On Dating

Dating sucks.  I don't know anyone that truly enjoys dating.  I can't speak for everyone, but this is typically how it goes.  You use an app to meet someone.  You text on the app for a few days.  You then exchange numbers.  You get along great virtually.  You exchange a few photos.  You make plans to go out.  You meet up.  You have a decent time but don't feel that spark.  You never hear from that person again.  You're actually okay with it.

On the rare occasion that I found someone with whom I feel a connection, I would usually still never hear from them again.  They would ghost on me.  There is the occasional mature individual who would let me know the feelings weren't mutual and that he wasn't interested in going out again.  While those messages are disappointing, I respect them a lot for having the ability to send them in the first place.  It is easy for folks who have grown up in the digital dating age to block a number and leave the person wondering what happened.  I am a big boy and fully understand that dating must be consensual otherwise it won't work (and is sort of illegal...).  

But then there is the even rarer occurrence when I go out with someone and they are equally as interested in me.  I can count on one hand the number of times that has happened.  There was S., there was the Real Estate Agent, there was the Editor, and now there is the Teacher.  Those people scare me more than anything.  The potential for compatibility is one of the most terrifying things I have ever encountered in my adult dating life.  It is terrifying mostly because I am convinced it won't work out.  And it isn't so much the possibility of the relationship that scares me but the inevitable disappointment I will feel when it eventually doesn't work out.

I am currently seeing the Teacher.  We met on an app.  We texted on the app for a few days.  We exchanged numbers.  We texted.  We sent each other pictures.  We went on a first date.  And I heard from him.

Our first date was quite fun.  He lives decently far outside of Washington, D.C. so I drove out to meet him.  I picked him up at his house and we went to look at Christmas lights.  We spent about an hour and a half in my car listening to carols, talking and looking at lights.  After that we went to the grocery store, picked up some wine and went back to his house where we ordered pizza and drank said wine.  It was late so I spent the night.  The next morning we woke up and he told me he needed to take his car into the shop.  I said I stick around and keep him company while the car was being worked on.  He said he would like that.  I was floored. 

I am doing my best not to make my pessimism a self fulfilling prophecy.  But looking at it objectively, he is much more attractive than I am.  He is fit, toned, blonde and tall.  He is the type that will turn heads when he walks into a bar.  He is witty, sarcastic, well adjusted, smart and kind.  He is also younger than I am by about three years.  I am waiting for him to understand he can find a guy that is better looking, a guy who makes more money than I do, a guy who he lusts after.  He hasn't sent me that message.  He hasn't stopped talking to me.  He hasn't ghosted.  He has said he wants to hang out again.  

It doesn't seem real.  It doesn't seem like this is something that happens to me.  He is what I am hoping for.  I know it is early on in getting to know him, but he checks off most of my boxes.  We have a great time together.  We'll see if it keeps going.

On Depression

Depression seems to be a bad word in modern society.  The truth about depression is that even talking about it makes people uncomfortable.  If that is true for you, I'd suggest you discontinue reading now.

Depression has been something I've struggled with since I was in middle school.  I don't have any degrees in psychology, nor am I interested in pursuing a job in that field, but I do have an intimate understand of how this disease takes hold and can change a person's entire world view.

When I was in ninth grade, we were required to write a lengthy research paper.  A lot of people chose historical events to write about.  I chose antidepressants.  I knew that I wasn't feeling 100% like myself and wanted to know if antidepressants would help get me back to the me I knew and liked.  I didn't know anything about how they worked, aside conversations with a family member who I knew took them.  That family member, having no degrees in psychology nor a history, either vocationally or educationally, in medicine was basically repeating what their psychiatrist told them about the drugs they were taking.  The antidepressants, or as this family member jokingly referred to them as "happy pills," didn't make you feel happy all the time.  Instead they raised the valley floors when you were at your lowest.

That research paper was my first cry for help.  I remember writing and discussing it with many people in my family.  I'm not sure if they knew I was struggling with depression and were too uncomfortable to broach the subject with me or if they were just unaware to my mental anguish, but I knew something was off.

Depression in teenagers, at least in my experience, can often be brushed off as simple teen angst.  I remember when my mother's boyfriend came to visit, I didn't interact with him much.  Instead, I came home from school and just hung out in my room.  This was my sophomore year of high school; my hardest year of high school emotionally.  The last thing I wanted to do was go make small talk with a man who I didn't know very well and with whom I had had even less in common after spending all day at school pretending to be someone I wasn't and still having to deal with the, albeit small, group of people who would still spread rumors and/or make fun of me for being different.

I remember starting talk therapy my junior year.  I met with three psychologists before I settled on one.  I wasn't a fan of any of them.  Talk therapy just made me delve deeper into my head when I was alone.  It made me realize that I had thoughts that scared me.  I realized that I was suicidal.

That same year I remember having a physical.   When the doctor asked me about my mental health, I was truthful.  I said I was depressed.  The doctor pressed further.  Did I have any suicidal thoughts?  I said I didn't know, but maybe.  She said that anyone who had suicidal thoughts had a plan.  I realized I did.  I remember thinking how easy it would be to go to the garage, lock the door behind me and turn on the car.  Simple.  Painless.  Easy.  That's when I realized that I was in a bad place.

Looking back on it, I'm not exactly sure what jolted me out of that particular valley.  I think it was probably the summer I spent abroad in France.  It forced me to open my eyes to a world beyond myself.  I was able to explore a completely new culture and see things from a completely different perspective.  I made friends from all over the world that summer.  I got to do incredible things.  I remembered how happy a person could actually be.

Thought college, my depression came and went.  I have always been fortunate enough to surround myself with incredible people.  A vast majority of the people are the kind to lift you up for no other reason than to see you soar.  I have to credit that as a major reason why I made it through my college career relatively free from any major bouts of depression.  There were a few bouts here and there.  I actually decided that I would try my hands at going on antidepressants.  I met with a physician at student health and he put me on my own "happy pills."  It would take about two weeks for them to kick in.  Being a millennial, if it wasn't instant gratification, I wasn't interested.  I don't think I took them long enough to really feel any of the positive side effects.  I do remember, though, dark thoughts occurring more often.  They went away when I got off the meds.

When I moved to Washington, D.C. I was lucky enough to move with one of my best friends.  We had lived together senior year of college, and he was as excited to move to DC as I was.  We had an awesome two bedroom apartment in Georgetown where we lived for four years together.  It was awesome.  But despite his friendship, I felt the loneliness creeping in.  After my relationship with S ended, it really hit me hard.  I felt incredibly isolated and alone.  It was the height of winter, it was freezing, it was dark, and I felt completely alone.  This was the winter of 2014.

There was one night in February of 2014 I will never forget.  I'm not sure exactly what brought on the thoughts, but they were there and they weren't going away.  I was in one of the deepest valleys I had ever ventured into.  I needed help but wasn't sure about how to get it.  The tears came.  They were a combination of sadness and fear.  I wasn't sure how the night was going to end for me.  There were plenty of pills in my bathroom that I could take to make the hurt in my soul stop.  But the thought of leaving my family filled me with guilt.  I couldn't do this to them.  But I didn't feel like I had the strength to keep on surviving.  I called two friends that night and told them they needed to check in with me the next day.

Obviously that night ended and I lived through it.  But the threat that the next valley can be so deep I can't climb out is real.  I have managed to find productive ways to release my stresses and anxieties.  I  joke with my grandmother that my voice lessons are my therapy.  But it isn't much of a joke.  For sixty minutes a week I get to do nothing but make music.  I get to sing about emotions I am too afraid or ashamed to admit I have.  I can express them by taking on a character and letting that character feel them for me.  More often than not I come out of my voice lessons feeling happier than I had in a long time.

I write this post not to shock the world or ask for pity from anyone.  I write this and share my story with anyone who happens across this blog because depression is real.  It can affect anyone.  I am well liked and have so much to be grateful for.  But when this mental illness takes hold, it strips your ability to see those things away from you.  It isn't that you're ungrateful.  It's that you're incapable of recognizing the good.  And for me, that compounds the problem.  I feel even worse that I feel bad because I know I have no real excuse to feel down.  But I have learned to let myself feel my feelings. And to rely on those around me be my ladder out of those dark valleys.  

On Crushes

Crushes are fun.  I remember my first crush was on this blonde pigtailed girl in preschool.  I knew I liked her when she accidentally poked me in the eye and started crying.  That may sound weird, but I started crying because I had made her cry because she felt guilty about hurting me.  And I didn't want to see her cry.  Contrary to popular belief, I've had plenty of crushes on girls.  I remember listening to Billy Gilman's "I Think She Likes Me" and talking with my elementary school best friend about this incredible, though quirky, girl I was crushing on.  It wasn't until I hit puberty that my crushes turned from guys to girls.

But regardless of the gender of the object of my affection, I always loved having crushes.  There was this possibility of what could be!  Even today I sit in my bed and see the green dot next to my crushes name on Facebook messenger and suddenly I realize how Gatsby felt looking over the water towards Daisy.  I create this world, this unlived future where we are madly in love.  There is mystery, there is romance.  There is limitless potential of what the crush could be.

As I grow older, my crushes are a lot less intense then they were when I was younger.  Granted, I'm only twenty-six, so I can still get lost in my reveries about the life I'm going to have with the cute lawyer I met a few months ago who probably doesn't know I'm alive.  But, more often than not, I find some way to unsubtly tell the crush that I like him.  And, more often than not, he politely distances himself from me.

I think the reason I like having crushes is because they are easy.  I can hide behind this vail of anonymity.  I don't have to be vulnerable.  I don't think I've ever asked someone on a date that I met organically.  Virtually every date that I've ever had has been through an avenue where the end goal was to go on a romantic date with someone, whether it was being set up from a friend or one of the myriad dating apps available today (bumble, tinder, grindr, OKcupid, coffee meets bagel, etc.).

But with a crush, I don't have to be vulnerable.  I can try to flirt with them and gage interest.  But every time I maintain plausible deniability.  I let them know that I could be interested, but I wouldn't ever tell them I would like to go out.  Because they could say no.  And that would not just be embarrassing for me, but it could be awkward for them.  I wouldn't want to cause them any more distress than my most likely, though harmless, unwarranted advances caused.

I will say, in my defense, I take the hint and move on.  I've been turned down enough to know that in a day, a week or a month, there will be a new crush that makes me forget the minute of heartbreak I feel when I realize that Daisy doesn't want to come over.

I like having crushes.  They are safe.  They are easy.  They protect me.  And in the end, that's what we really need to do.  Protect ourselves from the things that can hurt us.

At least that's what I have to tell myself.  Though I know my highest highs have come from making myself vulnerable.  I will get knocked down more times than I can count, but I will get up more times that I can count plus one.  I am confident that some day I will be the object of someone's affection.  I will be crushed on.  And it will remind me that sometimes it's worth it to reach out and express your emotions.

On Coming Out

I came out on Christmas Eve day, 2009.  Looking back on that particular Christmas, it was as close to a Griswald Family Christmas as we ever had.  I come out to my parents, sobbing in tears, moments later my eccentric uncle shows up and we have our family portraits to get ready for.

It's really hard for those who identify as heterosexual to understand what it means to be gay.  I can only speak from my perspective, but I like to think I'm observant.  I came to terms with the fact I was gay when I was about twelve years old.  Nothing happened to make me realize it.  I wasn't molested, I wasn't the victim of any abuse.  I just realized that I got butterflies in my stomach when the cute boy would talk to me, rather than the cute girl.

Before I came out, I worked really hard at passing as straight.  Some people believed me, others didn't.  But I didn't care.  What I cared about was people calling me gay when I wasn't willing to publicly admit it.  Before I share my actual coming out story, I want to share what brought me to that point.  I'll spare you high school stories, because honestly there really aren't any.  I was the unthreatening, nice, smart, academic, political/music kid.  I was friends with a majority of my grade.  I wasn't made fun of (to my knowledge).  I didn't have a lot of close friends but those I did are to this day some of the best friends I've ever had.  I just wasn't really sexual in high school.  I saw how the kids in my high school treated those who had come out and I didn't want that life.

My freshman year in college, I was lucky enough to live on the substance free floor.  Now I went to a school that was known for being a party school.  In fact for several years, Playboy actually named us the number one party school in the US.  I'm happy to report we've slipped to eleventh place now.  But I chose to live on that floor because I had never had alcohol before.  I wanted to do my best to find a group of friends who wouldn't be obsessed with drinking and partying.  I was willing to risk the super religious or incredibly socially awkward kids I would probably live with, if I could find just one or two like minded guys to hang out with.

Luckily about 85% of my floor was awesome.  We all got along great.  There were some religious kids, but not the evangelical type.  There were some socially awkward kids, but when you found common ground with them they came out of their shells.  And there were plenty of people like me, who just simply chose not to drink.

Anyone who knew me fore I turned twenty-one, especially if they met me at a party, would hear the story how my grandmother made a deal with me to not smoke, do drugs, or drink before I turned twenty-one.  If I abstained, I would get $1,000 for each.  I was the only one of her grandchildren to get all $3,000 on his twenty-first birthday.  So it was easy for me not to drink.  I had a cash reward.

But there was another reason I chose not to drink.  I didn't want to out myself.  I was terrified that if I did drink I would make out with a guy or tell someone I was gay.  For me, being outed was my biggest fear.  On the early days of the gay internet, I would use fake names and give fake phone numbers so the guys I would hook up with couldn't contact me or know any of my friends.  Looking back on it, I find it sort of silly, but I'm in a much different part of my life now that I was then.

I distinctly remember one night walking over to this theater in the student village next to my university that would, from time to time, host guest lecturers.  One night my freshman year, my RA announced he wanted to take any of us interested to go hear the lecturer, after getting some frozen yogurt.  I, being the chubby kid I was, obviously was in for the fro-yo.  But the speaker intrigued me. It was Matthew Shepard's mother.  For those who may be unfamiliar with Matthew Shepard, he was the young man, gay, who was beaten and left for dead, strung up to a fence post and left for dead in Laramie, WY in 1998.  His mother, following the tragic death of her son, took up the banner for LGBT rights.  She founded the Matthew Shepard Foundation which, to this day, works hard to provide resources for LGBTQ+ people.

I don't remember a lot of what she spoke about.  But there was one line that I'll never forget.  She said that every gay person goes through a period of mourning.  We mourn that idyllic life we think we want.  Once, and only once, we realize that dream isn't lost, but it is replaced, we can come out.

I remember growing up wanting to marry this girl in my grade and buy that house with the white picket fence and raise our kids.  She was absolutely right.  I wasn't ready to leave that idea of who I could be behind.  I'd be trying to fall asleep and I would think to myself, no, I can't be gay.  Only 10% of the population is gay.  I am not that special.  I just can't be gay.

Obviously I am.

It was Mrs. Shepard's words that made me realize being gay didn't mean I was losing something.  It means I was replacing something.  Instead of being married to that girl from high school, I would marry the man of my dreams.  I could still have that house in the burbs with the white picket fence and kids.  It was 2009.  Despite the passage of Proposition 8, popular opinion was moving towards staunch support of LGBTQ+ rights, especially in terms of marriage and adoption.  I didn't have to worry about being gay.

When I was thirteen, and came to the conclusion that I was gay, I didn't know what it would mean.  But I knew the first time I would say the words I'm gay to a person, it would be a member of my family.  I have to say a person cause I did tell my dog Ziffel I thought I liked boys.

So fast forward to 2009.  I was spending it with my father and step-mother in Houston.  My brother and step-sister were in town for the holiday too.  If you ask my family about me through most of high school, but especially towards the end, they'll probably remember me being distant.  Like most LGBT youth, I struggled (and still struggle) with sever depression.  I was still mourning that dream.  I was angry I couldn't have it.  I didn't want to be different.  Top that with my entire family moving out of the state I grew up in, isolating me from my friends on the holidays, I wasn't that much fun to be around.

I was moving slow that morning.  My brother comes into the bedroom and tells me to hurry.  I give him some mean response.  He stops in the door and just says to me "why are you being such a dick to us?  What did we do?"  I'm not sure why, but I couldn't hold it in.  Tears welled up from somewhere deep inside me and I told him "I'm gay."  He didn't seem to understand.  He was still perplexed why I was being a dick...  But in my new emotional distress, he was kind enough not to press me on anything.

But that was it for me.  The seal was broken.  I walked into my step-sister's room and told her I was gay.  Then I marched downstairs into the kitchen where my dad and step-mother were.  They were busy preparing the house for company, but they saw I was crying.  They stopped what they were doing and looked at me.  Through the tears, and the heaving sobs, I told them I was gay.

I'm not really sure why I was crying.  I wasn't worried that my family would reject me.  I wasn't worried they would suddenly unlove me.  I think I was crying because it was just scary.  I was the only gay person I knew.  I was the first openly gay person in my family.  I was terrified that they would say "oh we knew." I had tried SO hard not to be gay.  I would have been crushed if that was their response.  But to my parent's credit, they just said "okay... do you have a boyfriend?"

I loved them for that response.  It wasn't really a big topic of conversation that Christmas.  About five minutes after my revolution, our equivalent Uncle Eddie comes walking up the drive.  I could tell my dad was waiting for him to open the door and just say "shitter's full."

The day after Christmas, I flew to Colorado to visit my mom and grandmother.  My brother didn't join me because he went to go visit his girlfriend's, now wife's, family.  It was just me.  So in the car ride from the bus stop to target, I tell my mom I have something I want to say to her.  I tell her I'm gay.  This time I didn't cry.  I wanted to but I held it together.  Every time I would say the words, it would be easier and easier.  She said she was happy for me.  I will say, she did express her concerns about me getting AIDS, but we quickly put that fear to bed.  For so many many reasons.

The best thing about my mom, to me, was the fact that she said she would tell her boyfriend.  I've never really liked him.  We don't see eye to eye on pretty much anything.  I didn't really care one way or the other if he had a problem with me being gay, though I expected him to probably care.  He was the one, after all, who would be reading Bill O'Reily every time I would visit.  But my mom told me that if he said anything negative about it or me because of it, he would be out the door immediately.  To his credit, and my dismay, he didn't have a problem with it.

That afternoon I went to go visit my grandmother.  She is probably the person I am closest to in my whole family.  I try to talk to her once a day now.  She was always my biggest cheerleader.  She would be in corner even if my mom wasn't.  She would make sure that I was happy above all else.  When I told her, her response was "so do you have a boyfriend and can I meet him?"  That has always been my favorite response to coming out.

Today I am an out and proud man.  I sing with the Gay Men's Chorus of Washington.  I traveled to Cuba and Ukraine on missions to help promote and further LGBT rights through music.  I have no problem telling guests on my tours that I sing with the GMCW.  I even donate proceeds to the chorus so they can further their mission.  This next year I will be volunteering with a local homeless shelter that caters especially to homeless LGBT youth.  I'm not saying I'm Harvey Milk, but I will not go back in the closet for anyone.

On First Love pt. III

Time is a strange thing.  When I was six years old, I remember thinking that one day I would be nine and I would look back on being six and have it feel like the movies, where they could jump years in a single frame.  Well that's sort of how this feels looking back on my relationship with S.  I remember thinking when we were dating that years from then I would look back on those days and wonder where the time went.  Though, to be fair, I didn't see myself writing alone at 2:19AM, single and constantly trying to stay afloat in a mostly overwhelming world.  I saw a very different future for myself then.  But I'll get to that.

Eventually I stopped reaching out to him.  I knew that if we would ever be in each other's lives, trying to force my way in to his at this point in time wasn't the way to go.  I had to let go.  In examining what I wanted, more than anything, I wanted him to be happy.  I knew that it wouldn't be with me.  My only comfort was knowing that the other guy did make him happy.

That's what I would do my best to tell myself.  Every time I would think about him, I would think of the good times that we had.  I would think of that kiss at the security checkpoint in the airport before I boarded my plane.  I would think about that hug at the intersection of Massachusetts and Q St on our first date.  To this day, I haven't rewatched The Emperors New Groove (it was the movie we watched on our first date).  And I will say, there are times when I genuinely think that.  I am proud of myself when I have those moments of maturity.  I can wish him the best and I can look back at those memories with nothing but the sense of calm reflection that a person who has lived the life they wanted I'm sure has when they are towards the end.

But if I am being truly honest with myself, I am still mourning that loss.  I realize now it may not be the loss of S himself, but the loss of what he represented to me.  He was the person that put me as a priority.  I'm not implying that I wasn't the priority in the eyes of my family, but in terms of non-familial relationships, I have almost always felt like I give more.  I am happy to do it.  I know what I have been given and I don't need that much in return.  But having someone make you feel loved in a romantic way is... well it's really hard to describe.  Knowing that he would inconvenience himself night after night just to be with me.  Not that we were doing anything more than ordering Chinese food and watching trashy TV.  I miss that feeling.  That feeling of being wanted.

I have dated people since S.  There was the real estate agent who was incredibly cute, fun to talk to and adorably shy.  It didn't work out.  There was the editor at The Hill.  He was worldly, well read, and whip smart.  It didn't work out.  There was the nurse going through a quarter life crisis the same time I was.  It didn't work out.  There was the recently returned Peace Corps volunteer.  It didn't work out.  I was always willing to go on another date with these guys, but again, if I'm being truly honest with myself, none of them made me feel the way S did.  I was working harder.  I was inconveniencing myself for them.  I always felt like they were doing me a favor by going out with me.  S never once made me feel like that.  We were equal.

January of this year I decided to do something about the fact that I couldn't seem to find someone that made me feel the S did.  So I called him.  I knew he wouldn't pick up so I used my Skype number.  He did pick up.  I couldn't talk.  I heard him say hi twice and then he hung up the phone.  I called back again, determined to say something this time.  And I did.  He didn't seem to hesitate in ganging me in conversation.  We talked for maybe ten minutes.  In the course of that conversation, he mentioned he'd like to get coffee.

A few weeks go by and we finally get together.  I remember he was about 10 minutes late to meet me at the Starbucks.  I almost left.  My hands were clammy, my breath unsteady.  I was texting two of best friends asking for advice.  They convinced me to stay.  And I'm glad I did.  He walked in and looked just as he always did.  With his Mr. Roger's sweater and dress pants it was clear he hopped on the metro coming from school.  He went to the counter and ordered his coffee since I had already drunk half of mine in the ten minutes I was sitting there imagining every possible way this conversation could play out.

He finally sat down and we chatted.  In our conversation back in January, I found out that he and the other guy bought a house together.  I told him congratulations and that I was happy for him, which wasn't entirely a lie.  We talked about his school, the friends of mine he knew and those of his I knew.  We talked for a lot longer than expected.  And I left feeling conflicted.  The conversation was like one we could have had when we dated.  It was easy.  It was effortless.  It was natural.  I didn't avoid talking about the other guy but I also didn't bring him up.  We left saying we should do it again.  That wouldn't happen for a while.

Finally in July we got together again.  There were sporadic texts here and there.  In his slow response time,  either consciously or unconsciously, he was reinforcing the fact I was not a priority in his life.  It made it easier to hear he was engaged the next time I saw him.  He had gotten engaged a few months before and the wedding was going to be in mid-July.  I have to admit, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to get up from that table, thank him for taking time to see me but that it was a bad idea, walk out of the Starbucks and go home.  I knew if I did that I would never see or talk to him ever again.  And I wasn't ready to lose him.  Not completely.  The fact that I know I can text him and he'll reply still means something.  I am not deluding myself in thinking I mean anything to him, but at least he acknowledges I am a human being with feelings.

My last encounter with S was dropping off a gift I had made him back when we were dating.  It was a custom piece of art I asked a very talented friend to create for me.  It depicts a scene from one of my favorite books, a book that S introduced me to, The Alchemist.  The scene takes place in the yard of the abandoned church yard at the start of the book.  The main character is laying under a gnarly oak tree in the ruins of the old church looking up at the sky.  It was a small picture, 5x7, but it had a black frame about an inch thick.  On the frame I wrote in silver sharpie quotes from the book.  I was tired of having it remind me of him every time I sat at my desk, so I decided I would finally give it to him.

I drove to his, well their house.  I sat in my car for a minute, mentally preparing to see the wedding ring on his finger.  Logically I had moved on.  It was three years later, and I'd seen him two times in the last two years.  There was no reason I should have a problem with this situation.  I did give myself an out though.  I told him that I wouldn't be able to come inside or stick around because I had a tour that evening (which was true).  I texted him I was at his door and waited about thirty seconds.  Given his track record of not responding to me, I figured I should ring the doorbell.  That was one thing I did not want to do.  I wanted to give him the gift and go.  I didn't want to see him.  But as S opens the door, the other guy comes walking down the stairs.  And I lose my composure.  I become short and say abruptly I have to go.  I tried to play it off via text after, but to anyone with half a brain it was clear I was uncomfortable seeing him.  

We haven't talked much since then.  He sent me a text calling me out for my rude behavior, saying why would he want to be friends with someone who wasn't nice to his husband.  I apologized blaming the stress of my impending tour as the reason for my demeanor (that wasn't true).  I told him that I am okay with him being with the other guy and that I am happy for them.   He didn't believe me.  I told him that I wanted to see him again in person but I wouldn't beg.  I would leave the ball in his court.

And that's where we stand.  We have had brief, mostly one sided conversations, sine then, but I don't think I'll see him again.  Though I don't really believe that.  He was my first love.  I can still easily see a future where I am with him.  It isn't realistic.  It probably isn't healthy.  But he was the only person in this world who made me feel valued.  He inspired me to become a better person.  He didn't try to change me.  I wanted to be the man I thought he could be proud of.

I am not jaded enough to think that I'll never find that kind of love again.  But when you find it so young, it's hard to settle for anything less.  I was twenty-three years old when we met.  I fell in love with him then and part of me will always love him, or the idea of him.  I do look forward to the day when the idea of him materializes into a real person.  But until then I am doing all that I can to still be the man he would be proud of. 

On First Love pt. II

November 2013 was one of the best months of my entire life.  I was seeing the boy I was dating almost every night (we'll call him S).  He's a teacher though, so we always parted ways by 11:00PM on school nights.  But whether he would take the metro to my place or I would drive out to see him, we hardly went a day without seeing each other.  I recognize that I probably made that happen because we weren't exclusive and I was worried that if he had a chance to see other people he would.  I wanted to monopolize his time so no one else could.  He was the first person that I ever really dated.  He was the first person that made me feel special and valued.  He was the first person that made me feel wanted.  He was the first person I met that seemed to prioritize me over himself.  It was this amazing, wonderful, scary feeling I couldn't get enough of.

Every year, over Veterans Day weekend, I fly to California to volunteer with an incredible organization that teaches the importance of civic engagement to roughly 3,500 high school students.  I was in the program as a delegate and it changed my life.  It probably saved my life too.  When he drove me to the airport, it was so I could board my plane and fly to Paso Robles and spend the weekend at Camp Roberts working with these incredible students.

Now he didn't have a car so he actually had to borrow his best friends car and drive me.  I told him I could take a cab, but he said it was no problem.  I expected him to drop me off at the curb and I'd walk in.  But he said no, when he said he would drop someone off at the airport, he would park and walk them in.  He had done it for his ex. First red flag, though of course I didn't see that at the time. All I saw was this boy who I thought was out of my league, going out of his way to say goodbye to me for a long weekend.

I left on a Thursday and was flying home on Tuesday.  The plan was for him to pick me up at 10:30PM Tuesday night, come in and hang out for a little bit and then head home.  After all it was a school night.  But we talked about it on the phone and he said he would.  He also said the he missed me.  Though he did preface by telling me not to read too much into it.  Second red flag, but I didn't see it.  All I saw was this boy who was up past his bed time to tell me he missed me.  How was this real.  What had I done to deserve such a great guy?

So Tuesday comes and I head down to LAX to get to my connection in Houston.  We were delayed at LAX because of weather conditions.  As a result we land just too late to make my connection.  I race from my plane to the next, and I see it sitting at the gate.  I walk up to the United gate agent and say that I was supposed to be on that plane and the United app said the plane was delayed five minutes allowing me to still make it since it wasn't in the ten minute window.  The gate agent just said that the app was incorrect and there were no more flights to DCA that evening.  There was nothing he could do.  I texted the incredible guy who was waiting to pick me up saying I wouldn't be home that night.

My plan was to head to my father's house (luckily he lives in Houston and I had a bed to sleep in for the night) and take a flight the next day.  I would land at 11:00AM, head home, shower and then go to work.  I texted S and said I'd be home Tuesday and we could see each other that night.  He said he unfortunately couldn't because he had plans.  I pressed a little, unsure what was going on, and he let me know.  He had a date.  He was going out with another guy he met on OkCupid.  He actually had been talking to that guy before he and I started messaging.  His best friend, the one I had now met several times, actually encouraged him to keep that date.  She said that he owed it to himself to see where things would go.

I was pretty upset but I did my best to play it cool.  I just said fine, and we would hang out Thursday. And that's what we did.  I didn't text him Wednesday night.  I let him have his date with the other guy.  I don't remember how I distracted myself that night but I tried to push it out of my mind.  I was relatively successful at that until our date Thursday night.  I was honest with him and said I wanted to know how it went.

We had had conversations about what we were.  He had told me that he was recently out of his first major relationship with the first man he had fallen in love with.  They broke up in August of that year.  He and I started talking in September.  He was worried that things would move to quickly with us because of how natural things felt.  He kept telling me he didn't want to be exclusive with me because he was worried that we would burn too bright and last as short time.  It would be passionate and fantastic for a short time and then it would explode and we would end and never see each other again.  Another red flag, but I couldn't see that.  I saw someone that said that we were great together.

That Thursday, I asked him point blank what had happened.  He said that they went out.  I asked if they were physical.  He said yes.  I asked if they slept together.  He said no.  He told me that the guy wanted to but S felt too guilty so they didn't.  My heart hurt hearing that but it also made me happy.  He felt guilty because he felt like what he was doing was wrong. That it would hurt me.  Here he was, with another guy interested in him, but he chose me.  He chose my feelings over the other guys.  In that moment a lot of my worries disappeared.  I was confident that he just needed a little more time.  He would come to the right conclusion; S and I were meant to me and that we would be that great relationship he was searching for.

I was wrong.  Over the next couple of weeks the other guy was a constant presence.  S would be on his phone while were were hanging out.  I would catch a glimpse of the recipients name, and it would be the other guy.  I decided to up my game.  I was already planning a trip to New York with my best friend, the one I went to the masquerade gala with.  I invited S to come along.  That's what couples do right?  They take weekend trips and go do cool things.  He said yes.

It's now early December and we go to New York. S, myself and my best friend all hop in her car and drive up to the Big Apple.  We stay at my two friend's house who had married earlier that summer.  I couldn't make it to their wedding cause I was recovering from my facial reconstructive surgery so this was a chance to catch up with them.  And I could introduce them to a boy.  I had never introduced any friends or family to someone I was dating. It was a big step for me.  In my family, I had seen so many relationships I thought were forever end.  Virtually every single relationship in my family ended in separation so I was wary of every introducing someone to my friends.  I didn't want to have to answer the "what happened" question next time I saw them.  But I wasn't worried about that.  I mean S came with me to New York.  He chose to spend three days with me and only me.  The other guy was at home and he was here with me, spending his time with me.

Saturday night one of the friends I'm staying with decided we would meet up with an old friend from High School who lives in Brooklyn.  She knew of a fun gay bar so we went out there.  Obviously drinks were drunk and we were all a little intoxicated. As we were getting out of the cab, I noted S was texting.  He was texting him.  I, in my inebriated state, called him out.  "Can't you just be here with me?"  He said that the other guy was freaking out.  S was here with me in NYC and he was home alone.  Another red flag.  This time I sort of saw it.

We end up going into a bar and it's not particularly crowded.  We were relatively early in the night.  As the night progressed, the bar got more and more crowded.  I made a point not to be glued at S's side all night.  I would go to the bar and flirt with the guys to see who could buy us drinks.  It actually worked.  And since it was clear I wasn't in a committed, exclusive relationship, there was no harm in flirting.

When it got late, we decided enough was enough and we would metro back into Manhattan.  My friends lived on the upper west side so we had a journey to make.  I remember having a conversation with my friend and S on the metro.  We were talking about dating sites like OkCupid.  I said that the purpose of OkCupid, as all dating sites, was to have sex.  S vehemently disagreed.  He said that sex was not the goal at all.  In response, I said that immediate sex may not be the goal, but I was on a site like OkCupid to make a connection with someone beyond friendship.  The main difference, for me, between friends and a romantic partner is the erotic bond formed between the two.  That's what sets those I am romantically interested in apart from friends.  He didn't seem to understand my side.  We just were upset with each other.

When we got back to my friend's apartment, we fell asleep with our backs to each other.  I realized that was dumb, but was too proud to admit it.  Though I did turn over and got to be big spoon.  But I had finally started to see the writing on the wall.  I wasn't going to be the one he chose.

The next morning, things didn't seem strained between us.  On the car ride he sat in the back seat while I sat in the navigator's seat and my best friend drove us home.  The drive ended up taking three extra hours because right as we crossed over into Pennsylvania, we hit the first major snow storm of the year.  We didn't talk a lot and S slept for a bit of the ride.

Eventually we got back to her house and I drove S home.  When we were there, I told him we needed to talk.  I went inside.  I told him I didn't want him to see other people.  I wanted to be his boyfriend.  He said he couldn't.  He said that he was sure it would end badly.  I told him then we had to end it then and there.  I couldn't keep doing this.  I had held back from ever saying those three words, but I knew it was only a matter of time until I did, and I didn't want to say them to someone who couldn't say them back to me.  It wasn't fair to myself.  I was tired of being worried about coming in second place, so I removed myself from the competition.  I was afraid of losing, so I forfeit.  I couldn't take him saying that he chose someone else over me, so I made that choice for him.

Before the New York trip, I had invited him to be my date to my company's holiday party.  They had rented out this amazing event space directly across from the National Museum of American History and it was going to be a night of fun, drinks and food.  I told him that I knew we weren't together, but for one night, just to be my date.  We would go and just enjoy each other.  I wouldn't worry about the other guy and he would be there with me.  And that's what happened.  He arrived at my house earlier in the evening, and we had a drink before we left.  We then walked to a coworker's house and drank a little more before going to the party.  Once there, I introduced him to friends and coworkers.  We didn't get into an argument, we didn't cause a scene.  We were happy.  It was probably the second best night of my life.  He was with me.  He was mine.  It was just a cruel reminder of what I wouldn't get with him.

After that night, we stopped seeing each other as frequently.  Three days after my company party he became exclusive with the other guy.  S and I would still see each other from time to time.  I would come over and watch American Horror Story, since we had seen most of the season together.  But it was different.  I was still very much in love with him.  And I could feel he still had feelings for me.  But he was now putting the other guys feelings ahead of mine.  He wouldn't kiss me because it would hurt him.  We were just friends.  We stayed friends for a little while longer until it became clear that my feelings weren't going any where and his for him were only growing.  We eventually stopped seeing each other completely.

We had one last rendezvous at a concert.  It had been over a month since we saw each other last.  He had been steady with the other guy for three months now.  I would see it on Facebook from time to time when I felt like torturing myself.  About two weeks after that, it was his spring break.  He said he was going on a cruise with his best friend, the one I met.  I asked if he was going and S told me no.  The day he leaves I go to his FB to leave him a bon voyage message only to see a picture of the two of them on the deck of the ship.  It felt like someone had stolen the air from my lungs.  I knew that I still loved him.

After he got him from the cruise, S and I had a conversation.  He said that he needs to block me on all social media.  It was so that eventually I could move on and he and I could be friends.  I didn't want him to, but I couldn't stop him.  He told me he would block my phone number so no texts would come through.  He also blocked me on gchat and Facebook.  It was a total blackout.

From time to time I would get drunk and I would send him texts saying I missed him.  Or that I still had feelings for him.  I knew he wasn't getting them so I could be truthful.  Turns out he was getting them.  He was just ignoring me.  Finally I understood it.  I was nothing to him anymore.  I was the person that was making his boyfriend uncomfortable.  That's all I was.  And that's all I would be.  Or so I thought.

On First Loves pt. I

I was in love once.  My story isn't particularly unique or one of a kind, but it is mine.  I met him on OkCupid.  This was either late September or early October of 2013.  It started simply enough.  I remember that his profile picture didn't really capture my attention.  He was sitting in a chair wearing sunglasses.  He was smiling.  He looked very boy next door, like the kind of guy you'd pass on the metro, smile at but not think about once he got off the train.  But I messaged him.  At first, he didn't respond.  I waited a few days and messaged him again. Two attempts and if no response, I get the hint and move one.  After the second attempt, he messaged back.

We started chatting.  I remember saying that I was an open book and that he could ask me anything.  So he sent me a series of five questions.  I don't remember most of them, but they ranged from the typical "where'd you go to school," "how many siblings do you have," "where did you grow up variety" to the "how many rolls of toilet paper would it take to go around the world."  I was sitting in a pub in Annapolis when I got that last question.  I was at the table with my roommate and good friend who were excited I was talking to someone interesting.  I said that question to them and then started doing math.  They were very perplexed.  I told them I needed to figure out the average length of a roll of toilet paper, then the circumference of the globe at the equator and divide it my the average length of a toilet paper roll.  They both started laughing.  For the life of me I couldn't understand why.  They understood what he really asked.  He meant if I were to take a trip around the world, how many rolls of toilet paper would I bring.  They imagined his face when I sent my numeric response and burst out laughing.

I would ask him questions too.  We'd take turns.  Five questions each.  I would ask the a variety of questions, just like him. Questions like , "where are you from," "what's the best vacation you've ever taken," and "what is your favorite constellation."  Every time I would ask one of the more random and esoteric questions, I always had an answer I hoped he would say.  I would wonder if we would be compatible.  I'm a total water guy and my favorite vacation was one where I went scuba diving for the first time.  His best vacation was scuba diving.  My favorite constellation was Orion because it was always visible when I was in places where I could actually see stars.  His favorite constellation was Orion because when he would go camping when he was younger, he always looked up and saw the three stars that made his belt staring back at him.

With every message we exchanged I was more and more excited at the idea of meeting this guy.  I had lived in Washington, D.C. for a little over a year at that point but still hadn't really dated anyone.  My first job precluded me from having much of a social life, having a schedule that constantly changed.  I also didn't have a gay network in DC.  I would have to drag my roommate with me to the gay bars.  To his credit he would go and often times would enjoy himself (it helps being one of the only straight guys in a gar bar teaming with fruit flies).

When I asked him out, he actually said no.  He said that he wanted to keep messaging and get to know me a little more.  We would Skype and talk.  In fact, I actually met his best friend via Skype before we even had our first date.  We'd spend an hour talking and learning more about each other.  When I'd ask him who his favorite bands were, or what type of music he liked, or what TV shows he would watch, he would say every thing I hoped he would say.

After about a month of virtual dating, we decided that the other wasn't some weird murderer and he agreed to go on a date in person.  I'm more of a home body so I suggested he come to my house to help me pass out candy on Halloween.  I'd even pick up Chipotle for us.

October 31, 2013, I met him at the north exit of the Dupont metro, Chipotle in hand.  We walked back to my house in Georgetown.  It wasn't a long walk but just long enough that we could figure out the vibe.  It was one of comfort and ease.  I remember paused at the traffic light in front of the Cosmos Club, I was standing behind him.  I decided to wrap my arms around him and he leaned into me when I did it. That was the moment I fell in love, though I didn't know it at the time.

When I write about our first date, it doesn't seem that special.  I mean we all have our ideas of what we think our perfect date should be.  For some it's April 25th, for other's its a walk in the park or a concert.  For me it was eating Chipotle, handing out candy to the dozen or so families that realized my english basement did indeed have candy for their children, and watching the Emperor's New Groove.

To this day, that's probably the best first date I've ever had.  But what made it even more amazing was what was to follow.  Since Halloween that year was on a Thursday, I had already made plans to go to a masquerade ball at the French Embassy with my best friend, though I really wanted to see him again.  On the car ride home halloween, he held my hand.  I remember him saying that what he loved most in a relationship was when his boyfriend would rub his thumb on his hand while they would hold hands.  He rubbed his thumb on mine.

We didn't see each other the following day, but that Saturday we did.  The same best friend I went to the gala with was hosting a party up in Bethesda.  It was a bit of a trek, but there is VERY little I wouldn't do for her so being a good friend I went.  But the good news is that it was daylight savings that night, which means we gained an hour.  So instead of arriving back at my house at 2:00am, I arrived at 1:00am.  I obviously had been texting my date all night and he invited me over to Alexandria to come hang out.  He and his best friend got a hotel room because they had gone out to celebrate her 30th birthday.  He said I should come to the hotel and hang out with them.  Since I had that extra hour and was sober, I decided why not and I drove over.

That was the first time we spent the night together.

Over the next four weeks he and I would talk every day and actually see each other four or five days a week.  He would metro into DC and walk north from Foggy Bottom to my house in Georgetown or I would drive the 20 minutes to Del Ray and hang out at his place.  It felt like I had been dating him for six months already.  We were so comfortable with each other.  I didn't have my guard up and it seemed like he didn't either.  He even drove me, parked and walked me in to the terminal when I was going to my annual volunteer conference in central California.  My own family doesn't even pick me up from the airport when I visit them, but here was this guy I had known for a few weeks parking, walking me to security and giving me a kiss goodbye as I left for a long weekend.

I was on cloud nine.  My life was what I hoped it would be.  I was starting a relationship that seemed like it was headed for something great.  That happiness pervaded every aspect of my life.  I received one of the best quarterly reviews from my managers while he and I were dating.  I didn't even seem to mind the bitter cold, even though it was only my second time experiencing a DC winter.  I was the happiest I had ever been.  Then it changed.