estrangement. the word on my lips as i fell asleep last night, after tossing and tossing like i usually do most nights, until my exhausted and tense body gives up to sleep. my days in austin are filled with inclusion, community: glorious love and dogs and laughter by the swimming pool. we can't sit on our porch for five minutes without a neighbor stopping by for conversation and a beverage. coffee in the morning, beer or wine at night.
estrangement. the weight of it tugs at the nearly sleeping parts of me every night, when i am quiet and the world is asleep. i'm quite estranged from my words anymore, as you can tell from the blank pages on the blog. part of it is inconvenience; i've got a broken ibook, and it's so damned difficult for me to write anything of consequence on a company computer (as i'm doing now), or even helen's computer. it feels foreign, and a little like intimacy with a stranger. awkward. and the words just stay where they are, rumbling in my belly.
even the camera is stymied with my lack of computer right now. i'm so dependent. it's salt in the wound to work for the company that makes my computing needs possible, and yet my little ibook sits at home, gathering dust, as i figure out how to make her power on again. [for the techies: a new logic board is most likely in order, which is about as economical as just starting over with a new lappy.]
anyway, the word is undeniably "estrangement", and i'm typing it here because it spoke itself so clearly last night. helen and i booked a flight to nashville for memorial day weekend (we'll be there saturday-tuesday), and there is a part of me that is afraid to go, because of the broken pieces there. God bless friends like kevin, who continue to call and call and write me here, even when the phonecalls and emails go unanswered for weeks. sometimes i forget what it's like to be myself--to reconcile the parts of myself i willingly left behind in nashville with the me i'm growing into here in austin--and i feel very awkward in conversation with the closest of friends. do you know that i haven't spoken to my dear marlei on the phone for months? MONTHS! the same can be said for nearly everyone i love dearly in nashville.
oh, and it's not just nashville, either: i haven't spoken to my sisters on the phone in ages, and my mother has to send me "are you alive???" emails, after numerous voicemails, just to get me to respond.
i don't know what to say.
it's not just the "hey i'm gay" thing. God knows everyone in my life has had over three years to deal with that fact now, one way or another. it's an old story. it's a given that nearly every bananie anecdote will include helen. (and our pets.) maybe it's because everything is in such flux right now: helen has now quit her job (sing hallelujah everyone!) and is beginning her teaching certification (and hopefully masters, fingers still crossed) this summer.
in the span of four months, i have gone from having NO healthcare to bringing helen onto my fabulous insurance plan. i have a 401k plan. i keep changing my hair color. we have gone from trying to adopt to deciding to wait on adoption to thoughts of IVF, starring bananie as babymama. we're serious about this. i'm serious about this. and we want to have a wedding ceremony. something small, but real. legitimate in the eyes of family and friends.
i think that's my biggest fear, the biggest thing that keeps me from writing, from talking: i'm afraid of not being taken seriously. that a schmelen/bananie wedding--or to be less threatening to the sacred institution: "commitment ceremony"--will become a political/religious quandary for the people i love. how much hope for the capital I important stuff do i get to hold out when it comes to the "estranged"? i wonder if i give my mother, my sisters, my friends enough benefit of the doubt? will they eventually be happy and feel like a "normal" family if my belly grows round with a baby? will i?
and so i've estranged myself because of fear. fear, once again. and as i fell asleep last night with that fearsome word on the tip of my tongue, music filled my ears. sarah's music. a song entitled "psalm 139" officially, but one she named "love can overcome estrangement".
her words are my words to nashville, as i fly my way back next month. they are my words to my beloved family:
do not leave me defenseless
despise me for my weakness
oh i'm gonna be found out
it's all gonna be released
and what we cannot see of love
is coming near.
Hey Anne,
1. Will there be a party I can attend when you come back Memorial Day weekend?
2. I'd love to take pictures at your wedding.
3. The past few years you seem different/feel different to me. I imagine it's your growing (as we all hopefully do), your freedom (that the few fortunate of us experience). You feel slightly foreign (estranged?) to me, but I'd love to get to know this "new" you.
There are friends who have difficulty with my growth, and it's very hard to be around them. I feel thrown back into what I was. And where I am NOW is much more where I want to be.
You've always been beautiful to me. That much hasn't changed. You're an amazing writer. That hasn't changed. But you seem more wild and free...in a good way. I imagine a lot of people want to grow with you.
I'll say - even though you and I don't agree on a lot of things, a lot of things you've mentioned here, I'm still here and happy to know you. I think some of the best parts of life are the parts we don't understand and must question, question, question. I think your words often speak a truth that some of us are afraid to even think, let alone say.
Posted by: Glam Jo at May 3, 2006 8:17 PMAnnie, I wish I was going to be there with you... next time maybe, next time.
Lisa, Can I take a moment to tell you 1) how much you totally rock and 2) how much I love you.
Jude xx
Posted by: jude at May 4, 2006 6:19 PMoh anne, i miss you. i love you and i miss you.
Posted by: rachel Garza at May 5, 2006 1:36 AMThank you, Annie, for these words. I could never quite put my finger on the feeling that pervaded my first few years after my "coming out"--to use a cliche--as an adult, a Christian independent from my parents, and a gay man.
I went from teaching at my church on Sundays, one of the "young bucks" growing up in the congregation, to weeks and months without talking to any of those dear people. At first, the reaction was volatile: families refusing to visit my parents when I was around, strange "Thinking of You" cards from beloved friends with a tract featuring fire on the front inside, loving friends offering way more emotional support than I knew they could afford to give. Then the reactions settled and I was left with...quiet. Not much to talk about. It was like kids at a sleepover that lasted much too long. Overstimulated nerves, full of unsettled food.
It ends, though, the estrangement. One person at a time. Each in their own way. The gay thing becomes such old news. Then it's about where you live. Then it's about when you can visit. Then it's like no difference, except for love. I've found that the love after estrangement is real, merciful, equal, and not of ourselves.
Posted by: Keith at May 9, 2006 9:28 AMa beautiful pair of brides you shall be. beautiful.
xo
alexia