Swimming in the Deep End

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes. - Walt Whitman I am fully capable of loving just one person and being lovers with just one person as long as that person is someone who has all of the keys to all of my locks and meets me on every level.   I also am someone who feels so good in my current in situation of engaging in two romantic relationships with two very different people and not having anyone else in my life in a sexual or romantic way. Another me wants to just be completely independent without any labeled commitments and make love to half of my friends because I really do have some amazing friends.   I want to live alone in the woods. I want to live in Manhattan. I want to live with my partner in the home that we own. I want to live in an intentional community with my lover and his family (in separate houses) and other amazing people. I want to be a vagabond and travel the world with no home and no roots. Sex

When I was 18 I took off on a greyhound bus to Northern California to take part in Redwood Summer .       I went alone with a small tent, a backpack and $50 in my pocket. That summer I lived in the forest, in my tent sometimes, but more frequently I slept under the stars curled up with another activist cuddling to stay warm and because it just feels good. I swam naked, learned to become a leader, and went to jail twice for the trees.   I had amazing lovers and was completely free. Leaving my life for a summer like that at age 18 was much easier than I can imagine it would be at age 42, but oh do I feel nostalgic for those summer days.   I’m craving an adventure. It is an insatiable hunger, an unscratchable itch under my skin. I don’t just mean another week long scuba trip, but a real adventure.   I’ve been daydreaming about quitting my job, cashing in my 401K and just traveling solo for several months or longer. I’ve spent hours checking out this great travel blog and daydreamin

It seems like it is not cool anymore to be in love. It seems to me that people view love as a weakness maybe because it involves vulnerability.  I disagree; falling in love is the biggest high and the bravest thing. I did a lot of drugs in my adolescence and I tell you that none compare to the soaring sensation that falling and being madly in love brings. The problem is that it is so hard to come by. Yes, I have a lot of love in my life and love many people. But the "in love" thing? For me it is not as easy.  You see I am very demanding. For me to fall in love with you, I want it all; no I need it all. I want to peel back every single layer and see all of your insides. I want to know your hopes and dreams as well as your fears and insecurities. I want to know your shame and your sadness, your triumphs and joy. I want to know what makes you think the way you think and where you see the opportunities for improvement within yourself. I want you to be a person who is on a con

Her name was Betty. For some reason this was the hottest thing about her to me. Not her thick chestnut colored hair that went past her shoulders in waves, not her full red lips, nor her gorgeous brown eyes, highlighted by smoky eye shadow. It was her name that got me. Her name, and her clumsy attempts to flirt with me. As I sat chatting with Betty and her boyfriend in the back corner of the cigar bar, sipping bourbon, she confessed that she had never kissed a girl. As she said this, she popped the cherry from her drink into her mouth. Damn, maybe her flirting wasn’t so clumsy after all. Why is it that straight girls love me so much? I’ve never figured it out. Usually I find it annoying, but not that night. That night I was charmed by Betty. We talked, edging closer to each other and ignoring her boyfriend. I put my hand on her thigh and leaned across her, my lips next to her ear I asked, “Are you asking me to kiss you, Betty? Is that what you want?” She blushed and said yes. I lean

We sat around the fire and talked of love and art, beauty and madness. We talked about religion, politics, spirituality, the meaning of life.    We all spoke, each one taking turns while staring into the flames, me with a stick in my hand constantly adjusting the wood, lighting the end of my stick on fire   and then putting it out, pounding the embers off on the rocks that ring the fire pit. The cool night air caressed our skin, the sound of the river rushing by in the background was better than any song I’ve ever heard. By the fire we sat,  watching the embers glow and passed a bowl. We shared our thoughts and dreams. Hugging our hoodies close to our bodies, warding off the cold air, we watched the stars come out in force as the night grew darker. We passed around a bottle of bourbon, liquid fire in our bellies, keeping us warm, loosening our tongues so that we were sharing our most authentic selves, shedding the armor we wear out in the real world. How many nights have I

I have been thinking a lot lately about male privilege and masculine of center privilege. I have been having discussions on the topic with friends and lovers. I asked Kyle if he would consider writing on the topic from his perspective as a masculine of center person (MOC) who experiences privilege and who’s privilege is increasing as he becomes more masculine in appearance. (I encourage you to check it out because he speaks to the topic much more eloquently than I am able. Thoughts on Masculine Privilege ) In a recent conversation with my primary partner on this topic, she seemed surprised that I thought she had any privilege as a masculine presenting woman. I reminded her a few incidents in our past.   A few years ago, my primary partner and I went to a gallery show of photographs at our local queer community center. We had looked at all of the pieces and were just hanging out sipping the free wine and chatting with a woman who was new to the area. She looked to be in her early 3