Of Coming Out, Anniversaries and Invictus Pilgrim

Four years ago this month, I began the process of coming out. Every year since that time, when October rolls around, I reflect on that process - a process that is still very much ongoing.

I have reminded myself recently of what my thoughts and feelings were in those initial scary months that followed a decision I made to at least come out to myself - to stop beating my head against a granite wall that had stood in front of me for 40 years. That reminder has come from reading the blog that I started shortly after making that decision. I chose to blog anonymously (for obvious reasons) under the pseudonym of "Invictus Pilgrim." Anonymity allowed me to frankly write about what I was experiencing and to protect myself as I did so.

I chose the name Invictus Pilgrim for several reasons.  First, I was very fond of the poem Invictus (which means “Unconquered” in Latin), written by 19th century poet and atheist William Ernest Henley. The words of this poem expressed the resolve I felt to become the master of my fate and the captain of my soul: 

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed ...

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

However, though determined to leave the closet forever, I realized I was very much a pilgrim on a journey. I didn't know what my destination would be. It was the journey that was important. 

Thus the persona of Invictus Pilgrim was born. When I first started my blog, I could not have foreseen where it would go and what it would mean, not only to me but to others as well.  I began writing as a means to free long-imprisoned thoughts, to express long-suppressed emotions and to explore long-forbidden lands in my psyche and soul.  I could not and did not foresee the extent to which my writing would not only prove therapeutic for me, but also expressive of others’ unexpressed thoughts and emotions.

As I have been re-reading my blog, I have found that I have been reminded of so many things that are still pertinent to me today, going on four years later. Then, it was fresh and raw. Much has transpired over the ensuing years, but I have found that those words I and others wrote have inspired me today to continue that journey of seeking authenticity, self-knowledge and self-love.

I closed Invictus Pilgrim some time ago for various personal reasons. I have been recently re-reading it because I have decided to write a book based on the blog. I had attempted this endeavor once before, but I wasn't ready to do so psychologically and emotionally. 

Now the time seems right. It is challenging for me to read some of what I wrote because of the pain associated with that period. But I have also frankly found it inspiring to me to read today what my fledgling out gay self was expressing and writing during the year following October 2010.

Yes, the time has come. Wish me luck.

Rocky Mountain Weekend

I had just been saying to my daughter last week how I've always wanted to go a cabin in the mountains or woods for a fall weekend. Sitting by the fire, reading. Taking walks. Writing. Just being.  There just seemed something so quintessentially comforting and relaxing about it. Not that we couldn't be at home and do the same things; but at a cabin there wouldn't be the temptation of going to the gym or yoga or a movie or watching some television.

This weekend, we are having the opportunity to fulfill my long-held desire. Mark needed some recovery time from his outpatient surgery, so we decided to drive to Colorado to visit friends and family. Our first stop was the cabin outside Steamboat Springs that belongs to the family of a friend of ours from Salt Lake. It so happened that he and friend of his had previously decided to head up the same weekend to close the cabin for the winter.

We arrived in late afternoon, and as we enjoyed cocktail hour, we saw some elk saunter across the meadow pictured in the lead photo. The setting sun set the tops of the trees on fire and tinged the clouds above. That evening, we listened as Mike and his friend Rich jammed, Mike on his banjo and providing vocals with Rich on his guitar. It was a fun evening topped off with pecan pie.

I slept soundly and awoke to dawn creeping over mountain tops, trees and meadows. This was the scene from the balcony off our room:

We enjoyed doing those things that morning that I had dreamed of. I wrote and read while Mark painted. He is actually a talented artist, though he hadn't in the past had the time or the desire to devote time and attention to developing his talent. Now that he is fully retired, he has picked up the brush in earnest. This is a little watercolor he did that morning as he sat looking out the window.

From Steamboat, we headed a few hours south to Fraser where Mark's brother and his family - Tim, Marie and Sophie - live. This was the scene that greeted us as we stepped out onto their deck.

It is now Sunday afternoon. We have been having snow flurries off and on throughout the day. I took these pictures this morning just outside Tim and Marie's home.

Right now, I'm sitting by the fire in Tim and Marie's living room, looking out the window and watching it lightly snow. Marie is upstairs, Sophia is in her room during homework. Mark is in the other room painting while his brother works on his computer. The dogs are scattered about. I take a deep breath, breathing in the now, loving life.

Out-Patient Surgery: "I'm His Husband"

It was an intensely gratifying moment.

Mark had some outpatient surgery done yesterday. (He's fine.) Pretty standard, but he would be under general anesthetic for the procedure. His intake nurse at Intermountain Medical Center was going through a list of questions with him while I sat by his side. I had not introduced myself, and at one point she started referring to Mark's "family." She hadn't paid much attention to me until she asked Mark whether he had an advance directive. He said he did. She asked if he had brought a copy with him because there wasn't one in his chart. He hadn't.

That's when I piped up and said, "I have a copy in my car if you need it." (We had been advised that I should always have it with me, or at least easily accessible, just in case some hospital denied me rights.) The nurse looked at me somewhat quizzically. I took the leap and said, "I'm his husband." 

From that moment, everything changed. Her face brightened and she said, "Congratulations." (I wondered if she thought we had just been married after Monday's Supreme Court decision.) I smiled and replied, "Thank you. We were married in Hawaii, but as of Monday, our marriage is now legally recognized by the State of Utah." Once again, she said, "Congratulations!"

From that point forward, she included me in the conversation just as she would have done had I been Mark's wife. She asked my full name and wrote down my phone number. A warm glow spread inside of me, recognizing as I did that there would - thanks to Monday's Supreme Court decision - be no issues relating to me being with Mark, no question of who was next-of-kin. As of Monday, the State of Utah recognizes me as Mark's next-of-kin. We are now treated as a couple, as a family, not just two men who live together.

That feeling of gratification came again as the discharge nurse went through discharge instructions. During the whole interview, she never looked at me - until it came time to tell me some things that I, as spouse, needed to do and be aware of. Then, she handed the clipboard to me to sign as Mark's spouse, marking the first time that I have signed a document on behalf of my husband.

*The lead photo was taken from the patio outside the cafeteria of Intermountain Medical Center. 

Beauty, a Nine-Year Old and a Museum

"Isn't a beautiful day, Dad," my nine-year-old son Levi said to me on Saturday morning. "You know how that feels when you wake up and the sky is clear and the sun is shining and you feel good?" "Yes," I replied. "Yeah," he said with a faraway look in his eyes, "It's nice." 

This from a boy who loves to play action-packed X-Box games. I stared at him for a few seconds. 

As we passed the center of Holladay Village, he looked out the window and said, "Aren't those brick walkways pretty?" "Yes, son, they are."

My son has always been a sensitive soul, but I have been somewhat surprised at how that sensitive soul seems to be moving to another, deeper plane of perception and discovery. Though he's only nine, going on ten, his soul is more mature. 

I'm thrilled to see this appreciation for beauty emerge from him, and I committed myself to do what I could to support and encourage this blossoming by exposing him to art. For starters, I decided to take him to the Utah Museum of Fine Arts at the University of Utah. I had never been there before, but I figured it was a pretty good place to begin. When I asked Levi if he'd like to go, he said, "Sure."

The first exhibition we saw was one that featured the art of Tony Feher. There were two "pieces." The first consisted of strands of pink masking tape attached to the ceiling of a two-story gallery.

This work immediately brought to mind one that we had seen in San Francisco's Grace Cathedral, pictured below, but that was done by someone else.

The other work of art consisted of blue masking tape stuck to a window (see lead photo). Who would have thought? But it was absolutely amazing to see all the shapes and gradations in colors of blue that were carefully achieved through overlapping of pieces of tape, as illustrated in the following photograph.

It wasn't until I looked at the pictures that I had taken with my iPhone that I truly appreciated how amazing this piece of art is. In both the small and large (below) bursts, the dark blue center seems to actually radiate outward. Masking tape. Amazing.

After seeing Feher's work, we went upstairs to view the permanent collection. It was a brief tour, but long enough for Levi to be exposed to works of American, Buddhist, European, Roman, Egyptian, Polynesian and Native American art. 

I was pleased when Levi immediately recognized a statute of the Buddha and smiled as he marveled at the wonder of nearly 1000-year-old wood carvings from India. He found the First Nation art from British Columbia interesting and, of course, the Egyptian mummy. I was surprised to see two portraits done by Gilbert Stuart (the man who painted the iconic portrait of George Washington) in their American collection, and was also surprised at their collection of European art that spanned a number of centuries.

This was our first visit, and I've no doubt there will be others, as well as to other art museums in the area. I'm also looking forward to taking Levi to see the "Nutracker" this Christmas season.

Meanwhile, I'm just going to sit back and watch him blossom.

What Today's Supreme Court Decision Means to Me

Today, the United States Supreme Court refused to hear Utah's appeal concerning same-sex marriage in this state. 

This is what this decision means to me. For starters, 

The State of Utah is now required to recognize this:

And the State of Utah is required to recognize families like this:

And the State of Utah is now required to accept love like this:

And the State of Utah is required to recognize that gay and lesbian people exist. There is no more state-sactioned societal closet.

Like hundreds of thousands of other gay men, I grew up in a time when a realization that one was gay - that one was queer, a homo, a faggot - was in most cases a death knell to the blossoming of one's individuality, one's personhood. This mental illness called homosexuality - for such it was considered until 1973 - was to be suppressed at all costs. 

One learned to hate oneself. Growing up in a religious environment, one also learned that, while others merited God's love, I - and others like me - did not. No matter how hard one tried to believe otherwise, the tides of self-hatred were too strong. Repress. Suppress. Carry on. 

Perhaps there would be some way to redeem myself. I thought I had found the path out of "homo hell" when I converted to the Mormon faith as a young man and embarked upon the "way of happiness." I married. I raised children. I loved to the best of my ability. But as the song, "Blessing" states, "every day a bit of me died." I could not redeem what could not be redeemed. Nor, as it turned out, could God ... because even He cannot redeem what needs no redemption.

Four years ago this month, I came out of the closet amidst the death throws of my marriage. Three years ago, I met a man with whom I fell deeply in love. Today, I share my life and my family with him. We had a commitment ceremony a little over a year ago and were married last spring in Hawaii. 

Now, as of today, there will no more need for "commitment ceremonies" in the State of Utah.

Now, as of today, I can hold my head even higher in the community in which we live, because the State of Utah is required to recognize that gay and lesbian people exist. We exist. We love. 

Finally, as of today, the State of Utah is required to legally recognize that who I - as a gay man - am worthy of protection by the government of the United States of America and the State of Utah.

All of this and more is what today's Supreme Court decision means to me. 

Fall, the Wasatch and Labels

This past weekend, I took my four younger children for a ride up Big Cottonwood Canyon and over Guardsman Pass down into Park City. It was a gloriously beautiful day.

As we drove, I was wishing I was on my bicycle. One of the things I love about cycling is being out in the midst of scenery such as this ... to be able to hear the streams rushing by, to see vistas that are unobstructed by a windshield and the roof of my car.

Neverless, I wanted my children to see this fairyland that exists within 20 miles of our home. I would have taken them for a hike, but I knew I would meet with strong resistance - at least with some of them. The thing about taking four kids out who are between 7 to 11 years of age is that they're never all going to agree on anything. So, I do the best I can. For example, as I stopped to take the pictures in this post, one of the boys said, "Um, Dad, are you going to be taking more pictures?"

I was never, in my previous life, much of an outdoorsman. My dad's idea of camping was the Holiday Inn. I went to college at the University of Illinois in the midst of cornfields. Later, once I was married and the children started coming - and coming - there was never the time nor the funds to spend much time in the great outdoors. 

But just because one never had the opportunity, for various reasons, to develop a love for the outdoors doesn't necessarily mean that one is "not an outdoorsy person." (That label was attached to me, and it was just easier to believe it, even though I resented the label.) If presented with the opportunity to appreciate being in nature, that love - like other loves - can develop later in life. For we always have the capacity to develop or expand new loves.

Coming down from Guardsman Pass

Labels are so destructive, whether placed upon us by others or by ourselves. Many of them are preceded by the word "not": "You're not an outdoors person." "You're not a dog person." "You're not an athlete." "You're not a social person." "You're not very spiritual." "You're not very good at [insesrt]." And these labels are usually attached by others who think they ARE these things.  

Some people have the ability to deflect attempts to label them. Others are not so fortunate, and they accept these labels for various reasons. Eventually, they can become so ingrained in us that they become part of who we are - or who we perceive ourselves to be. This certainly happened to me.

But! - I have had the great good fortune, later in life, to confront, challenge and throw off some of the labels that have been attached to me by others and by myself. I have discovered - though I am still very much working on this - that I am not the person other people convinced me I am. 

Looking down into Heber Valley

I have also had the great good fortune to have positive attributes pointed out to be me that I could never see in myself. "You're a natural athlete." "You're a sensitive person." "You're a loving person." "You are handsome." "You're a good father." Sometimes, it takes another person or persons to hold up different mirrors to oneself which allow us to move forward on the road to self-love and self-acceptance. 

Florence: A Pilgrimage and an Awakening

We left our inn in the via Urbana at 6:45 a.m. and made our way to the taxi stand at the foot of Santa Maria Maggiore. We had flown to Rome from Athens the previous afternoon and were now setting out on a day trip to Florence. The taxi took us to Tiburtina train station where we boarded a fast train to Florence at 7:25. An hour and a half later, after zipping through the Italian countryside at speeds up to 250 kilometers per hour, we arrived at our destination.

I had wanted to return to Florence since the last time I was there - in the spring of 1982. My traveling companion and I had hoped to visit museums there, but we had arrived late on a Sunday afternoon and were leaving 24 hours later on an overnight train to Zurich. To our chagrin, we learned that all museums are closed on Monday. Thus, I missed my opportunity to see Michelangelo's colossal David.

Like viewing the Parthenon and the Acropolis, seeing the David was one of those things I had dreamed about for over 30 years but never expected to experience. Our recent trip provided the opportunity I had been hoping for.

Eliza and Mark

Our guide for the morning, Eliza, met us at the train station. She was a vivacious young woman, Romanian by birth, who is extremely knowledgeable and obviously passionate about art and her adopted city of Firenze (Florence). She was not the sort of guide who rattled over facts and figures, but her deep knowledge of art, history and literature informed everything she showed and told us.

Since the primary reason for our visit to Florence was to see the David, that was our first destination. We hadn't reserved tickets because we thought we'd probably go in the afternoon. Eliza thought the lines would be shorter in the morning, so we went and she was able to get us in fairly quickly.

My first glimpse of the David

When I turned the corner in the Accademia Museum and saw the statue at the end of the gallery, it took my breath away. It was difficult at first for me to listen to Eliza as she talked about Michelangelo and his unfinished "Prisoner" statues that sit on either side of the gallery as one approaches the David. Finally, I had to go take a picture of Michelangelo's masterpiece, then rejoin Eliza and Mark.

Among other things, Eliza spoke about Michelangelo's sexuality, i.e., the fact that he was a lover of men and the male form. I commented that many, many people are either ignorant of this or choose to explain it away or outright deny it. Eliza looked at me in mild astonishment. "But surely everyone knows he loved men. It is widely known and accepted as fact in the art world." Michelangelo was not, so to speak, the man presented in Irving Stone's best-selling novel of a couple of generations ago, The Agony and the Ecstasy.

Not for the first time on our trip, I was inspired to learn more about Michelangelo, about his private life and about his love for particular men in his life. Eliza recommended a book to us, then realized it is written in Italian. She then suggested another book which is currently winging its way to me from Amazon.

So much of what we know today about gay history has been buried under decades and centuries of shame, disgust and distaste. Michelangelo's family, for example, doctored many of his sonnets so that it appeared he had written them to women. Almost three centuries would go by before the sonnets were retranslated and their original intended recipients, men, became known to the world at large. Even then, however, many still argue that Michelangelo's love for and of men was platonic and not sexual.

Beyond this, to the extent that it is acknowledged that certain historical men engaged in sex with other men, it is still not generally perceived and appreciated that men loved other men, i.e., they were in love with other men. In other words, it wasn't and isn't all about sex. Even today, many cannot conceive that there is anything more to homosexual love than sex.

Of course, there is often no way to *prove* this for the simple reason that, with certain exceptions and for obvious reasons, prominent men did not leave behind evidence of their love for other men. But bits and pieces of surviving historical facts and evidence can, in the hands of a skilled and sensitive writer, be woven into a plausible story of the love that can and did exist between two men.

I was fortunate while we were in Rome touring the Vatican Museum to learn more about the love between the Roman emperor Hadrian and his lover, Antinous. For any gay readers of this post, I would highly recommend a well-researched novel that I devoured while we on our cruise, The Hadrian Enigma, by George Gardiner. This book is both a historical whodunit and an exploration of the love between Hadrian and Antinous. While the historicity of Antinous and of Hadrian's love for him is well-established, Gardiner puts "flesh to the bones" of historical fact.

I just finished reading another exploration of the love that existed between men in ancient times. This book, Song of Achilles, an award-winning novel by Madeline Miller about the love between Achilles and Patroclus of Iliad fame. I highly recommend it. I freely admit that I came very close to tears during the climactic chapters and I was deeply impressed by the closing scenes, which were emblematic of what I've been writing about in this post.

Achilles and Patroclus both die outside the walls of Troy. This is well-known by anyone who has read the Iliad. In the novel, a huge monument is erected to Achilles by his young son, but there is no mention of Patroclus, even though their ashes are - at Achilles' request - buried in the same urn. The novelist - I won't say how - causes this to be rectified: eventually, Patroclus' name is inscribed beside that of the love of his life, Achilles.

So much of (gay) history is like that, i.e., the romantic love that existed between men is ignored, lost, buried. Works like the Song of Achilles restore that love to its proper place.

Our trip to Florence was a pilgrimage for me to stand in the presence of Michelangelo's masterpiece, which for me was far more than a work of art. Beyond the perfection of statue's proportions, beyond the vitality that even now after 500 years bursts forth out of the marble, beyond the exquisite beauty of David, beyond all of this and more is what the statue represents to me: the love of one man for another. (Remember that David loved Jonathan with his whole heart.)

This pilgrimage awakened something inside of me that had been stirring since seeing the statue of Antinous in the Vatican Library: a desire to read and write about books that bring to life a history that has been buried for centuries and even millennia, the stories of the love that existed between men.

(BTW: I took all of the pictures in this post except the one of Mark and me.)