Choosing to be Happy - II
We’re equally depressed by the persistent problem gay men have with sexually transmitted infections (STI). It horrifies us to hear from gay doctor friends that some young gay men, called “bug catchers,” actually want to be infected with HIV. Can anyone tell me what that’s about, other than self-hate?
We read regularly in the newspaper with embarrassment and frustration that other gay men are so addicted to “getting it on” that they ignore common sense and all of the guidance they have been given on how to have safer sex. Young gay men always seem to be the group with the highest rates of infections. A straight black Seventh Day Adventist doctor colleague of mine, on the Surgeon General’s sexual health task force, told me with bewilderment about his encounter with a man who reported having sex with twenty men the night before. He came to a clinic in Miami to see if he was HIV-positive. When he learned that his test results were negative, he announced that he was heading back out for more action. This preoccupation with sexual gratification, we feel, is an addiction, a sad indication of a very troubled soul, and most certainly not the greatest contribution we gay people have to make to our civilization. While HIV may not cause their death, as it did so many of our gay male friends in the 1980s and early 1990s, including our former roommate Patrick, getting infected on purpose or by foolishness is nevertheless a horrible, horrible waste of life.
It’s not that I don’t understand it all. As a walking-wounded gay man with an addictive personality and a need of affirmation and distraction, I know that I would have been fully capable of the exact same behaviors.
I would have loved, for instance, to have had a buffed body and, if I did, I would have wanted to promenade down Commercial Street, showing it off to have it appreciated.
I would have also loved to have had sex with lots of the hunky, near-naked men I saw on the streets and at the beach, and if they had offered me a drug that would have made our time together the most physically pleasurable moment of my life, I would really have wanted to take it.
If you got me into leather and I had found it enhanced my sexual experiences, as I suspect it might have, I would have played the sullen role too if I had thought it would have made me more appealing to my fantasy “daddy.”
And I think I understand why the “baby dykes” don’t smile and say “hello” to anyone other than to each other when they arrive in Provincetown in the spring. They’re in the angry, separatist stage of their homosexual identity formation. I’ve had those feelings too, but there’s a big difference in all of these examples between having the feelings and choosing to act on them.
It seems to Ray and to me, that finding and maintaining happiness in life as a gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or heterosexual person is really a matter of making choices that enable you to be happy. We all make (or don’t make) such choices every day.
If Ray and I hadn’t chosen to make a life of growth together in 1976, if I had stubbornly chosen to remain single, and had never chosen to enter a recovery program as an alcoholic, I’d probably be dead by now. Ray believes the same would be true for him. Choosing to be in our relationship, and choosing to be clean and sober, has kept us alive - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
We’re not a model couple, as some would have us be. We’re two very flawed human beings who are working really hard to be in the world in a mutually creative, loving, and life-giving way. On a daily basis, we make hard choices that help make that possible.
If Ray dies before me, I sometimes worry what will become of me. In our relationship now, I draw the strength to make positive choices. If he dies, will I choose to start smoking grass and drinking again? Will I choose to wildly sow my oats? Will I choose to reconnect with estranged friends and family members out of fear and insecurity? I don’t think so. I know better now. But, who knows?
Right now, we have each other’s support, and we give each other encouragement to control our impulses to engage in behaviors we feel would create suffering in our lives and to make wise decisions that enable us to be in the world in a way that brings us both great happiness and peace – not every day and not every minute of the good days, but often enough that the hard work it takes and the tough choices we make to be so constantly and intimately in each other’s lives are well worth the effort.
Maybe it’s the effects of minor daily doses of Celexa and Wellbutrin, but, as I say, I’m very content with my life. I have enough of everything, and the wants are not for big pecs, or leather outfits, or multiple sexual encounters, or drug-induced ecstasy. I’m happy with the here and the now.
One of the most powerful influences on my life’s joy is the spiritual guidance I have found in Buddhism and Taoism, and in the inspiration I get from the work of Joseph Campbell.
Buddhism teaches me that we each create our own suffering and that happiness is found in being present to the moment in all its possible manifestations. Taoism reminds me not to cling or be filled with wants, as they create discontent. Joseph Campbell teaches me that it is okay to let go of religious precepts as long as I don’t abandon the spiritual path and continue to celebrate the many wonderful mysteries of life.
And more centering than the opiates of science and faith, I am prone to continue smiling even at people who won’t smile back at me because of my safe haven in Ray. His love for me is very humbling. It anchors my every day and night. That’s not to say I want to be with him at all times. He’s no saint and there are lots of times that we both need our space. But we are soul mates, brothers in arms, and we’re never far away from one another in thought.
One of the best things about the love we share, though, is that it is so liberating. The basic premise of our relationship is personal growth. For instance, if I wanted to go to the gym every day in the hopes of developing a body like the shirtless boys on the Fourth of July, Ray would encourage me to do so, never making me feel guilty for doing something stupid. But I don’t feel the need to go to the gym because I exercise sufficiently for my health, I’m in love with a man who has always loved my body just the way it is, and I have finally come to the point in my life where I do too. I’m not trying to turn any heads with my physique, and that allows me to smile and laugh and be silly in public, whether or not that’s considered “sexy.”
If I wanted to wear leather and be put in a harness by a dungeon master, Ray would eagerly await the report of my adventure, but I know that if I found it very exciting, I would want to do it a lot. That’s the way addicts think, and behave, unless they’re in recovery. And if I did it a lot, I wouldn’t be home, holding hands with Ray as we watched television in bed. So, I make a choice.
And if I came home HIV-positive, or with another sexually transmitted infection, Ray would research them on the Internet to find out what challenges we faced.
The only thing I can think of that he wouldn’t accommodate is if I started drinking again, or began taking recreational drugs. He would hate to end the relationship, but my addiction would threaten his sobriety, which is something he protects without compromise. He would make that very tough choice.
(For the record, I probably wouldn’t be as understanding and accommodating if Ray came home in a leather outfit, with a boyfriend, or with HIV. There’s a bit of a double standard in our house.)
My decision to live my life with Ray, as I have said, has made all of the difference in the quality of my life. And it is a decision. We all have wants -- occasional yearnings to act out in “wild and crazy” ways. No one is exempt from the fear of death and a life of mediocrity. Everyone has the desire to leave an indelible mark, to stand out as unique, to experience life at its fullest. But we also all make decisions. We feel our feelings but we must choose our behaviors. The choices we make determine the quality of our lives.
Our hope for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and other oppressed people throughout the world is that we all be free of the need to react to the pain and disappointments of our lives with self-destructive behaviors. We want all of those angry, tattooed, muscled and drug-dazed men, and all of those young brooding, separatist lesbians to remember themselves as sweet ten-year-olds who had dreams of living healthy, happy lives. There’s always time to choose to be happy.
We’ve all felt the cruelty of the world in our lives, and our mothers could do nothing to protect us. Choosing as a gay person to take a pill to become heterosexual wouldn’t change that. We’re all walking wounded people, regardless of our orientation, gender identity, race, and economic or relational status. To enjoy the bodies, the time, and the lives we have, we needed to make choices that enhance our health and happiness. Perhaps the muscle boys, the leather men, and the young lesbians have found their health and happiness too, but if so, we wish they’d smile more, and maybe even wave back, just to let us know that they’re okay.
