Fear and Loving in Hell's Kitchen
As a child, I was afraid of monsters… all different kinds of monsters It wasn’t Frankenstein’s Monster or vampires or any of the monsters in the movies… it was the kind your mind creates. .The ones that frightened me the most were demons. If you were a child and saw the movie DON’T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK on tv, you probably would have felt the same way.
I grew. I developed different fears. For a period of time I was afraid of injections, having blood drawn, any kind of medical needle activity. I came to understand that this fear was based on a story I had heard about someone clenching their glute while getting a shot and having the needle snap off in the muscle.
Well into my adulthood I realized that I wasn’t really afraid of anything. I had no fear of spiders, snakes, rats; not needles, heights or water. I wasn’t afraid of clowns. I wasn’t afraid of anything rational. I had one or two irrational fears… being buried alive (I mean, really, what are the chances?) or dying in a plane crash without having cleaned my house… these are irrational fears. My friend has an irrational fear of midgets (his word, not mine) and of rain. I’ve heard people speak of their fears, both rational and irrational; and I have managed to dispel many of my own. Why, only recently, I came to the realization that I am afraid of gay men and their superficial judgments and malevolence and that the origin of this fear is the mistreatment to which I was subjected by my first love, a 30 year old ballet dancer who picked me up the year I transitioned from 16 to 17, befriended me and taught me what it was like to be in a gay relationship: demeaning, diminishing and demoralizing. Having, only this last month, come to that realization, I’ve been able to (gradually) begin to confront my fear of the wicked stepsisters known as my gay brethren. One day, that fear will be completely gone. That project begun, I have made a list of things of which I am afraid and determined to tackle them this year:
--I am going to have Michael Buchanan take me to a karaoke bar, where I will sing in public.
--I am going to have Jason Zimmerman take me to Fire Island and I am going to have a good time, rather than be miserable and scared of the life-threatening gorgeous and hypercritical gay men who inhabit the island.
--I am going to have Hunter find me an appropriate occasion and I’m going to do drag (Jen Houston will be styling me for the event; and isn’t she thrilled!).
--I am going to go to a gay bar, club, disco or other gathering place, find the most attractive man in the place and engage him in conversation for at least four minutes.
This list is an ongoing process on which I am working, in an effort to combat my fears. I think about fear.. not a lot; but I do. We humans do seem to be controlled by fear, don’t we? Fear might be the most powerful emotion that we have – it leads us to so many of our actions and those to which it doesn’t lead, it keeps us away from attempting. I think it might be fair to say that fear can be a stronger emotional motivator than love…maybe even greed. Isn’t it fear of being powerless that leads people to selfish acts, to acts of hatred, acts of war? Don’t we self-protect out of fear of being hurt? I’ve missed a lot of opportunities in this life because of fear. Fortunately, I am fearless about some things, fearless in certain situations – so it hasn’t hindered my life as much as it COULD have.
Having said, for years, that my biggest fear (outside of the death of a loved one, particularly my husband) is being judged, I’m on my way to exorcising that fear from my being. Also, I have to admit that I have a fear of losing my legs; also a fear of a longterm debilitating illness; I do not, though, consider these to be irrational fears. I live in New York – an Apple Tours bus could run me down any day and I might lose my legs. This is 2010 – you can contract an incurable disease by sitting too close to the aviary at the zoo; illness is airborn. These are not irrational fears; everybody has them. We are all afraid of the death of a loved one, a debilitation of any kind – particularly one that leads to our demise, though some of us aren’t afraid to die. I’m not. I’m not ready to go. I have a great life and I’m having a good time; I have more to do, more to say, more to learn and more to teach – natch, I am not ready to go. When I do, though, I won’t be afraid. I hope.
In one of the Harry Potter stories, we are introduced to an process of ridding oneself of a magical creature – a process which involves focusing on one’s greatest fear. I have only read the first two Harry Potter novels, so my exposure to this concept is limited to the films. I recall one child focusing on a Jack In The Box, one uses a snake, one uses a teacher that terrifies him. Harry Potter is afraid of Dementors and Professor Lupin, of the moon. I allowed myself to get lost in the fantasy world of the film and wondered what my focus would be on.. what is, truly, my biggest fear?
Last night, I turned to Pat and told him:
“I’ve got it. I know what my greatest fear is.”
It is always an unspoken understanding that this is ASIDE from the fear I have of losing him – which is as it should be. That tacit exists, I am sure, between every great couple. So. My biggest fear…
I am afraid that my loved ones do not understand, do not feel the depth of my commitment to them.
I know that there are times when I hang up the telephone with a loved one without saying “I love you”; I also know that these times are, severely, outweighed by the number of times when I hang up with the phrase. Leaving a friend on the corner of 50th and 9th last night, our parting was a simple kiss on the cheek and those words. I love you. The thing about words, though, is that they become just words. We hear the word table so often that, sometimes, it takes a little focus, a little visualization, to remember what a table is. The person talking to you says a sentence using words we hear every day. Table. Fork. Dog. And in my head I have to do a kind of Sesame Street flash card game and focus on the image of what that is… oh.. got it. That’s a table. That’s a fork. That’s a dog. If simple one syllable nouns become a tangible item that a person has to focus on, just to make the meaning of a sentence take root, imagine the more complex meaning of other one syllable words and how the repeated hearings of those words turn that all important sentence into just blah de blah. I love you. I need you. I like you. You’re neat. You’re special. So what? You hear these sentences over and over and, eventually, they just become ‘how are you’, ‘I’m fine’, ‘have a nice day’. We must never let the importance of certain words, certain sentences, certain themes, certain guarantees in our life, in our relationships, our collective existences become by rote. Yet we do. We are insular. We are overloaded. We are inundated. And the important moments of each day fall away, like so much ivy, dying on the vine.
I don’t care if the laundry doesn’t get done today.
I don’t care if the mail doesn’t go to the post office today.
I don’t care if I have to miss Survivor tonight.
I have the opportunity to have a birthday breakfast with Ken this morning, to celebrate his being here. I have the opportunity to create prosperity for Jason this afternoon, to help him pay for his upcoming trip home. I have the opportunity to support Donna’s artistry tonight AND sit in a darkened theater with Pat on one side of me and Brady on the other. All of these things will nurture my entire being; but, more to the point, the fact that I have taken time out of (what all my loved ones know is) a hectic schedule in which I am (constantly) being pulled in many directions, including that of my own work, will show my loved ones that being with them is more important than anything. It has been (often, in my adult life) my practice to drop everything and go to these precious treasures when they need me. I admit it: certain times I have been in a black ‘me’ place and unable to dig myself out long enough to go when called, certain times I have had to be incognito – but the core of this body, this mind, this soul is (and always has been) to go when called because this wordsmith who ends every call, every visit, every email with “I love you” fears the growing lack of power in that beautiful entity, the word, and knows that the adage “actions speak louder” is true. I learned this in college when Marsha Waldie actually told me that people believed me to be insincere because of all the compliments I paid everyone. I protested, on that day, that I happen to look for the good and, upon finding it, draw attention to it. Attention must be paid. Once that threat of being believed disingenuous had been instilled in my mind, once that seed had been planted, I became acutely aware, almost innately, of always looking people in the eye, indeed, of saying “look me in the eye so I know you hear what I’m saying” before telling people “you can depend on me”, “I will always be here for you”, “you’re not alone”.
People toss this word love around like a football and, because of it, some don’t believe in it, some don’t even remember what it is, what it feels like to receive love – oh everybody feels it, everybody gives, but do people actually know how to accept it? Like a compliment that you pay a person who throws it back in your face because they don’t know how to hear the words and trust that you mean them and say “THANK you”, people don’t know how to stand, arms wide open, and say “love me”, then accept it. They think you want something back.
I’m in love with a man who is not my husband. It doesn’t take anything away from Pat because that well is infinite. I am happy, no, elated, to be blessed with a heart that is so bountiful that each drop of love that lies therein gives birth to more. The more I love, the more there is. So I can love as many people as I can meet. So I’m in love. I ask nothing in return. I need nothing in return. I don’t need to be loved back, I don’t need to be made love to, I don’t need for him to even know that I am in love with him. I only need, wish, for him to accept this love. I do think that he should know that he is loved so deeply because knowing that you are so loved can only serve to validate a person.
Don’t you wish you knew, truly, how deeply you are loved? Wouldn’t it boost your self esteem today?
And so, comes the calm and peaceful, unholy revelation of what is my biggest fear: loving. Loving and not being believed. Loving and not having the wonderful, unique, special, absolutely irreplaceable objects of my affection pay attention, not to me, but to themselves. I use the phrase ‘attention must be paid’, and often, because I believe, no – I know, that people must be validated. What better validation, than being loved? Attention should be paid to the love that is bestowed upon them. If these flowers in my garden knew the depth of my devotion to them, they would, surely, have fewer low self image days; they would, surely, love themselves a little more.
And it is not being loved that causes us to grow; it is loving.
That is so much more important.
I grew. I developed different fears. For a period of time I was afraid of injections, having blood drawn, any kind of medical needle activity. I came to understand that this fear was based on a story I had heard about someone clenching their glute while getting a shot and having the needle snap off in the muscle.
Well into my adulthood I realized that I wasn’t really afraid of anything. I had no fear of spiders, snakes, rats; not needles, heights or water. I wasn’t afraid of clowns. I wasn’t afraid of anything rational. I had one or two irrational fears… being buried alive (I mean, really, what are the chances?) or dying in a plane crash without having cleaned my house… these are irrational fears. My friend has an irrational fear of midgets (his word, not mine) and of rain. I’ve heard people speak of their fears, both rational and irrational; and I have managed to dispel many of my own. Why, only recently, I came to the realization that I am afraid of gay men and their superficial judgments and malevolence and that the origin of this fear is the mistreatment to which I was subjected by my first love, a 30 year old ballet dancer who picked me up the year I transitioned from 16 to 17, befriended me and taught me what it was like to be in a gay relationship: demeaning, diminishing and demoralizing. Having, only this last month, come to that realization, I’ve been able to (gradually) begin to confront my fear of the wicked stepsisters known as my gay brethren. One day, that fear will be completely gone. That project begun, I have made a list of things of which I am afraid and determined to tackle them this year:
--I am going to have Michael Buchanan take me to a karaoke bar, where I will sing in public.
--I am going to have Jason Zimmerman take me to Fire Island and I am going to have a good time, rather than be miserable and scared of the life-threatening gorgeous and hypercritical gay men who inhabit the island.
--I am going to have Hunter find me an appropriate occasion and I’m going to do drag (Jen Houston will be styling me for the event; and isn’t she thrilled!).
--I am going to go to a gay bar, club, disco or other gathering place, find the most attractive man in the place and engage him in conversation for at least four minutes.
This list is an ongoing process on which I am working, in an effort to combat my fears. I think about fear.. not a lot; but I do. We humans do seem to be controlled by fear, don’t we? Fear might be the most powerful emotion that we have – it leads us to so many of our actions and those to which it doesn’t lead, it keeps us away from attempting. I think it might be fair to say that fear can be a stronger emotional motivator than love…maybe even greed. Isn’t it fear of being powerless that leads people to selfish acts, to acts of hatred, acts of war? Don’t we self-protect out of fear of being hurt? I’ve missed a lot of opportunities in this life because of fear. Fortunately, I am fearless about some things, fearless in certain situations – so it hasn’t hindered my life as much as it COULD have.
Having said, for years, that my biggest fear (outside of the death of a loved one, particularly my husband) is being judged, I’m on my way to exorcising that fear from my being. Also, I have to admit that I have a fear of losing my legs; also a fear of a longterm debilitating illness; I do not, though, consider these to be irrational fears. I live in New York – an Apple Tours bus could run me down any day and I might lose my legs. This is 2010 – you can contract an incurable disease by sitting too close to the aviary at the zoo; illness is airborn. These are not irrational fears; everybody has them. We are all afraid of the death of a loved one, a debilitation of any kind – particularly one that leads to our demise, though some of us aren’t afraid to die. I’m not. I’m not ready to go. I have a great life and I’m having a good time; I have more to do, more to say, more to learn and more to teach – natch, I am not ready to go. When I do, though, I won’t be afraid. I hope.
In one of the Harry Potter stories, we are introduced to an process of ridding oneself of a magical creature – a process which involves focusing on one’s greatest fear. I have only read the first two Harry Potter novels, so my exposure to this concept is limited to the films. I recall one child focusing on a Jack In The Box, one uses a snake, one uses a teacher that terrifies him. Harry Potter is afraid of Dementors and Professor Lupin, of the moon. I allowed myself to get lost in the fantasy world of the film and wondered what my focus would be on.. what is, truly, my biggest fear?
Last night, I turned to Pat and told him:
“I’ve got it. I know what my greatest fear is.”
It is always an unspoken understanding that this is ASIDE from the fear I have of losing him – which is as it should be. That tacit exists, I am sure, between every great couple. So. My biggest fear…
I am afraid that my loved ones do not understand, do not feel the depth of my commitment to them.
I know that there are times when I hang up the telephone with a loved one without saying “I love you”; I also know that these times are, severely, outweighed by the number of times when I hang up with the phrase. Leaving a friend on the corner of 50th and 9th last night, our parting was a simple kiss on the cheek and those words. I love you. The thing about words, though, is that they become just words. We hear the word table so often that, sometimes, it takes a little focus, a little visualization, to remember what a table is. The person talking to you says a sentence using words we hear every day. Table. Fork. Dog. And in my head I have to do a kind of Sesame Street flash card game and focus on the image of what that is… oh.. got it. That’s a table. That’s a fork. That’s a dog. If simple one syllable nouns become a tangible item that a person has to focus on, just to make the meaning of a sentence take root, imagine the more complex meaning of other one syllable words and how the repeated hearings of those words turn that all important sentence into just blah de blah. I love you. I need you. I like you. You’re neat. You’re special. So what? You hear these sentences over and over and, eventually, they just become ‘how are you’, ‘I’m fine’, ‘have a nice day’. We must never let the importance of certain words, certain sentences, certain themes, certain guarantees in our life, in our relationships, our collective existences become by rote. Yet we do. We are insular. We are overloaded. We are inundated. And the important moments of each day fall away, like so much ivy, dying on the vine.
I don’t care if the laundry doesn’t get done today.
I don’t care if the mail doesn’t go to the post office today.
I don’t care if I have to miss Survivor tonight.
I have the opportunity to have a birthday breakfast with Ken this morning, to celebrate his being here. I have the opportunity to create prosperity for Jason this afternoon, to help him pay for his upcoming trip home. I have the opportunity to support Donna’s artistry tonight AND sit in a darkened theater with Pat on one side of me and Brady on the other. All of these things will nurture my entire being; but, more to the point, the fact that I have taken time out of (what all my loved ones know is) a hectic schedule in which I am (constantly) being pulled in many directions, including that of my own work, will show my loved ones that being with them is more important than anything. It has been (often, in my adult life) my practice to drop everything and go to these precious treasures when they need me. I admit it: certain times I have been in a black ‘me’ place and unable to dig myself out long enough to go when called, certain times I have had to be incognito – but the core of this body, this mind, this soul is (and always has been) to go when called because this wordsmith who ends every call, every visit, every email with “I love you” fears the growing lack of power in that beautiful entity, the word, and knows that the adage “actions speak louder” is true. I learned this in college when Marsha Waldie actually told me that people believed me to be insincere because of all the compliments I paid everyone. I protested, on that day, that I happen to look for the good and, upon finding it, draw attention to it. Attention must be paid. Once that threat of being believed disingenuous had been instilled in my mind, once that seed had been planted, I became acutely aware, almost innately, of always looking people in the eye, indeed, of saying “look me in the eye so I know you hear what I’m saying” before telling people “you can depend on me”, “I will always be here for you”, “you’re not alone”.
People toss this word love around like a football and, because of it, some don’t believe in it, some don’t even remember what it is, what it feels like to receive love – oh everybody feels it, everybody gives, but do people actually know how to accept it? Like a compliment that you pay a person who throws it back in your face because they don’t know how to hear the words and trust that you mean them and say “THANK you”, people don’t know how to stand, arms wide open, and say “love me”, then accept it. They think you want something back.
I’m in love with a man who is not my husband. It doesn’t take anything away from Pat because that well is infinite. I am happy, no, elated, to be blessed with a heart that is so bountiful that each drop of love that lies therein gives birth to more. The more I love, the more there is. So I can love as many people as I can meet. So I’m in love. I ask nothing in return. I need nothing in return. I don’t need to be loved back, I don’t need to be made love to, I don’t need for him to even know that I am in love with him. I only need, wish, for him to accept this love. I do think that he should know that he is loved so deeply because knowing that you are so loved can only serve to validate a person.
Don’t you wish you knew, truly, how deeply you are loved? Wouldn’t it boost your self esteem today?
And so, comes the calm and peaceful, unholy revelation of what is my biggest fear: loving. Loving and not being believed. Loving and not having the wonderful, unique, special, absolutely irreplaceable objects of my affection pay attention, not to me, but to themselves. I use the phrase ‘attention must be paid’, and often, because I believe, no – I know, that people must be validated. What better validation, than being loved? Attention should be paid to the love that is bestowed upon them. If these flowers in my garden knew the depth of my devotion to them, they would, surely, have fewer low self image days; they would, surely, love themselves a little more.
And it is not being loved that causes us to grow; it is loving.
That is so much more important.
posted by StephenMosher at 9:09 AM
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