Recently a good friend of mine and I decided to try moving slowly through a syllabus we dug up online, on the life and works of Virginia Woolf. Having read Mrs. Dalloway (at least three times, *happy sigh*), as well as some of her other fiction, I already know I am completely in awe of Woolf’s offerings to the world. I’m excited to delve into her history, and to examine connections between the literary boundaries she expanded–and those current novelists who have drawn influence and strength from her work, moving it in new an vital directions (Toni Morrison comes to mind here, especially).
First little bit I am gnawing on with joy is this sentence from the Introduction to Moments of Being: a Collection of Autobiographical Writing, by editor Jeanne Schulkind: “[Virginia Woolf's view of the self] was [as] an elusive will o’ wisp, always just ahead on the horizon, flickering and insubstantial, yet enduring. She believed the individual identity to be always in flux, every moment changing its shape in response to the forces surrounding it: forces which were invisible emerge, others sink silently below the surface, and the past, on which the identity of the present rests, is never static, never fixed like a fly in amber, but as subject to alteration as the consciousness that recalls it.”
This resonates to the core of my being as truth. And as a beautiful description of Woolf’s work and sense of self (at least how I understand it as a layperson who has not studied her life in depth).
In coming weeks, I’m sure I’ll post more quotes and thoughts in this journey–so stay tuned!
Watch this video clip (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/46979745/vp/49947874#49947874) from the amazing Melissa Harris-Perry show. In one fell swoop, this brilliant professor/writer/mother/speaker/newscaster invites a fuller conversation about American families that is based in fact and not the (often dangerous) nostalgia of the season.
Her guests include MSNBC host Thomas Roberts, Marsha Garrison, professor at Brooklyn Law School; Aisha Moodie-Mills of the Center for American Progress; and Lester Spence, professor at Johns Hopkins. Below there’s an excellent excerpt of the transcript from this awesome news coverage about the need to expand our law’s understanding of family. Super relevant to thinking about family, the holidays, decreasing rates of marriage, and new understandings of love in the 21st century.
“Last year the number of unmarried people in the United States was 44%, including single parents, people with partners, those who are widows and people happily choosing single life. Being unmarried does not mean you are without family, though law is often blind to those families.
What if your kids are really your neighbors or your nephews or your grandkids? Narrow definitions of family can make student loans to doctor visits that much harder. It can make adoption for loving LGBT families or single women tough if they are banned from marrying or if policy treats them as if their households are unstable.
Can we begin to talk about the quirky combinations of family that occur when a family goes across race, geography, language, religion? How about those for whom it means a combination of relatives, friends, partners, and work colleagues? Life partner or next-of-kin is not just about a piece of paper. Family is more varied and beautiful than it has ever been.
Now, we have to get our laws to recognize this!”
Raise your hand if you love Professor Melissa Harris-Perry!
There you are. Walking down the street on November 1st, 2012, trying to decide which flavor of fro-yo you’d like. Red velvet cake batter, or the plain and plainly sinful vanilla bean. At the moment, since you can’t have gluten, you lean toward the former. What better substitute for the batter shots you used to down when the grown ups weren’t looking, than a dairylicious snack that’ll have you farting like a mad cow for the rest of the evening?
As you approach the entrance of the fro-yo shop, a large group exits. You’re instantly distracted by the fact that they’re all wearing Hello Kitty t-shirts–and further concerned that this damn Kitty has no mouth, so how does she tell the Tom Cats to back the fuck off when she’s out at the Shitty Kitty Bar on Saturday nights? And then it happens.
An angry glint of red flashes to the far right. You look fast–worried there’s a fire–and instead find a giant present topped with a bow straight from an eighties prom. Shit. Halloween ended barely twelve hours ago and faster than the GOP can say “no exceptions for rape or incest,” Santa’s taken over.
Mannequin families cluster in every window, their eyes less animated than the walking dead, smiles whittled and pained as those starving Bratz dolls. Cemented to their hands are whatever holiday present you should buy your family in order to truly be like a family, to feel like a family, at this time of year that’s all about family.
***
All right, all right. I realize that first section is all angsty. But don’t worry. I’m not here to be a coal-hearted deconstructionist Scrooge. I too love spending money I don’t have on shiny things that distract me from drone strikes and photos of dead Palestinian children and the long list of victims to be read at tomorrow’s Transgender Day of Remembrance.
Proof?
Just a few weeks ago in early November my partner returned from a three-day conference to find me cleaning the house nude, belting Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas (Is You).” (Note: be wary of using a spray bottle of bleach as a microphone.)
I followed this classic holiday hit with Ms. Carey’s lively gospel rendition of “Jesus Oh What a Wonderful Child.” Now, in case you’ve never witnessed such an event, few things are more Christmas festive than a hobbit-looking gay fella prancing around the house wailing “Jesus! Jesus! Je-je-je-je-je-jesus!”–actually keeping up vocally cause he’s that kind of stereotype-in-real-life homo who worshipped Ms. Houston as a child in his lonely, snowy white town where the best way to keep warm was to sing radio songs that called his soul, songs that were rarely sung by white folks like him.
When we time warped back an hour this year, I immediately dumped the best of the Christmas crooners onto my iPod: Aaron Neville, Mariah Carey, Donny Hathaway, Aretha Franklin, Sarah McLachlan. 98 Degrees. (Oh please. Like you don’t have some spray-tanned boy band blowing up your earbuds from time to time. And don’t hate them without listening: their version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen is a capella and tight!)
At approximately 6 AM the day after Thanksgiving, you’ll find me pulling out my sparkly lights, jingle bells, christmas tree, and beloved manger. The last of these I’ll set up first–the figures arranged delicately, so Joseph and Mary gaze warmly down at a Jesus I think had no more divinity than you or I (which is to say, a lot).
I’ll feel relief that, aside from Joseph’s beard (which could be home grown, or the patted-on stubble of a sexy, no-hormones trans man)–there’s nothing to indicate the sex or gender of each parent. I mean, sure, in the original story, we all know Mary is supposed to be the biological mother of Jesus. She went through the hard and blessed labor so many female-bodied folks do in order to share this world with a new tiny being who’ll grow up way too fast, then walk out onto the troubled waters of the world, becoming a beacon of critical thought and caring and compassion and connection (hopefully). And Amen to that!
But these days, we all know parenting is about much more than the biological bond–much more than what lies between the legs of a caregiver, or what hormone levels course through her or his or hir brain. And while some will say “there’s no denying biology”–there’s one thing biology cannot magically provide, no matter the increased levels of oxytocin flowing through the birth mother’s (and also birth father’s) brain. This one thing not guaranteed by biology? Loving familial proximity.
Just because we’re born, just because we are prepared for pre-natally–to whatever extent–doesn’t mean we are born into love. Trouble is, without the loving proximity of at least one person, we mammals don’t thrive, let alone survive.
Given this, it’s a problem that this season pivots so delicately on the plastic, polished lie that loving proximity is as easily assembled as mannequins–or as an Old Navy photo shoot featuring a woman, a man, and a child with similar facial features.
Tis the season for people to walk around moon-eyed, speaking about family of origin as though the instinctive, collective action during this time of “joy” is to rush into their close proximity in order to experience a love that is big and warm and predictable and, for some, actually loving.
Little do these people know how many of us have instincts rightfully honed by intense experiences of abuse (physical, sexual, emotional, financial, spiritual–any combination of these)–that keep us as far away from our families of origin as possible. Where do we find ourselves during this season of purported forgiveness and reconciliation–when the mere mention of family can trigger deeply embedded experiences of defense and protection, and resentment of those who have loving families?
What would happen if we actually showed up on our parents’ doorsteps–with our same-sex partners, without the child we opted to abort… with an increasingly healed heart able to speak out and set limits against abusive behaviors, without the husband/wife we are constantly nagged to find to be “complete”?
What would happen if we knocked on that door–with our long CV of esteemed published articles and books in hand but absent a child, with or without the weight we were supposed to lose or gain… with our non-Western, non-dual, non-fundamentalist beliefs about the world… with our partner of differing ethnicity and religious background, without a ten year plan–what then?
Where’s THAT holiday TV special?
The truth is that many of us have been cast out of our families of origin (whether adoptive or biological) because we chose to move in the direction of holistic integration–by honestly naming our individual and authentic experiences of sexuality, gender, religion, politics, American history, embodiment, etc. We just happen to see things differently than those who raised us, those who–despite histories of offering somewhat loving proximity–now offer callous judgment, fundamentalist religious abuse… you name it.
Often these folks who raised us want to put aside our differences during this time of year, so everyone can get along. How odd then, that “putting aside our differences” often means only putting aside our own–never theirs. Don’t bring your gay partner, and/or partner of a different race and/or different religion with you. Don’t bring that CV to share. Lie about dating around in pursuit of marriage. Hold the secret of your abortion/family planning in your heart. And so on.
We all have a choice about how far we’ll self-silence and -destruct in pursuit of a Hallmark moment that can be placed in the slideshows of family members hell-bent on believing that all is well and all is normal (at least at this time of year). As a counselor of numerous lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender clients and straight allies–I see how deeply painful this time of year is for the many in our community who’ve survived traumatizing families of origin. The choice seems to be between “having yourself a merry little christmas” and somehow searching for love in close proximity with folks who’ve frequently demonstrated they have very little to offer.
Other than finding an area counselor/therapist (especially one versed in the needs of LGBTQIA folks, if you are one of those letters)–there are a few basic survival tips I encourage you to play with as the holidays descend. These are things that help me on a regular basis, as a survivor of severe emotional and spiritual abuse by certain (not all) members of my family of origin.
Short story: I came out at seventeen, and at twenty-nine, I am now more fully aware of my right to stay away from harmful folks (whose mandate is that I always arrive partner-less to family gatherings and censor talk of my full adult, partnered life). This Thanksgiving and Christmas I will choose to spend my time with those who truly see me, hear me, and love me. And that is Tip #1!
Tip #1: Find at least one dear person/being who helps you feel (more) fully seen, heard, held, and loved. Could be a pet, could be a friend, could be a co-worker, could be a truly caring member of your family of origin. Could be a therapist or a religious/spiritual counselor. Could even be a character in a novel or movie or television show who you admire and aspire to be more like.
Allow yourself time to be with these kinds of folks in coming weeks–and if possible, mostly/only these kinds of folks. Fight experiences of “obligation” to commit to traditions and people that never felt good, or healthy, or safe enough. Especially experiment with setting limits and creating distance with your family of origin if you need to. Fight that holiday narrative that “togetherness” is the answer. It plainly, simply, is not the answer for everyone. You can hang with your family of origin a little bit, instead of last year’s a lotta bit. Or maybe don’t hang with them at all! Maybe give yourself the gift of a holiday to yourself!
Whatever you choose, notice if you’re hesitant about allowing a warm connection to develop with your above-chosen dear one (even if that “dear one” is yourself). Fact is, most of our defenses are up right now. Grim self-reliance frequently helped us survive our families (along with compassionate outsiders along the way)–so why should we bother reaching out now, when our whole body-mind-spirits are geared toward defense and isolation? Why should we be gentle with ourselves and others, instead of the more familiar hardy- and spiky- and prickly-ness?
If you get looped into anxiety and/or depression around gift-giving, make an agreement with your dear one that you’d like to nix that part of the season… or maybe instead get creative by setting a reasonable dollar limit and finding or making gifts full of the love and intention and good stuff you can never actually buy.
Finally, name for yourself (first through journaling or contemplation or therapy) the extent of what your dear one means to you. How is it to sit with them? How do you feel in your body as they laugh and smile (and/or wag their tail) with you? Do you feel warm, or cold? Does your breath deepen or become shallow? How do you feel afterward, emotionally? If you feel relief over being seen and heard–what are the exact qualities of that relief?
Can you let yourself sit and breathe into that relief? Can you get to know it better–given how much time you’ve spent getting to know your useful and previously necessary defenses?
By touching in and bringing awareness to your experience of this caring connection, you focus on the abundance of what you have–while holding awareness of what you also have lost. This holiday season, be courageous enough to ask yourself: am I putting my energy into people, places, and practices that leave me feeling healthy and full? How can I place myself in truly loving proximity to another–whether person (stranger or friend), animal, plant, mineral? How can I set myself up to receive love and care, where previously I was censured and silenced?
I realize these questions are big, and likely scary. You might think the pain of your family is at least familiar. But as my favorite tarot deck (Tarot of the Spirit by Dr. Pamela Eakins) says: “the price of true freedom is falling forward into an unknown future.” And I would add one piece: “the price of true freedom is falling forward into an unknown future, though not necessarily alone.”
Who can journey with you into, and beyond, the narratives of this silly season? Who can fall alongside you into a new kind of family–one that is chosen, that rests not on histories of origin but on a sound commitment in the here-and-now… to protect and to love, to care for in times of wellness and sickness?
In my next post, I’ll focus on what it’s like to expand your use of “family language” to include chosen family as well as those members of your family of origin who remain caring. And I’ll also kick off my list of songs that helped me survive my transition into a more expanded sense of family, starting with “Listen” as sung captivatingly by Beyonce in the film version of the Dreamgirls musical. Check it out below, let the lyrics hit you at heart, and try singing along.
“I’m more than what you made of me
I follow the voice you gave to me
But now I’ve gotta find my own…”
My commentary regarding North Carolina’s passing of anti-gay Amendment One:
Perhaps the saddest thing about the gay marriage debate is that married gay folk might feel “single” in states where gay marriages aren’t recognized (as has been expressed to me by numerous people ).
But here’s the thing: lament the inequality, fight for our rights–but NEVER EVER let a human-made social system into your heart. You are partnered when YOU say you are. The attendant nerves/fears about discrimination make sense, but sell not your very soul to the system.
Know this: love and partnership–though framed by the opinions, cultures, religions of others–have a power unto themselves.
Love has always thrived with or without approval, with or without God, with or without bizzare notions of citizenry.
That is our power. We stand in keeping with nature: deliciously wild, unruly, unkempt and beautiful beyond imagination. Marriage or not.
May the stone-faced system, the self-obsessed culture, the bankrupt faiths of so many, be riddled with the actual impermanence of real life.
A couple of years ago, a friend gave me MIKA’s debut album Life in Cartoon Motion. I was immediately taken with the higher range and unabashedly upbeat power of Mika’s voice. It made me think happily of Freddie Mercury.
Many of the songs on this album were catchy, but one in particular stood out: “Happy Ending.”
This song hit me like a three-year-old, racing in my blind spot for a hug, crashing in with the perfect blend of joy and pain. In this way, the song interrupted my thoughts centered on healing from a traumatic coming out in my late adolescence.
Indeed, the lyrics to “Happy Ending” seem tailor-made for me. I hear the lyrics playing out the tragicomedy of a parent’s homophobic rejection, of that long-hidden asterisk on “I love you always.*” (*unless you… [insert deviance-from-the-socially-constructed-norm].)
Mika sings, slowly at first:
“This is the way you left me
I’m not pretending
No hope, no love, no glory
No happy ending.
This is the hardest story
That I’ve ever told
No hope, no love, no glory
Happy ending’s gone forevermore.”
Based on the lyrics alone, the song sounds morose. Perhaps it’s one of those string-laden alt pieces that repetitiously sighs like a Victorian lady struggling for one simple, uncorseted breathe? Perhaps it’s written by one of those passionate and gutsy piano whisperers like Tori or Fiona? Nope!
Mika’s song is a nursery-rhyme piano ballad that builds into a wailing pop gospel hymn designed to exorcise any and all expectation of permanence. It’s a living praisesong for those of us whose fairy tales lead to the present moment’s absence of a once-loved one, and to the gloriously terrifying dance of Moving On.
For the truth is that our illest-fitting relationships can be forgiven–and often most effectively via disengagement, distancing. Via the healthful cauterization of what no longer serves to enliven or heal.
Not all relationships–biological or adoptive, friend or family or fr-amily–err on the side of unconditional love. Often trust is hard-won and rarely lasts when solely predicated on a socially mandated performance of sex, race, gender identity, physical/intellectual ability or class.
In the face of necessarily & healthfully ruptured bonds–how do we ride the flood waters to a place of peace-with-loss?
I’ll start by singing along with Mika, rejoicing in the rich absence of happy endings, in happy beginnings crafted in the here and now. (And of course, weekly therapy helps, hehe!)
May it be so.
Check out Mika’s video for “Happy Ending” below!
PS: Given the personal meaning I find in the song, I love how Mika described the story behind “Happy Ending” in an interview with the Sun newspapers, on February 2, 2007:
“It’s about a few things. In a way, it’s a kind of sad break-up song like ‘My Interpretation.’ But, at the same time, it’s about a lot of other things. I’ll never forget when I was actually recording this song in Los Angeles, I would take this drive from where I was staying to the studio, which wasn’t in the city and the amount of homeless people I saw on the way was absolutely shocking. Those horrible images of homelessness that I would see every morning really connected with that song. So it just comes to show you that a bright song in a certain mindset had a meaning that really evolves and changes as time goes by. I think that it is very important that other listeners find their own meaning to songs. So many people are very openly suggestive to the point of being abstract. It’s the most powerful thing when that becomes the song.”
Designing a Kickstarter.com project to support my writing of a novel that centers LGBTQ youth has been fascinating. This notion, of sharing a passion with the Internet-traveling public, of asking for their contribution to the material well-being of said passion–has enlivened my work with the novel in a dramatic way.
Suddenly these characters who live so vividly in my heart and mind, who have done so for years, are taking steps into the light. It almost feels beyond control, that I as a container of this story am not supposed to keep it all private–telling only trusted friends, writing colleagues, or the universe itself. It is a story for everyone.
This story began over a decade ago, when I was still a queer youth myself. At that time I lacked the perspective of my current twenty-eight joy- and sorrow-drenched years to bring these characters to rich, embodied life–but lately they have been demanding nothing less. They are demanding to be seen–now.
I love writing their stories, and love this challenge of bringing my novel (partway finished) to the public–in search of lovers and readers who share the vision of a story that takes root directly in the lived experiences of LGBTQ youth… And not in the marred perceptions of an unexamined heterosexist world view.
Is it possible the novel might garner enough financial support to carry it through its independent publishing and deliver its gifts to the world-at-large?
