20/20

I work with a guy that has two eyes.

Okay, wait, let me clarify. Everyone I work with has two eyes. In fact, everyone I know has two eyes. As I mentally flip through the Rolodex of people in my life, I don't run across a pirate or James Bond nemesis that requires a patch or has a disfiguring facial scar. Thankfully, everyone I know has two perfectly working eyes.

That's not to say that I will only be friends with people with two working eyes. I'd gladly spend time getting to know a one-eyed person-- provided that they aren't a pirate or evil mastermind... I still want to be careful of the company I keep. I don't want to be judged guilty by association for raping and pillaging a village or holding the United States hostage with a missile or something. I can get in plenty of trouble on my own.

To even extend that, I'd be willing to be friends with a blind person for that matter... even though they couldn't read my blog unless it is translated into braille or they had one of those features on their computer that reads things outloud. I pride myself a bit on being open minded to the visually impaired-- or at least trying to be.

But, this one guy at work is challenging my view on the subject.

He started at the office about a month and a half ago. Young (I allow myself to say that because he's close to my age) and handsome, he's the new Chief Information Officer (i.e. King of the Nerd Herd). I work and collaborate with him on a number of projects, so we email and meet relatively frequently. It wasn't until our third or fourth conversation that I noticed something was different about him.

He has two different color eyes.

Now, I've seen this on cats and dogs and other sort of animals, but on a human, it's a bit freaky and unsettling. He might as well have a tail.

At first, I thought he might be blind in one eye. One looked different than the other, so that was my first and immediate conclusion. So, with great effort, I worked to focus on 'the good eye.' By whatever train of thought, I decided the lighter color eye was the 'good' one. I'm sure psychologist from coast to coast would assert this reveals deep prejudices on my part and that by deciding the blue one was 'good' and the brown one was 'bad' that I have racist tendencies and probably have a cross in my trunk dripping with gasoline, ready to burn on the first lawn I see.

Just goes to show that they don't know me at all. I drive a Jeep. I don't have a trunk.*

But, as soon as I decided that I was dealing with a SDJ situation (blind in one eye so I had to concentrate on the working one-- ala Sammy Davis Junior), I could see I was wrong. The brown eye moved just as well as the blue one. I discovered this through a number of tests. If I saw him standing in the hall talking with someone, I would idle up beside him on his brown eyed side and see how long it too him to notice me. His timing was always quick and impressive.

At the start of a meeting in the conference room, I would act very indecisive about which chair I would like to sit in, so I would sit in one briefly and then quickly hop up and select another one for a few seconds until I would switch again... all under the cover of saying their was a draft in one chair or a particularly bad glare in another. No one else in the meeting knew what I was doing or found it particularly odd (at least, not odd for me. I find if you set a standard expectation of peculiarity for yourself in a social or work situation, you are allowed more extreme oddities in your behavior on various occasions like this one). Throughout my personal game of Musical Chairs (without the music), I would check my co-workers eyes to see how they followed me. Both were in sync and right on target. The same proved true when I used a laser pointer through one of my presentations.

That's when I finally asked the receptionist. Having never seen a two-colored eyed person before, it was hard to comprehend. I had to make sure I wasn't seeing things. When she confirmed that I indeed was not crazy (well, on this particular point), I felt much more at ease now that I knew what I was dealing with.

I mean, part of me actually starting feeling sorry for him. While almost anyone in their life can get the compliment, "You have such beautiful (insert color of eyes here) eyes," you find yourself at a loss when trying to share the same sentiment with him. What is there to say? "You have such a beautiful left brown eye." It's just not a compliment that could carry a romantic moment through. Once you're forced to get that specific, it pretty much stops magic dead in its tracks... with the sound effect of screeching brakes and all.

Still, the two-colored eye feature actually can come in handy, both for the person looking in to the eyes and the one looking out of them. Now, when I'm in a meeting with him, when he is joking or being light-hearted, I look into the right blue eye. Whatever he says seems a bit more enjoyable or fun when I'm looking into the brighter eye. However, when the more serious, business portion of the meeting comes into play, I switch and concentrate on the brown eye. The information is more reliable and accurate when I'm looking into the left brown eye. It's clear he's done his research and that he's serious about what he's sharing. Blue eye: fun. Brown eye: business.

His eyes are like a mullet. Business in the front; party in the back. Business in the brown; party in the blue.

Then, I wonder if that helps with his life or his day at work. Does he close his brown eye when he's watching a comedy so he enjoys the jokes more? Does he close his blue eye when he needs to concentrate on a project at work? When he gets on to his kids, does he scold them like Popeye, pinching the blue eye shut so they know he's serious? What does he do during sex? I imagine he looks like he has a nervous twitch or tick.

Maybe that's why pirates typically wear a patch... No one is going to be scared of a pirate with a blue right eye.

If I were him, I'd invest in a matching pair of contacts. That way, people talking to me wouldn't be eye bouncing from left to right-- and by what color contact I'm wearing, they'd know what kind of mood I'm in. Both brown, let's get some work done. Both blue, let's PARTY! I would imagine a contact company would be glad to give him a blue and brown one. They have to have a few extras lying around. He'd probably get a discount. Maybe he could claim it on our insurance. I'll talk to HR on his behalf.



*Because anyone can read this and not everyone knows me (yet), I'm not racist. It was a joke.

my response

A friend recently asked me to help him. A family member had come out to him, and coming from a very conservative Southern Baptist background, he wasn't sure a good response. Gathering evidence from my facebook, he thought I might be a good resource for all things gay (it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure that out). This is what I shared with him:

First, I'm sorry for the delay in getting my response to you. I'm in the middle of a show right now, and so my schedule has been a bit hectic lately. But, I'd be lying if I didn't say I like it. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I wasn't busy.

It's really hard to know where to begin with this. There's really no need for me to start at day one of my story and lead you through the entire story. It'd be too much information and more than anything self-indulgent. Instead, I'll try to just share parts that I think are most applicable to where you are. If have you questions beyond what I share, please feel free to toss them my way. My goal in sharing what I end up sharing is not to change your mind or convince you of one way or another but to hopefully provide some insight to a gay person who grew up in the church. Everyone's story is different... This is most of mine.

My senior year in college was the first time I met with a minister about the gay thoughts and feelings I was having. Thinking back, I can remember these feelings and inclinations in my childhood and clearly surfacing in high school. I had read somewhere in those teen 'facts of life' kind of manuals that doctors give out that feelings like that could be just phases. That's what I had hoped and prayed it was. But, by my senior year, I could tell they weren't going away like I had hoped, so I made an appointment and met with a college minister that I loved and respected (still do). His advice was when I moved to College Station for grad school, find a group of guys and find accountability and to ask a girl out, start dating. And pray more.

I moved to College Station, immediately found a great church. After about a year, I joined the ministry team and found a couple of great guy friends that I developed an accountability relationship with. I had never acted on my homosexuality, but I was torn. I also started meeting with the college minister there who is also a great man. He encouraged me to work on scripture memory, specifically memorizing Philippians. I met with him quite a bit and he offered encouragement but really had no answers.

I then moved back to Waco and started working at Baylor. I loved my job and loved working at a university... but over the 4 years I lived there, I progressively grew bitter. I was trying everything I knew... regular quiet times, going to church every Sunday, mission trips, Bible studies, praying, fasting... I was filling my time with every good thing I could possibly think of and still I was dealing with these thoughts and emotions and feelings. They came so naturally to me... I never had to "try." I was naturally attracted to men, and although I had still not acted on it, I was trying every possibly method I had learned to stop my feelings.

I was resenting so many things... I resented fraternity brothers from Baylor. A few of them had come out in between my graduation and then return to work at Baylor. They somehow had made it through to a life I wanted but was told I couldn't have.

I resented the church for making this seem like the most evil of sins. Anyone could stand up and give a testimony about their addiction to alcohol or gambling or even straight pornography but it seemed if someone stood up to share their dealings with homosexuality, there was a different classification for them.

I resented Baylor. I was daily in an environment that was telling me that it was not okay to be this person that I am.

And, probably most of all, I resented myself... for being in a position and place in life where I constantly failed and then emotionally flogged myself for it later. I was looking ahead into the life I had and saw nothing but anger and frustration and self-hatred that I could only imagine ending in a desperate attempt.

So, after 4 years working at Baylor, I reached a breaking point (which is a separate story altogether), and I moved to Dallas. A few months before I moved, I had auditioned for a theatre show in Arlington. Growing up, the only theatre I had ever done was in 7th grade at the Harbor Playhouse in Corpus. It was a production of "The Littlest Angel" and the theatre had called our church looking for kids who could sing since they were using so many Christmas songs. I loved it, every second of it. But, I wasn't allowed to do any theatre after that... I wasn't told why until years later, but it was because of the gay influences.

Well, at the age of 27, that was another thing I had come to resent, so I auditioned for a show in Arlington and was cast. I drove from Waco to Arlington every night for rehearsal. It was during that show, and the next one, and then the next one (when I eventually moved to Dallas) that I met my first gay friends. And, I learned something... They weren't evil. They weren't extremely feminine. They weren't promiscuous. Some of them were loving uncles, some of them were fathers. Some of them were nice; some of them were funny. And-- some of them were Christians.

Now, I can find for you the journal entry I made a few years before that saying that gay Christians don't exist... But, I met them, and I saw that this combination I have been told isn't real is. They believe in God. They believe that Jesus died on the cross for their sins. They believe He will come back again. And, they love men.

That threw me for a loop and had me asking a lot of questions. So, instead of going into the process of questioning, let me tell you a few of the answers I've found.

One answer is that I don't see that the faith of Christianity and homosexuality are mutually exclusive. A very well respected Southern Baptist pastor said his stance when people from his congregation try to corner him on this issue is that he is not aware of anywhere where Jesus spoke directly on this topic, so he doesn't see a reason where he as the pastor should. And, let me just take a side note to share that this pastor has demonstrated such accepting and unconditional love to me that it makes me tear up a little bit when I stop and think about it. It doesn't slow him down in the least in loving me... and this touches me because I don't think it slows Jesus down in loving me either.

I think too often the church treats gay people as the present day lepers. The difference is, we aren't sick (a point some might disagree with).

I know there are Scripture references to homosexuality... Most commonly sited in Leviticus and Romans. This is where commonly a debate could begin, but honestly, I've never been one for debate. I don't ever want to argue a point or push my beliefs in anyone's face. But, being that I had to wrestle with them myself for years and in answer to the questions that I would imagine about these points, personally, I've come to believe that those references are contextual in the time that they were written. This, again, would be something that could be a whole other message.

Another answer I found is that a person won't do anyone any good by pretending to be something that they aren't. I remember sitting in the balcony of First Baptist Church Corpus Christi and writing out my life goals on an offertory envelope. It had very little to do with my career but all to do with getting married and having kids. I wanted nothing else than a 'normal' life... still do, to be quite honest. But, I never dated in college or grad school because I already saw the ending in my head... I felt the panic of walking down the aisle and committing my life to be something I wasn't. I imagined the possible affairs and resulting drama and hurt... the lives ruined.

No, that wasn't guaranteed to happen, but I knew if I married a girl, even if I did have a love for her, it wouldn't be the type of love she needed or deserved, and I knew that the whole time, I would want to be with a man. Hiding in a marriage wasn't the answer... And, the alternative of being a celibate, closeted gay man sounded worse and would do nothing but grow the resentment I had.

A few years ago, I did a play called "Southern Baptist Sissies" which basically was my life. It was about four guys that grew up in the Southern Baptist church in the south and ended up being gay. One ended up being a drag queen, one ended up out and proud, one ended up a closeted minister and one ended up killing himself. I played the one that committed suicide... and it was so easy to identify with. I thought that was my destiny...

And looking back, to see the reason I didn't is because of this: unconditional love. I've been blessed immensely... God strategically put people in my life, starting from when I was growing up until now that have demonstrated the love I needed. Most of my Christian friends from Baylor know about me now, and they love me the same, if not more... and, they love me with no agenda. They aren't handing brochures. They aren't recommending programs to alter my lifestyle. They genuinely love me because I am me... and even more me than the Chad they knew at Baylor.

There's also been unconditional love for my family. During Southern Baptist Sissies, I 'came out' to my family (I don't love that phrase).

Now, let me explain the timing. Even though it was great motivation for the tears required in the show, I went ahead and defused the family bomb and told them about my sexuality. There had been plenty of evidence to let them know without me having to voice it, but I knew I owed it to them. I had never lied to them about anything... even my homosexuality. I just chose to edit what I did tell them.

I don't think that gays who grow up in the church (or any disapproving environment) intentionally lie or lie for fun or anything to be hurtful. It's a matter of survival. The last two people I ever told about my sexuality were my family and my best friend from my childhood. And, the reason is simple... the people you tell first are the people you want beside you through the journey, and the people you tell last are the people you fear losing the most. I knew the pain it would cause my parents and sister, and I wanted to avoid that at all cost, so I delayed telling them as long as possible. While I never lied about my life, I think it helps explain why others do... they are avoiding causing pain both to themselves and others and potentially losing the people they love the most.

This is not to tell you what to do, what to believe or what to feel. If you were lied to, you have every right to feel betrayed. If you feel deceived, you have every right to feel confused. If you had hoped for a different story for that person, you have every right to feel disappointed.

But, at the same time, please take into consideration the motivations of that other person. While it may have seemed to be entirely selfishly motivated, it might have come from a place of love and deep desire to preserve his or her relationship with you.

So, while my family doesn't love me being gay, they have not do anything to make me feel less loved... if not, I feel more loved. I feel more loved because the truth has been told. and they love me like they did before. We don't talk about 'things' often, and I know they would prefer things to be different. Still, their love is clear.

It's truly an endless story that I could tell. So many little details that I could share... So many friends that have taught me how to love who I am... So many ways that I've seen God prepare my path... But, instead, let me share one last experience that has helped me put it into perspective.

My grandfather (my dad's dad) passed away shortly just before I moved to Dallas-- right when when I began to accept who I am. My whole life, I had seen my grandfather and my grandmother as extremely conservative. It seemed I always had to be on my best behavior in front of them and not even hint of any sort of wrong-doing. He was a Southern Baptist minister... like the 'old school' kind.

During his last days, he asked my aunt (who is a lesbian) if I was going to be okay.

"Chad's going to be fine," she told him.

After she left his hospital room, she asked my grandmother why he asked her that. My grandmother said, "Well, we always thought that Chad may be gay, and so we just want him to know that we love him."

My grandfather passed shortly after that happened and the day before the funeral when I walked into my grandmother's house in California, she put her hands on my cheeks, kissed me, and then looked me in the eyes and her first words to me were, "We love you. You are ours, no matter what."

It was a blessing from family that I never thought I would receive... from a grandmother long before I even told my parents. It was someone who had known me my whole life looking at me in the full light of truth and saying that they still loved me... something I never imagined possible.

I was telling this story, through tears, to a very good pastor friend of mine (another one), and he helped put that into perspective.

"Chad," he said, "I hope when you think of that story, you not only hear the voice of your grandmother, but you also hear the voice of God because I believe that is His message to you too."

And, I believe he's right.

roll credits

"I'm never so lonely as when the movie ends... And I leave the theater alone."

That's a text message I received an hour ago.

I don't remember the last movie I've seen in the theater. It's not that I'm afraid to see movies by myself. I've seen plenty. And, hell, I go to a diner for Sunday brunch by myself every Sunday. Flying solo is something I'm used to doing.

And, as with most things, I remember my first time. "Galaxy Quest." Granted, picking a sci-fi, comic book geeky comedy might not have been the best choice of movie to see by myself for the first time, but then again, I was pretty safely guaranteed not to be the only person there alone. It's target audience was safely not at the top of the social ladder, shall we say.

It was released in '99, so that puts me in a time when I lived in Waco, worked at Baylor, and fought an uphill battle against myself. A butterfly struggling to keep the cocoon closed. I was confused, alone and exhausted.

I remember feeling like a real grown up going to see a movie by myself. It truly was a coming of age moment. Like getting your drivers license or growing pubic hair, it was a rite of passage. I arrived just as the lights were being lowered, and I found my seat. As the previews began, I was proud, and not in the least bit worried. It was dark... and people weren't there to see who else was there or who was with whom... we all had paid to see the movie. No one else in the theater mattered.

There were moments during the film when I laughed out loud and then quickly realized I needed to control the volume of my outbursts. There was no need to pull unneeded focus towards me. I wanted to blend in, so if anything else struck me as funny, I merely chuckled and turned my normally loud cackle inward. Like fighting a bear, it was best just to practically play dead and go unnoticed.

The story unfolded, evolved, climaxed, and, as most stories do, ended. Then came the moment I was unprepared for... the end credits. The lights turned brighter, and I realized I was exposed. What was the proper action to take? Did I stay, acting as though I was reading the credits and perhaps a critic who has to see movies all the time by himself to get his job done? Do I scurry like a roach in the kitchen when the lights are turned on, looking for cover and shelter? Or do I walk out with everyone else, head held high, as I listen to their comments and thoughts on the film or what to do next?

Being my first time and in a panic, I chose the second approach and darted for the door like the theater was on fire. If I could just make it into the hallway, people seeing me wouldn't know if I was coming or going, sneaking out of a movie for a bathroom run, or walking to meet my large group of friends who have missed me and thought of me every second in my absence. A moving target is hard to hit, so that was the goal... dart about and dodge any judgemental thoughts about the guy seeing a movie by himself.

That moment, when the movie is over, that's the fear we all have, I think... at least, at one time in our lives or another. That when the story has been told, when "the end" arrives and the lights come up, there will be no one beside you. Because there's something to be said about having someone there, so when the story is over you can talk about how great it was... or wasn't. Either way, the story always seems to have more meaning when you experience it with someone else.

When I read that text, I was immediately in the moment my friend was experiencing. The description was so clear, I knew what my friend was feeling. At the same time, I realized that when I shifted to identify with my friend's moment, it wasn't very different from the moment I was having before the text arrived. It seems lately, I feel as though I'm sitting in the dark theatre, alone, watching the credits roll.

the right place

At this very moment, I'm in a Starbucks, and the most beautiful boy I have ever seen walked in. He ordered a small coffee and is sitting there, reading a book.


I've seen him many times, but I don't actually know him... I just know who he is-- as does every gay guy in Dallas. He's almost a monument-- like the massive statue of Sam Houston just outside of Huntsville. A tourist attraction for the gays--


You can't help but think he's gorgeous. His attractiveness is not a matter of opinion but fact. Like a fat kid in the cookie aisle, there's no way around it. He is tall, dark and handsome. He's got muscles for days, the bone structure of a statue (well, if statues had bones). And, on top of all that, he reads-- or at least does a very believable imitation of one reading.... moving eyes side to side and occasionally turning a page. He appears to be the perfect package.


Granted, one may deduct points for him trying too hard. He's wearing an extremely nice black down jacket that probably costs way too much. He has pulled out his iPhone more frequently then necessary. And, he is wearing his baseball cap backwards as if he is about to umpire a gay softball game or bust into some gangsta rap.

I only notice those things because they are gimmicks even I have tried. On him, they just stand out as being unnecessary and distracting-- like an overly decorated Christmas tree.


Still, he's one of those people. He's one of those people I hate, but at the same time, want to be -- or, more so, be with. I resent him for his abundance of natural beauty. Something he did nothing to earn or deserve but was freely given to him for his whole life, I'm sure. He has no idea what it is to be average.

For one day, I just want a Freaky Friday moment. I want to switch bodies with someone that beautiful... Not for me. I can imagine what it's like for them. I have had plenty of gorgeous friends. I know what it's like to walk behind them in a crowd. I see the head turns. I see guys nudge the person next to them and "discreetly" point. It's like riding in an inter-tube being pulled by a speed boat... I ride in its wake.

I don't want to switch bodies with them so I can see what it's like to be them; I want them to get a taste of normalcy-- for them to see what it's like to be me. What is it like when people don't hold the door for you... when you don't get immediate service... when the refills don't come as quickly... when the waiters aren't as attentive... when finding a sales person it a little more difficult... when you do get the speeding ticket... when guys say no to an invitation... when you do get stood up... when a nod goes unreturned... when a date gets broken... when you go unnoticed.

Gorgeous people like this don't know what the world is really like. They have a bird's eye view.

And, lo and behold, who is he meeting? A model. An actual model. Again, not someone I know, but someone that I have lots of friends in common with. Birds of a feather...

But, it's probably better that way. Let them duke it out. Being friends with them would be like me trying to get in the ring with Muhammad Ali at his prime. I wouldn't stand a chance... not even with their rejects and castaways. I would bring the disappointment viewers used to feel when they would watch One Life to Live and at the beginning of the episode, they would hear the voice over that said, "The part of Victoria Lord normally played by Erika Slezak today will be played by (fill in the name of some unknown actress)." Viewers immediately lose interest in the plot lines, even if it is at the height of her battle with her split personality Niki Smith; they change the channel. If I did run in the circles of beauty, I could hear a similar voice over the speakers at the bars-- "Instead of hooking up with a tall, dark, handsome part time model/part time Greek god, tonight you will sleep with a short, pale, middle-aged marketing director of a mortgage company." I hear the groans and the clicks of remotes changing the channels.

Wait a minute-- there's something wrong. The-Gorgeous-Guy-I-Know-But-Don't-Know didn't even acknowledge The-Model-I-Know-But-Don't-Know. That doesn't seem to be right. I know for a fact that I saw them in pictures next to each other from New Year's Eve (thank you, facebook)... which was 4 days ago. And, yet, today, not so much as a "hi." Perhaps under the Laws of the Aesthetically Gifted, both of their enhanced beauties in this small Starbucks calls for the powers not to combine for fear of an explosion--

OR, they slept together and now there is the awkward after period... which, let's face it, is more likely.

I mean, do they even have to play the game? It seems that if you are that pretty and you see someone else that pretty, all the small talk, games and flirting would be pointless. I would imagine a nod and simple directions back to your place is all that it would take.

Maybe this is why I was not gifted with being exceptionally pretty.

I imagine beauty to be a bell curve and those that are extraordinarily beautiful have an easier time finding each other because they so easily stand out. Likewise, those on the other end of the bell curve, the less visually appealing, shall we say, always seem to be able to find a mate as well. It's the Neiman's/Gap/Wal-Mart Rule... You'll always find happy couples at Neiman's and Wal-Mart. All the single people are at the Gap.

As I watch these beauties interact-- or avoid interaction, I feel like I'm on the Discovery Channel observing the behavior of lions in the wild.

And, now, I'm trying to type as my sweaty palms hover over the keyboard. The-Model-I-Know-But-Do-Not-Know has asked to sit across the table from me. Granted, it's because I'm sitting next to one of the only available electrical outlets (let this to be a lesson to us ALL). Still, people walking in will never know.

This is prime real estate all of a sudden. Fuck Park Place. Sitting at this table at this moment in the Starbucks has upped my property value considerably. People will think there is some reason we're both sitting here... "Maybe they know each other," "Maybe their friends," "Maybe they're dating," "Oh, they make such a cute couple." Oh, let the rumors spread!

I'm going to talk to him. After all, I work with his cousin, I know one of his friends from LA, I know his brother, I've looked at his facebook page... we're practically dating as it is.------

Okay, so that didn't go quite as far as I had hoped. Yes-- I totally gave away the fact that I knew his name and listed the 4 people we have in common... to which he responded politely, cordially and briefly. Still, it sadly went better than half of the guys I claim to have dated.

Ugh. My damn watch tells me it's time. I need to go-- but even though this moment means nothing, I don't want it to end.

I have to eat dinner before rehearsal at 6... but I don't want to leave. What if he's trying to build up the courage to talk to me? What if he's intimidated by my averageness? What if he's always wanted a short, pale, middle-aged marketing director of a mortgage company to grow old with? What if the moment we connect is destined to happen ten minutes from now? I'd be eating my salad in some diner by myself missing it!

Is it a little crazy to want to propose to someone that only sat with you for an electrical outlet?

If we have a similar need for power, does that mean we have enough in common to build a life together?

I'd like to think so.

But, it's no matter what I think. I need to go. So, I'll risk it. I'll pack up my computer, say goodbye and leave for dinner before rehearsal. If The-Model-I-Know-But-Do-Not-Know is my destiny, I'll let this be just the first part of the story... like in a romantic comedy. "When The-Model-I-Know-But-Do-Not-Know Met Chad..."

All I know for sure is that from now on, everywhere I go, I'm sitting next to an available electrical outlet.

the pilot episode

With it being the first day of the year, I'm doing something new. This will be the closest thing you will see me do that is even remotely similar to a New Years Resolution. I've never set New Years Resolutions, and being at the age I am now, I don't see that changing. The term about old dogs and new tricks come to mind. Bow-wow.

On January 1, I really don't need to establish specific areas and goals in which I can see me fall short during the upcoming months. I let myself down consistently enough during the year on my own.

But, being that today, New Year's Day, is full of well wishes and positive thoughts of the upcoming year, I figured I might as well do something that resembles self-improvement, so I'm starting a site just devoted to my thoughts... I by no means am foolish enough to think that this is a belated Christmas gift to the world or something. I don't expect thank you notes from the leaders of every nation by St. Patrick's Day or anything.

Still, I had a blog on myspace that a few folks liked, and being now that I have become a facebook fanatic, I'm afraid I've abandoned my writings when I left myspace behind. The thought with this site is that by giving my writing a stage, I'll show up to perform more often... granted, the only person that may ever read this could be a whithered old woman in Yugoslavia who has three hairs on her chin and stood in line all day just to get her bread and vodka which she eats every night when she reads my writings... But, if I bring a smile to just one face, then I've done my job. I mean, I would prefer the smile I bring to be on the face of Neil Patrick Harris, but I guess the poor lady in Yugoslavia is good too.

Does Yugoslavia even exist anymore? I sort of lost track with everything over there the wall came down in Berlin. To me, that was such a great, dramatic moment that I just signed everything off as "they lived happily ever after" and stopped following most of foreign politics. This basically means I have an eighth grade education of foreign politics which is frozen in 1988. This also means that when Anderson Cooper and I go out on our first date, we'll have to be creative about our conversation topics, but I'm still pretty confident that we'll have a good time.

Where was I? Oh, yes-- the new blog. So, here it is. I can't guarantee that they'll all be winners. This one certainly isn't. I'll probably start off by reposting some of my myspace blogs, just to get the ball rolling. Still, the idea is for me to write more... not because I think the public demands it but because this is one of the best ways for me to process life. And, the older I get, the more there is to process. Some will be funny. Some will be sad. Some will be both. Some may share too much. So, if you read them, get ready... for honesty, for rawness, and more than likely, for too much information. With jazz playing and a glass of wine by my side (as there is now), there's no telling what I'll say.

Before I close, let me explain the name of the blog-- The Meeting Field. A few years ago, Kathy, my best friend and the person who loves me so much that she helps me love myself, gave me a necklace that is probably my most prized possession. On the chain is just a simple box and on that box is an inscription that reads, "Out beyond the ideas of right doing and wrong doing, there is a field. I will meet you there." This quote from Rumi sums up true love so eloquently, so vividly and so powerfully that I choke up almost every time I say it.

In my mind, I imagine this gorgeous field, a vibrant green of waving, tall grass with a deep, warm blue sky covering it. Sprinkled among the grass are gatherings of people, hugging, talking, laughing... some couples, some families, some friends. There are words of encouragement and love. There's not judgement. Differences don't matter. The peace that is found in the field is also found in the hearts that are there. In a sense, it's heaven.

As I share my thoughts in this blog, I imagine them to be the words that I would share to my friends, family and loved ones in this field. In the gorgeous, peaceful and safe Meeting Field...