Letting Go

Some time ago, a good friend of mine called me up. She wanted to tell me about a friend of hers who was beautiful, well-educated and available. She did this because she knew I was single, having just broken up with my girlfriend of about a year. I knew this friend she spoke of and she was indeed a good catch. Our families would be most compatible and she would make a good wife.

I have not called this her friend yet. I don’t think I will, because it will just be the same story all over again. I will befriend her, get her to love me and then detest her for doing so, because I can’t tell her everything about me. She will do all she can to make things work and it will never add up. My emotional unavailability would upset her and she will think it is her fault. She may suspect, but she would never know why.

The call did bother me though, it made me think of the future and if this will always be the story. Well-meaning friends and family, knowing only what I have permitted them about me will continue to try, in a cause already failed. It made me wonder if I had given the idea of being with a woman enough of a chance, especially given the stakes.

Being gay has been my identity since I was 16. I wrote poems about my struggle, stories about how the world didn’t understand and dreamt about how I would one day rise up and change the world one mind at a time. I am 26 now. The poems are few and far between, the fire of revolution within me leaps no more with youthful fervor. I feel jaded and overwhelmed by the weight of the reality around me.

Maybe it is time to let go; to hold no more to this youthful ideal and instead embrace the reality of my time. Maybe it is time to call this girl and make an actual effort at being with her; time to let go of my hang ups and explore the other side of life; the easier, more acceptable side.

For now it is just a thought, but it grows on me with each passing day. Every time my friends talk about their children and wives I wonder if the price I pay to be my secret-self is not too much. Every time someone dies, I wonder who will be by my side at that time. Some might say it is cowardly to think this way, but I’m learning to let go of my attachment to the thoughts of others, and instead listen to myself.

Copyright © 2011 The Ant Farm.

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