False Starts, New Beginnings, Concerted Efforts
If lives were like novels, my life, thus far, would be of the unfinished sort. Or at least the kind that one would find years later, dust off, and call an amateur volume of rhythm out of whack, purposfully underdeveloped characters, and misunderstood motivations. Sure, it could get published and recieve a smattering of praise, but, in the final evaluation, I could have done much better. I'm not being hard on myself (except maybe for this drawn out metaphor and entensive comma use...but you really wouldn't have known about that unless I told you...darn)--most writers, except for a few rare specimens, write bad novels at first. It's no big deal. And who wants to be one of those perfect 23 year old novelists who have seemingly found precision and simplicity at birth? And deal with all the other writers' secret disdain? Not me. =)
I guess that what I'm trying to say is: I'm giving myself the chance to start over. My first outing into independence was based on fear, subterfuge, and hardened determination. I didn't move out because I wanted to. I moved out because I was afraid of my parents' reaction to finding out that their son was gay. I moved out because I wanted to know what having a boyfriend could be like. I moved out because I was tired of the person I was. I moved out because I was tired of lying to my parents' faces and would much rather be silent to their backs.
At first, I thrived. The "being and surviving alone" part of independence wasn't bad at all. I can cook for myself (with variety! Yes! Tell your friends! I know more recipies than days of the week!), clean for myself, pay bills, etc. The mechanics were no problem. My mindscape, however, became a problem. With all my time spent on surviving, I had even less time to come to terms with my mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual state.
I can keep my need for clarity aside for quite awhile. Especially when there's no strong need for me to be myself. Instead, I became a pale imitation of myself. For example: I am a generally cheerful person. Therefore, if I act cheerful all the time, I'm sure to come off as the normal Keith and not the Keith with lots of stuff to figure out. This works, but has diminishing results, especially when it comes to the amount of energy it takes to be a pale imitation of oneself. I'd estimate that I used double the amount of energy to be one-half of the person I was.
As I said, I really had no strong need to be myself. That was, however, until I met Justin. When it comes to him, I have a definite need to be 100 percent "the real Keith." The time that I've spent with him since we've met has allowed me to be more and more Myself and less The Pale Imitation. About a week ago, I hit the breaking point, however. I thought I was being totally honest and totally myself, but I realized that I had put off thinking about my life for so long that "the real Keith" was trapped by the compromises I made to be independent. My job, while putting money in my pocket, more than I could get writing, is keeping me from actually doing any writing of any sort. My apartment, while cozy and a fun place to be, is a major expense that keeps me at my job. My parents, while safely distant, now knew the truth about their son and had only love to give. My friends, once close, now stood distant from misunderstandings and assumptions. My faith, while still close to my heart, grew stale with neglect.
One of the hardest things I've ever done was to not move in with Justin. You see, we fell in love and it felt right to move fast. That was until I realized that I wanted to give him myself and I had nothing to give. While I could savor the honesty and grounding effect that coming out had in my life, I realized the price that I had paid for my years of subterfuge--I am tired, I am weary, I need to rebuild. I realized that I couldn't do that with my current job, my apartment, etc. But I also couldn't do that in a new apartment with Justin. I need time to rebuild myself and get back on the right track: in my occupation, my mind, my spirit. (I'd just like to say that he's been the most supportive, loving guy throughout all of this).
So, I'm starting over. I'm living with my parents again. They've opened their house to me and are offering for me to live here so that I can have a peaceful place to regroup, write, and seek God's will for my life. We don't agree about everything (I'll be honest--being a gay guy raised in a fundementalist household is a little bit daunting), but we do agree that we can rebuild a strong and vibrant family. I'll be cutting down my work hours soon and devoting more time to writing. I'm also going to devote some serious time to Bible study--both devotionally as well as systematically.
In the meantime, I've been mainly filled with a feeling of gratefulness and a feeling that the light of dawn is filtering through my life's window. I'm grateful for Justin. I'm grateful for my parents. I'm grateful for my friends.
So, if you've been sad or mad or disappointed or disillusioned or self-righteous or depressed or shocked or flabbergasted or whatever and it had to do with me...all I can say is "Cheer up!" =). We've got a huge God, folks, and he's not done with anyone.
So what if I'm a shitty first draft? There's always time for revisions. =)
