Anyone in there

I feel hollow tonight - perhaps it was my late night adventure from Friday that has resulted in me feeling this way. I became a night owl thanks to my friend who took me to my first Prop experience in the city. This event started off quietly, but as the night's hours unraveled it turned into a most beautiful symphony.

Women everywhere - and attractive women. I realized that this was my moment and I soaked it in. I'm sure to have countless more moments, but this was one that stamped my mind and soul. You left your mark on me, it's permanent - a tattoo.

I met Randi on line for the bathroom. The pounding music made it hard to hear her, but I was drawn in - her face released sensuality, her hair made me want to run my hands through it. I'm not sure who made the first move, but before I knew it we were sitting on one of the couches, soaking in intense looks and then our lips found each others like magnets.

I went home with Randi - something I've never done. And I don't plan on ever doing it again. It's not me. I thought I could handle it, but for not even completely giving myself over, I feel stark. I found myself looking over at Randi while she slept and thinking to myself, 'so cute.' I'll text her tomorrow - I wouldn't mind seeing her again, learning more about her and having fun. I need fun right now and yet, there's a minute part of me that is saying you need seriousness.

I've never been easy on myself - in fact I've been absolutely brutal. Ironic considering the signature on my e-mail account Be gentle with yourself. Everyone deserves a little tenderness, especially from themselves. I find myself pushing for answers rather than simply letting go. But at the same time, I am painfully relaxed. Calm on the surface, paddling like the dickens underneath. When I met Milena at Stiletto for our first brunch after meeting, she commented on this side of me. She noticed how calm I was at one point and then how I would tense up the next. She went to massage my shoulders and I instantly put up my shell - X-men style.

But the hollow feeling might also be rooted to my work. I have been afraid to open up this can of worms for awhile, but it's almost impossible not to. I work for a major sports network as a Broadcast Associate - something most people who work in the industry would do anything for. I'm very lucky. Or am I? I find myself getting lost in my work - questioning my passion for my work - and then also silently freaking out what my life would be like without it. The intensity level of my job is the only drug (not including alcohol) I need.

There are a few paths my job could take this August and I'm hoping it's a similar one to last year, but in a new role. One role I do not want, is the road crew Broadcast Associate. Being on the road 3 to 4 days of the week just doesn't sound appealing to me - a different city every time. Living out of a suitcase. It just doesn't scream fun to me. I guess if it does happen, I cannot turn it down - I have no choice, because it is my career. And that's the path my boss selected for me. I will embrace the challenge, but I know for a fact I'll be out of my comfort zone. Though as my friend who took me to Prop last night said about doing things outside our comfort zones, we open ourselves to something magical. She's pretty smart.

People keep saying to me, "You are so lucky to have a job that is your passion. A job that you want." Hmm.. do I? The hours are brutally intense, the 6 day weeks and more often than not working from home on your off day - it's not entirely fun. I have been spending a lot of time with my nephew in my hiatus and it's a blessing, but I'm getting sad at the thought with my schedule returning - I won't be able to spend nearly as much time with him, my sister and brother in law that I would like. He'll grow and take steps without me. I don't like that feeling.

My passion is documentary film - at least I think it is. I have a lot of passions (laughter, food, music, movies and writing are a few). I was very adventurous and the first one to push the envelope in college and grad school. In my mid-twenties I became, I don't want to say mature or responsible, I'll say, different. Perhaps it was the moving home with your parents and simply feeling as if there were rules to follow. But that was then.

My passion, my heartbeat. The more I think about it, I truly believe I may have missed my calling (though it's never too late) as a teacher. One of my tape runners that helped me out during the NCAA Basketball tournament told me I would make a terrific teacher - patient, funny, thoughtful, thorough in explaining things, etc. I have always loved helping people, I love seeing the smiles on people's faces when they see a wheelchair ramp made for them; or seeing the smile on a kid's face when he finally hit his first forehand over the net in tennis after I had worked with him on it.

I saw a commercial tonight that struck me and maybe it was because it was about Harlem - Randi lives in Harlem - but it was more than that. It was a commercial that featured a man whose goal it was to change Harlem, one block at a time. You saw kids painting murals with teachers, kids in school with their hands raised up excitedly and of course playground time. I instantly felt drawn and was trying to think about how this would be more rewarding than my job.

What I should have done in the early part of my hiatus was look up charity work in New Jersey and New York - maybe a LGBT teen center or a habitat for humanity or even the Food Bank. My days would have been filled with a bit more excitement and I'd be giving back. Nothing finer. Maybe when I move into nyc, I will look into an organization where I could volunteer on my day off.

It's not that I am scattered and torn about, I simply need more in my life to quench my thirst.

The heart of the matter

This Sunday marks the New York City Pride Parade. I was planning on going - as I went last year and had a most incredible time. I spent today hitting the pavement (yet again) for apartments and I do believe I have found my spot. I mentioned in conversation about the apartment, with both my parents that we need to upgrade our cell phones - which was agreed upon, after I mentioned I would likely be going into New York on Sunday.

The conversation came to screeching, gut stabbing halt courtesy of my mom...

"i would rather you not go to the parade to not be seen & potentially embarrass our family."

The latest zinger from my mom about her refusal to believe that I'm a lesbian shouldn't come as a surprise, as I have listened to her doubts ever since I came out on December 23, 2004. Nevertheless, it doesn't make it any easier. I will confess, Icried hysterically for nearly 20 minutes. It wasn't a pretty sight.

There's an overwhelming sadness when I think about how my mom refuses to accept my being gay. She just cannot seem to wrap it around her head that I could love another woman, that I have been happy with other women. Sadly, I must say her denial and refusal has caused me to have a bit of neuroticness in relationships. I have lost relationships - not necessarily women leaving me (maybe in part, Janice left for that reason - but Janice and I weren't destined to have the path we both felt we were originally destined for); rather, I have shut down in relationships due to the fact I was practically stuck. Quick sand. I was out, for the most part - working in New York; but I had to come home. Or maybe the women I was seeing weren't right for me. Regardless, I will be hitting the scene with a vengeance as soon as I move into the city that never sleeps. Hitting the scene with a brutally tight budget.

Returning to my mom's refusal - I have talked to my dad quite often about it. My dad was my champion supporter on that December day. "Love is love Lindsay, no matter what." I can still hear him say that - and I remember exactly where we were in the house. As the years have gone by, I have been hit with mind boggling reasons as to why my mom thinks I am not a lesbian. Perhaps most preposterous is, "You were hurt a lot as a kid, picked on and for once, you have found acceptance with a particular group." Yes, that's it. That's exactly it.

So when I was sitting in History class senior year in high school staring at Ms. Walsh's legs, thinking about what it would be like to kiss her, to lie in bed with her, while she wrote on the blackboard, I was finding acceptance?

Or when I did anything and everything to spend time with Kerri, my tennis captain in college - she always got to practice 45 minutes early - so I did too. Or when she invited me over for dinner and we sat on her bed drinking wine, when she started playing with my hair - I was looking for acceptance. Right. More like looking for my first real kiss.

I have tried countless times to explain my feelings for women to my mom but it always, ten times out of ten results in an argument. Arguments that lead me cry, to crawl up, plead with the man upstairs that somehow, someway it MUST get better than this and yes, for awhile I doubted my own sexuality. That maybe, just maybe my mom was right. I blame those feelings on my living situation, my work situation - not giving me more than enough time to be the twentysomething I was. I drank beyond the point I shouldn't have drunk anymore. I woke up hungover, disheveled and disgusted with myself. I put on the fakest smile at work and yet, somehow I found pleasure with my job. The glasses of wine decreased and the smile returned for real. I met women. I fell in love. I had my heart gutted and broken.

Last January when I was still in a rut with my break up with Janice (September 2008), I found myself drinking more again. I was a sad sack - listening to incredibly sappy music, wallowing in self pity, thinking I couldn't live without her (boy, was I ever wrong). I found myself talking more and more to my dad about how I wanted mom to understand that my being a lesbian wasn't a phase, that while yes, it seemed to come out of nowhere, was something I had suffocated within myself for over 10 years and the guilt of keeping that from them had caused me such terrible, unspeakable pain and shame. My dad encouraged me to write my mom a letter. And so I did. Alas, it didn't illicit a response - no response actually. Even when asked about it, I was met with refusal to discuss it. Oh the analysis I could unleash.

The following is part of the letter I wrote in January 2009 to my mother:

Dear Mom:

I wish I could avoid writing this letter, but i'm afraid I no longer have a choice. i think we both know by now any attempt to talk this out might result in yelling. quite frankly, i don't want to and I'm more than positive you don't want to yell either.

I know you have doubts about my sexuality and you are welcome to your opinion. However, it's quite hard hearing it. I do believe the change within me - the anger, the "retreating", the no longer letting you in on my life was a direct result of my feelings for women.

These feelings completely caught me off guard and they made me feel scared and ashamed. I didn't know who to talk to and more often than not, I got annoyed and angry with myself for having these feelings. I tried to ignore them, but they managed to constantly creep into my life. I realize that my lifestyle is foreign to you and in a way it is still foreign to me. I realize that they way I live and love is not the way you do and that might scare you; especially if you had a certain vision for my future. I accept your fear and I hope to one day show you that love is truly love, no matter the form it takes.

---
I guess the only thing I can continue to do is believe in myself, love myself and live my life. I'll try to practice patience in the meantime. And guess what, I'm going to that damn parade.

Out and proud !

Feels like Fire

We met at the keg - it's where all great romances for the day start. The clock hadn't even hit noon and I picked up the spout of the keg, it was slick due to it resting in the ice surrounding it's goodness that awaited us all within the sliver trophy. The spout flew out of my hand, the beer squirted a bit over my shirt. I heard a laugh and I looked up, "Clearly I'm too sober to be handling this keg." That was all I could think of to say. "Well you best get drunk then." That was the simple reply. Smiles exchanged and we parted ways.

We would meet again an hour later, at the keg - to refresh ourselves from the penetrating sun and raging humidity. She was standing with someone I had spoken with earlier. It was asked how I was connected with the people hosting the party and for some reason, I felt comfortable enough to come out. No hesitation. No second thoughts. It's a pretty marvelous state to be in. "Ethan, JR and I went to college together. It's ironic, JR and I didn't really know each other all that well at school, but he's been a great friend the last year or so and he's helped me a lot with my coming out process."

"I'm bisexual." she said, almost too casually. It just fell out of her mouth, like food, but so much more attractive loooking. My reaction was priceless. I was instantly peaked in interest, my body language shifted, I turned my hips into hers, leaned in a bit closer and said a bit too excitedly, "Really?" I sounded like a teenage boy learning to adjust to his new pipes. My cheeks dimpled up and naturally, they flushed. So much for playing it cool.

I wish I could say I remember every moment I spent with Lucy; I wish I could remember every conversation. But when there's alcohol involved, things get a little hazy and they get a little hot. Walls come tumbling down. I remember Lucy's piercing blue eyes, penetrating my mind and soul. It almost sounds cliched, but her eyes plused through me - I hadn't felt this fire like intensity through a pair of eyes in years. Just sitting here at my desk, I can close my eyes and feel them looking at me, undressing me, daring me, making my heart skip a few beats, making me tremble in the most lovely of ways.

I remember the wild moments with Lucy - and yes, my stomach still flips, I burn inside, I coyly smirk. I think about the wind raging and our hair meshing together - her looking at me, tempting me and yet there was a hint of sensualness, of polite seduction. There was a certain warmth to the playfulness despite our drunken nature.

I remember the quiet moments with Lucy, where absolutely no words were exchanged. For me that's almost short of a miracle. She made me feel confident enough to let the silence dangle, to let the silence dare each other, to inch ourselves closer. No words, just simple smiles, tender hair tucks, gentle grazes of skin. The only sound I could hear were our breaths collecting themselves, in sync. Pulsing. That's when I could merely manage a few words.

"You're so beautiful."

I let the words hang in the air, I let my body stay put (for the most part). It was a slow motion moment. I cooly swallowed in an effort to get some moisture back in my throat, I could feel our bodies inching towards each other, temperature rising with every moment; I steadied my breath and our lips managed to tango once again.

The tango would continue to burn throughout the rest of the day, into the evening and early hours of Sunday morning. My Sunday morning song who departed far too soon. This fire hasn't smoldered, in fact I don't think it's anywhere close to being put out. Lines of communication are open and while it might not be an eternal flame, it's certainly enough to light my candle.

Launching Pad

It's only a matter of time until I move into the city that never sleeps - so close I can taste it. Taste the freedom, taste the new life. It's a whole new ballgame. I'm going to finally be able to go out after work (at least with no limitations of a train schedule), to meet more women - potentially date more as well. One would think I would be ecstatic, climbing the walls. In a way I am, but I'm also a bit irritable. Hard to believe, but I am. I just want things to happen with a flick of a wrist. I know Rome wasn't built in a day and that the best of things take time, but it's time. It's not even funny how much I am ready for this move, this change in my life. It's a similar feeling to when I went off to college. Cleaning and packing up your closets, your memories - bringing them to some place new. I'm ready.

Yet this move is far more life-changing than college. This is the delayed step towards independence that most, if not all of my friends have achieved in the years since we have left college. My journey towards independence has been delayed due to a direct stop over to graduate school. That was 5 years ago. Even I meet those words with an audible sound of disbelief. I try not to think about that it has taken me 5 years to break away - 5 years on a launching pad. I was faced with delays, complications and perhaps the most annoying - false starts. I could feel the rumblings - the tiles ripping off and then something would pull me back onto the dock.

Independence has been delayed since graduate school due to jobs, while in my field of interest,were so low paying, that I would have essentially lost money. This isn't to say I haven't been able to have independence - it's just a limited form of it. That's fine, for we all take our own paths. It has been far from easy, especially within the last three years. In that time, three people very close to me (including my sister) got married, I was in a relationship with someone I loved and could see a future with and I began working for a major television network. So how is that far from easy one may ask?

I felt so disconnected at each of the weddings - lost, confused and even miserable. OK, so maybe miserable is pushing the envelope a little too much; but there was a feeling of nothingness - and just thinking about that feeling, haunts me, it causes me to tremble slightly. How could I feel such a way for my sister's day of bliss or for two of my best friends? It didn't seem right. But it was there. And maybe it was there because I wasn't there - I wasn't ready to open my life to another. That always has appeared to be my life story - not ready to let someone in.

I don't believe it's my career anymore that is keeping me from letting someone in. It is this overwhelming, borderline suffocating fear of letting someone into my heart, into my mind. Who in their right mind would dare to break into me? I often wonder this. I guess it also comes down to me; to whom do I feel at ease with enough, to listen to my fears, hopes and dreams. I've always been self-conscious and it's only now, as I have aged, that I realized my self-consciousness has been one of my greatest hindrances.

I'm scared for what lies ahead. I'm anxious in a positive way. I'm chomping at the bit. I'm ready to be released from the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby. It's now or never. It's time that these walls around me come tumbling down. It's time to feel, it's time to journey, it's time to walk into the bar and sit down and look into the eyes of a woman and say, "hi, I'm Lindsay...."

i'm off on a rocketship.. prepared for something new...ecstatic with the view, i am scared for the things coming and i want for the things i don't have.. cannot stand to be one of many..i'm not what they are.