Why do I feel this way?," "Why can't I get over her?," etc.) and reflection, providing viewers with a unique story arc. The movie begins at the relationships climax—Tom and Summer have just "broken up" (in quotes because relationships are painted in shades of gray)—and the director spends the rest of the time jumping between points in their relationship showing us Tom's journey of healing.

The movie reminded me that sometimes falling out of love is necessary and—considering the fact that I've only fallen in love once—I've been lucky enough to only need to fall out of love once. One particular set of montages comes to mind. Tom poetically lists the things he loves about Summer only to say how much these characteristics irritate him later in the film, demonstrating the perspectives of in and out of love. I found this to be the only way to recover from my first breakup.

Things ended abruptly with Mark, my first boyfriend. He was preparing to go on his mission and close to going to the temple. He said that he didn't feel comfortable seeing someone and going to the temple. We basically left it at that. It was hard for me to go from being in a relationship and talking to him on a daily basis to almost nothing overnight. It took all of my emotional energy to keep from saying what I felt deep down.

I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want things to end. BUT I wanted what he wanted because that makes up a great deal of what love is (think "Wall-E" or "The Gift of the Magi"). Only now do I recognize the fact that my understanding of "love" is unavoidably romanticized. On a research trip shortly after the breakup, I fell apart a few times when someone with the same curly strawberry-blonde hair passed by or just the wrong song played on the radio.

Months later, I came to the conclusion that I was not letting myself heal. I needed to revisit and rethink the time I'd spent with Mark. I needed to look for the negative and I wasn't used to that as a reformed cynic and romantic positivist. The good nature and mystery that attracted me to him in the first place ultimately tore us apart. He intrigued me because he was so much like me and helped me understand so much, yet whenever I came close to asking about certain things, he would change the subject.

In the end, all of the thought and energy that made me think that he was the one left me with an important lesson. After months of healing, I finally picked up the pieces and felt comfortable enough to date other guys and after a little more time think that I could feel the same for someone else. That guy has yet to come around, but—now—I am grateful for everything I learned from that process despite those tough times.