After three weeks watching other boys and girls do it, I climbed the ladder, twelve feet above the blue water. 12 rungs for twelve apostles, and I mouthed the name of each in silent prayer until I reached the top. When both feet were on the white, sandpaper surface of the diving board, I whispered …
I find comfort posting to WordPress. Facebook carries a lot of noise and distraction on steroids, and it often feels like I'm in a corner waving, trying to get someone to pay attention to me there, to hear what I have to say, and then give me a thumbs up, or a pithy reply.
Letting go is not for sissies. If anyone needs a push, or a swift kick in the rump, it's me. Even then, I still won't let go right away. I've held onto grudges like trapezes and withheld forgiveness more times in my life than I care to count, so it's no wonder I'm not very good at it.
I love this song. There are other Christmas songs I love, and I've noticed the ones I am drawn to are infused with a sense of longing and acceptance, of joy and sadness in equal parts. It's my way. From the time I was small, there seemed to be a sense of abundance with the giving and shopping, mixed with a sense of poverty and the acknowledgment that there are those for whom the holiday is a mixed bag of coal and candy canes.
Not just recently, but all my life. From the time I was a little boy, if I could find a "something" I was passionate about--drawing pictures, building with Legos, playing the violin--I would pour 100% of my focus into it, until I became exhausted by it and ultimately, bored. I had to learn to balance the short-burning fireworks of passion with the fire-pit maintenance of pragmatism.
Dear HIV, I hope you're well. It's been awhile since I've written, and I want to take a moment to acknowledge you as we approach World AIDS Day together.
I had a dream. I was walking across the lawn of a deserted campground toward a big, handsome, bearded man sitting at a wooden picnic table, beneath an enormous pin-oak tree. I was aware that I was dreaming, and that I had "appeared" in this place. The campground seemed real, but it also seemed like a …
There is a three-word bumper sticker on my car: “Don’t Raise Bullies.” I got it from the Stand Up Foundation. I rarely talk openly about the bullying I endured. When I do, it’s from a great emotional distance, and with a twinge of self-deprecating humor. It's time I come out and write about it publicly. …
I like being alone. I am a "Unicorn Ambivert"...I enjoy gathering with friends, occasional humorous banter with another person in the grocery check out line, and times when I am outgoing, and there are more often times when I must unplug, disengage, detoxify and be completely by myself.
Often, the first question I’m asked when I disclose that I’m HIV positive is “Do you know who infected you?” or “How did you get it?” Every HIV positive person I've chatted with has a story of how they got here; it is a crucial part of our journey and identity.