Recently in Personal Development Category

Given that it's the last day of 2011, I want to use today's post to personally reflect on the past year, particularly my recovery with regards to being codependent.  It's a topic that has been on my mind a lot the past few weeks, and was one of the contributing factors to a recent bad day I mentioned.

This isn't surprising, as the events that led to me seek therapy and uncover my codependency unfolded around this time last year.  That was when things really began to spin out of control in my friendship/relationship with a young man I will call Dave, and I realized I needed to get professional help for some my own reactions.  Then when things fell apart completely and I threw Dave out of my life, I went into therapy and started to really learned what codependency is and why I'm codependent.

For those who may not know what codependency is, I'd like to start with Melody Beattie's definition:

A codependent person is one who has let another person's behavior affect him or her, and who is obsessed with controlling the other person's behavior.

My only problem with Ms. Beattie's definition of what it means to be codependent is that devoid of any context, it sounds really awful.  That's because being codependent is awful, in the sense that it's hell on the person who is codependent and those who are around a codependent person.

What doesn't come across in that definition very well is that "the other person's behavior" is not minor behavior.  Ms. Beattie is talking about behavior that is truly out of control and usually committed by someone who does not wish to take responsibility for that behavior.  Codependent people end up taking responsibility for that behavior -- usually out of a sense of obligation disguised as love -- and trying to rescue the other person from their actions and their consequences of those actions.  We seek to control and "reel in" that behavior, to try to keep everything in that person's life -- and our own by extension -- from flying apart at the seams.

Dave was the last person[1] I was codependent with before getting help.  He was out of control, not handling his own past well and acting out in ways that were self-destructive and destructive to those of us in his life.  And for the longest time, I made excuses for him and took responsibility -- responsibility that Dave refused to take himself -- for cleaning up the resulting mess.  As a result, my life fell apart -- which is pretty common for codependent people.

So I went into therapy and began to examine my own behavior, why I tended to put other people's needs before my own, and chose to attempt control other people who were out of control rather than taking care of myself.  I re-examined my self-perceptions, came to understand and appreciate my own boundaries, and learned to put far more of my energy into caring for myself.

Like recovery from most things, recovery from codependency is a process, and usually a never-ending one.  I still have moments where I slip into the old "care-taker" habits that marked my relationship with Dave and others.  In fact, Dave and I started hanging out again -- and even started moving toward a relationship again -- as I continued my therapy.  At the time, Dave seemed like a changed man, and I decided I wanted to give him another chance.

Unfortunately, I discovered appearances were deceiving toward the end of June, and that Dave was still up to his old games of deceit, manipulation, and using others (including me).[3]  So I eventually told Dave it was over again and told him I would not talk to him until he got help for his problems.

Before the second separation, I had felt the old patterns come back.  I had started to allow my life to center around Dave again.  However, I can proudly say that things hadn't gotten as bad that time around than it was at the beginning of the year.  Plus, once I saw the truth about Dave's continuing out-of-control behavior, I quickly cut it off.  For a codependent person, that is a victory.

I've heard from Dave since, and my response has been even stronger.  The last time I heard from him, I laid out the rules of what it would take to prove himself to me and convince me to let him back in my life.  Dave didn't like the answer, said a few nasty things to me, and stormed off. I haven't heard from him since, and while I'm a bit saddened he hasn't changed, I will not accept an unchanged Dave.  I cannot change him, and I do not want him back unless he chooses to change himself.

I hope that Dave will be the last person I get into such a rough and out-of-control relationship.  I'd much rather find a great guy who understands and values his own integrity and a sense of responsibility.  But if I do meet another guy like Dave and even start getting involved with him, I now have the sense of self-worth and the tools to recognize it and put the brakes on.  And that is good enough.

Note:
[1]  It's important to note that my codependency developed over a long period of time and is the cumulative result of taking responsible for many people over the many years of my life.  While Dave was a toxic person[2] and not good for me, it's important to note that my codependency did not start with him.  Also, I am responsible for my codependency and my recovery from it now.  As Ms. Beattie also says, it may not be my fault that I'm the way I am, but it's my responsibility to do something about it.

[2]  It's important to note that toxic people are not worthless or irredeemable.  Saying a person is toxic simply means that they choose to behave in ways that hurt other people and are often unhealthy to be around.

[3]  The final straw for me was that we broke up and agreed to just be friends.  I was crushed by this decision.  While we were out together three days after the decision, a waitress asked if we had considered getting married, and Dave told her that we were actually engaged.  That was the moment that I realized that Dave would tell any lie that suits his purpose, even if his only purpose is to get a little extra attention from a random person in a restaurant.  I didn't want anyone who had such a low regard of his own integrity.  Someone who can lie so easily for such a pointless reason cannot be trusted to treat others properly.

Today's look at Alisa Harris's book, "Raised Right:  How I Untangle My Faith from Politics" continues to look at chapter seven.  The underlying theme of this chapter -- which I did not adequately explain in last week's post, leaving my criticisms somewhat without the necessary context -- is about how Ms. Harris's conservative upbringing focused so much on politics that it consumed her whole identity and her relationships with other people.  I touched upon a similar phenomenon when I wrote about fundamentalist identity over at Confessions of a Former Conservative[1].  As such, I can identify with a lot of what Ms. Harris talks about in this chapter, though under slightly different conversations.

Harris speaks in the first paragraph of how her political leanings set her apart from many of her peers:

And while they were e-mailing one another about boys and fingernail polish, I was assuming the mantle of e-champion, which required two things of me:  an e-mail address to receive daily Bush campaign emails and the indefatigable conviction that I must forward to everyone I knew.

While I talked about how fundamentalist identity can consume one's entire identity, I had not considered discussing how it echoes Ms. Harris's own experience as described above.  Not only does such an identity consume a person, but it often becomes something that completely separates them from others.  In many ways, I imagine this is intentional, as fundamentalist and other conservative Christians find it important to identify themselves as separate from other people who are still "of the world."  As such, this obsession with in-group activities to the detriment to other interests that one might have in common with their peers becomes an important sacrificial act demonstrating one's "insider" status.

This is particularly troubling when one is young, as Ms. Harris notes that young conservative Christians -- and I'd add fundamentalist Christians regardless of political involvement -- tend to act like adults and associate more with adults.  There's a certain sense where "fighting the good fight" becomes so important that simple things like expressing an interest in boys or girls, popular culture, and other things, which ultimately can rob such youth of their childhood.

I've often looked back at my own youth -- and even my college years -- and wished I had them to live them over.  I find that because I was so focused on being the perfect Christian, I put a lot of my personal development -- especially emotional development -- on hold.

When I finally addressed these areas of my life, I found myself trying to work through things in an adult world.  I found myself learning social skills and emotional coping techniques while holding down a job and acting like a responsible adult, as opposed to having the luxury of working through these things while still being able to rely more on my parents and having far less responsibilities.

This is one of the "holes" or distortions that Ms. Harris alludes to in this chapter of those whose politics become the whole of their identity.  It's one that I felt she should have explored more.
 
Note:
[1]  As an aside, let me said that I'm quite pleased that Former Conservative has managed to rejoin the ranks of bloggers everywhere.  We missed you while you were silent, guy.

Today's post is going to be somewhat personal, as it's what I have the energy and mental capacity for today.  I'm still recovering from my FINE[1] day yesterday.  I get them every now and then.[2]

One of the things I've found over the past year that it's actually helpful to acknowledge such days and even indulge in them.  Prior to entering therapy last January, I would fight hard against such days and demand that I "just get over it."  After all, it was "just a feeling," and I should be able to control them.[3]  I would seek to diminish my rough days if not outright repress them.

The problem with that approach is that they never really go away.  Things just build up, waiting to get out.  Eventually, when you can't hold it in any longer, it all boils over, explodes, and makes a huge mess.

Yesterday, I actually had a much better day by acknowledging that I was having a bad day and allowing myself to do so.  I was able to both indulge in a bit of self-pity and make light of it.  It made the whole experience not great, but far more bearable and manageable.

As a society, we tend to encourage people to put on a happy face, to act like nothing's wrong, and to think of people who "have it worse."  The problem with this is that while there may be people with worse problems out there than what we are facing, our problems are still very real and we need the freedom to deal with them.  And we can't do that if we can't even acknowledge them or feel like we have to downplay them.

Notes:
[1]  FINE is short for "Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional."  An old coworker taught me that.  He learned it when he was in counseling years ago.

[2]  Right now, they seem to be happening every other week or so.  I think it's the holiday season combined with the fact that a few "major events" happened in my life around this time of year, and my mind tends to gravitate towards the associated memories.

[3]  The need to be in control is a major issue for most codependents.  One of the big wake-up calls I faced when I finally acknowledged my codependency and got help for it was acknowledging just how much I needed to be in control of not only myself, but my circumstances and others in it and how I sought to exert that control.

As I've considered thinking about Wednesday's post about the way various women are portrayed in the book "Destiny," I started wondering what I had hoped to accomplish with the post.  After all, it's not like I expect future authors of the Rogue Angel series to read my post and try to improve the series' portrayal of women.  I simply don't have that level of influence.

In many ways, I think I was engaging in a bit of navel-gazing, though I consider it much-needed navel-gazing.  You see, I've never picked up a book and given much thought to how many female characters there were, how those characters interacted, how they were portrayed, or what other notions about women were being reinforced -- implicitly or explicitly.

Having spent many months learning more about feminist thought and how society perceives and treats women from fantastic bloggers like Personal Failure, Fannie, Ana, and Mmy, I felt it would be a good exercise to step back, try to see past my own privilege, and consider my reading material in a different light.  In effect, I was seeking to become a better ally to women.

I must say, it was an enlightening experience.  In the course of seeking to recall the book and write a post about it, I found a number of problematic themes to write about -- more than I even originally expected to find.  These are things that I would have overlooked normally.  Or if I had noticed them at all, I would have shrugged them off as minor things, rationalizing that with such a powerful, independent woman like Annja as the main character, such things couldn't possibly matter.  The kickass woman made everything alright, right?

Well, no, I don't think so.  Positive and negative portrayals of women -- or any marginalized group, for that matter -- are not mutually exclusive, and the tendency to ignore the latter when the former is present only allows the negative ones to flourish in the culture.  So learning to spot these problematic themes is important.

I think for me, the best example of my normal oversight of this sort of thing came from when I went to write the post and could not remember any women in the story other than Annja.  I had originally boldly declared that the book failed the Bechdel test on that grounds alone.

And yet, as I mined the book for quotes and details for my posts, I ran into two other women in the story.  One woman (Maria) I had forgotten completely.  The other woman (the unnamed server), my brain had surreptitiously rewritten as a man, demonstrating that I'm still perfectly capable of assuming that a man is the default human.  That was not a comfortable realization, let me tell you.  I find myself wondering how many other women in the story I have invisibilized simply by forgetting about them or remaking them into men in my mind.

It would be easy to blame the culture and say that I only did these things because it's the way my upbringing and experiences have conditioned me to think and behave.  While that's certainly true, I think that's a terrible excuse.  After all, I am a part of that society and my actions contribute to the same conditioning of other people unless I do something about it.  And ultimately, I am the one person in the world I have control over.

So writing the post has further awakened me to something about the society and myself that I don't like.  So now I'm looking to change things by changing myself.  I am currently in the process of reading "Solomon's Jar," the second book in the Rogue Angel series, and I'm choosing to read it more mindfully.  I am looking out for female characters so that I can remember them.  I'm looking for problematic themes while reading them, rather than thinking about them after the fact.  I'm keeping an eye out for whatever messages the book might try to send me.  It'll be interesting to see what I have to say about the next book and my reaction to it.

If I can raise one or two other reader's awareness, that'll be a bonus.

I wrote the following entry and posted it to Bloopdiary (when I was still there) on 19 August 2005, when I was still processing through my breakup with Mike, who I had been with for four years.  I recently mentioned this entry to someone else and realized I no longer had a copy online.  So now it's online again.  Enjoy!

As I'm getting settled into my new apartment and finding ways to establish myself in Rochester, I find myself realizing just how little I think of Mike. In some ways, I find myself in that strange state where it just doesn't matter anymore. I've cried my tears, and while I feel the slight ache of being alone once again (and not getting any younger), I have a strange peace about having lost him.

It was a rough journey getting here. I found myself emotionally distraught about the whole thing. I cried so many tears. To be honest, I never realized I could cry so much over the end of a relationship when I was the person to end it. But there you have it. And I think I learned a lot about it. I came to understand one of Freyja's myths a bit better.

When Freyja lost Od, she cried tears of gold. Indeed, according to Snorri, this is why "Freyja's tears" became a kenning for gold. I always found the fact that her tears were gold a mild curiosity. Now I see it as an incredibly profound mystery. And I have a much greater appreciation for the value of grief. Indeed, I'd go so far as to say that true grief is a sacred act in its own right. Hence the tears of gold.

I wanted to quit being sad over the breakup. I kept wanting to "move on already." I didn't want to shed any more tears. I was "wasting time." But no, the tears, the sadness, the grief kept coming. And my sweet Lady kept telling me, "No, you need this. Cry your tears. They're my golden tears." So I did the only thing I could do, I cried, and I explored my grief.

Then I realized why I cried so much. I was experience true grief, the kind that only comes when one loves so freely and without reservation, only to lose that love. In effect, I wept bitterly because I loved fully. And there is a certain beauty in that.

You see, I think that's the mistake we too often make. We're too afraid of that kind of grief, so we avoid being so vulnerable. We only love grudgingly, often holding back and never truly letting go. We do that because we think that sense of grief is bad and to be avoided.

After the past couple months, I've come to a different way of thinking. As painful as such sorrow and grief may be, it is in its own way a celebration. My tears were bitter, but they were born of my precious love. I came to understand that as I cherished my love, I could cherish my grief which came as a result of it. In that view, they became bittersweet, and I could see how they really were tears of gold.

I'm not sure many people would understand that. But that's okay. I guess it's one of those things you have to experience and come to understand yourself. Me explaining it just won't do. But for those who do understand, I can just imagine their reaction to reading this.

I figured it was time for another video.  I took a break from ethics because I wanted to talk about personal power and silence.



Personally, I think that we as a society tend to forget that personal power comes from those deep recesses inside ourselves that usually get drowned out by the noise of the world around us and even that of the more active parts of our conscious mind.  By starting the journey from a place of silence (or by plunging into such a place), I think we have a much higher rate of success.

I also couldn't resist putting in a bit of a plug for Psychic's Thyme and mentioning the fantastic Ostara ritual held there last night.

I remember how frustrated Diane, our old IVCF staff worker, used to get with me my sophomore year in college.  I had decided to get involved in IVCF leadership that year and had taken a position on the chapter's executive board.  It quickly became apparent that I was not well suited or that kind of leadership.  My outlook was simply more relational.

The scene played out several times, varying only in details.  The day of a meeting would roll around, and I'd be talking to someone.  The conversation would be deep and personal, as I was never good at small talk and people tend to spill their guts around me anyway.  I'd note the time and decide that continuing the conversation was important than getting to my meeting on time.  Often, I wouldn't make it to the meeting at all.  This would frustrate Diane to no end, adn she'd try to get me to understand that while relationships were important, always breaking my other commitments for the sake of a conversation wasn't entirely right either.  I don't think she ever got very far with me on that score.  Eventualy, we agreed to muddle through the rest of the year.  We also agreed that I'd take a role the following year that would be better suited to my nature.

I've grown a lot in the fifteen years that have passed since then.  As a more mature person, I can now more readily see Diane's point more clearly.  And I'm more likely to judge a relational need more carefully these days, taking into account how immediate the need is, how serious my other commitments are, and other such factors.  Today, there's a real possibility that I'll say, "This is important.  I care and I want to be there for you.  But can we talk about it in a couple of hours?"

But I'm still mainly relationally oriented.  I'll keep my commitments to activities like meetings to a minimum.  The difference, however, is that I'm less likely to take on sucha  commitment in the first place, rather than taking it on and then breakign it later.  Because I'd rather have my time free so I can listen to people.  I understand that now.  And I allow for that preference reponsibly.

Freedom is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err.

--Mohandas Gandhi

I never heard of the above quote by Gandhi before.  That's a shame, as it encapsulates something I've been thinking and saying for a long time.  We have to be free to make mistakes.  We have to be free to be wrong.  Until we can grant ourselves that freedom, we cannot grant ourselves any freedom.  Because any course of action we might take will be bound up by fears.

When faced with a choice, there's always that chance we will make a bad choice.  It's a fact of reality.  We may do our best to make the most informed choices humanly possible.  But there's no such thing as total knowledge.  There's no such thing as being perfectly informed.  So sometimes, we make a bad choice on our imperfect information.  We either accept that possibility, or we rob ourselves of the ability to act at all, out of fear of doing exactly that.

And truth be told, why not allow ourselves the freedom to make a wrong choice?  Is making a wrong choice really such a bad thing?  Certainly, wrong choices can cause problems.  (But then, so can right choices.)  And wrong choices can hurt people.  (But then, so can right choices.)  But in my experience, there are few situations where the the choices and their results are so awful, so irreversible, that it would spell the end of the world, or the end of anything at all.

In most cases, a wrong choice leads to a mess that can be cleaned up.  So we clean up the mess, we repair the damage the wrong choice created, and we learn from the experience.  What's more, we're probably better equipped to make better choices in the future because of that learning experience.  That's the gift of allowing ourselves the freedom to be wrong.

I would rather make a thousand mistakes then never make any choices because I'm frozen by the fear of being wrong.

Last Tuesday evening, a woman working one of the kiosks stopped me while I was headed out of the mall. She asked me if she could ask me a question, and I foolishly answered in the affirmative. She ended up grabbing my right thumb and began to work on it with the "miracle three step nail smoother and polisher" she was trying to sell. So she spent three to four minutes going through her lengthy spiel (which I admit was quite entertaining) while she smoothed, buffed, and shined my thumbnail. When she was done, she had me hold my thumbs side by side and compare the nails. Sure enough, my right thumbnail was much shinier, smoother, and nicer to look at. Of course, at this point, the woman encouraged me to buy the whole nail care package she was offering for $40. (When I said no, she offered to go as low as $25.)

The woman made one critical error in her pitch. She was trying to convince me to buy the kit for my sister or my mother. (We had already established the fact that I'm single by the close of her spiel.) It never once occurred to her that I might like to have smooth, shiny nails. In fact, I would encourage anyone selling any sort of "beauty product" to never overlook the possibility that the man you're talking to is either a metrosexual or a gay man. (Okay, in the latter case, it also helps if said gay man also happens to be a bit on the "girly" side.) Had she managed to appeal to my own sense of vanity, she might have made the sale.

As it turns out, she made a sale for Wal-Mart instead. As I walked away looking at my shiny thumbnail and thinking I really did like the way it looked, it occurred to me that just about any department store probably carries a similar product. So today after lunch, I wandered off to Wal-Mart and looked through their nail care aisle. Sure enough, I found a similar three-step tool for working on my nails. (They had a seven-step tool as well, but that just seemed way to complicated for me. I'm not that vain -- at least not yet.) And the silly thing cost me $1.05 rather than $25.

Granted, the $25 kit the woman tried to sell me had much more in it. But she didn't really demonstrate or otherwise do a good job of selling the rest of the kits contents. So I got just what I was looking for and did so inexpensively.

As soon as I got home, I gave my new toy a try. I actually think my nails turned out pretty well. They're not perfect, and I suspect that's because I need a bit more practice (and patience) to get everything just right. But they certainly look better than they did.

And there's just something about making my nails look nice that makes me feel good about myself. I guess it's a pampering thing.

This afternoon, I decided to go to the psychic fair at the Henrietta Holiday Inn. While there, I decided to get an aura portrait reading (that's where the psychic sketches the colors in your aura and explain what they mean and how it's affecting your life) by one of the people there. The theme of my reading was that I need to begin working more on integrating my spirituality into the rest of my life. This wasn't a surprising message, because I've been getting it from different angles. In fact, over the past couple of weeks, I'd say the gods have gotten more aggressive about this message. In fact, I think they've gotten to the point where they're basically saying "do this or we're going to do it for you."

For example, a couple Saturdays ago, Marina invited myself and Rudi (a former dancer in the company) to come to her home for lunch after the beginner's jazz dance class. While there, I mentioned that I had to run to Psychic's Thyme at some point that afternoon. Of course, the other two asked me what that was, so I told them. I ended up telling them about my spiritual interests, which fascinated both of them. I ended up telling them about a couple of my experiences with seeing spirits (to my credit, I'm getting better at being open about the fact that I'm developing my abilities as a medium). By the end of the discussion, they both decided they want me to give them a reading after next Saturday's class. And Marina has gone on to tell at least one other person (a student in her intermediate class) associated with the company about my interests. I suspect that by the time she's done, everyone in or associated with the company will know. Hopefully, they're all as open-minded as Marina and Rudi were. (Actually, I'll be happy as long as no one tries to perform an exorcism on me.)

The second example of this came during this past week. When I got a break from work, I decided to quickly check my site stats for this blog. While checking them out, I discovered that someone visited my site from work on Thursday afternoon. I was quite surprised by this, and quickly confirmed that it wasn't a visit I made myself. As I dug into this (I even downloaded the server logs for that day so I could check the parts of my domain that my two Sitemeter accounts don't cover), I discovered that my visitor must have found my site at least somewhat fascinating. While they read only a couple of archives and two individual posts from this blog, they also visited my Dear Lover, Journey (I guess I'm out at work now!), my main site, and my photo albums.

I'm not sure how they found my site. The logs indicate there was no referring site, which suggests they typed the address in directly. I asked the two people at work who I thought it could be, but they admitted that they didn't even know I had my own website. So I'm completely mystified. I really don't care that someone from work read it all. They didn't really find out anything I'm trying to hide. (I'm smart enough to avoid posting anything I want to keep secret.) Though I do hope that they talk to me about it at some point. I'd like to know who it was, especially considering the significant amount of surfing they did.

So yeah, it would seem that everything in my life is coming together. I think I'm okay with that, though. I'm just a bit shell-shocked.

As I began my trip back home, yesterday, I stopped at the Acorn market to refuel. After refueling I stepped inside to use the ATM and restrooms. While standing at the ATM, I overheard a small group of women talking and looking at the map hanging on a nearby bulletin board. They were trying to find where they were. I tried to tell them where to look and then offered to show them as soon as I was done at the ATM. Once I had my money and receipt in hand, I stepped over, did a quick scan of the map, and pointed at the cigarette burn that used to be the intersection of Rt. 15 and Rt 328 on the map.

"Oh, so we should be in New York soon!" one woman said in relief. I agreed and asked them where they were headed. "Niagara Falls," she replied. I asked her about the route they were taking, and she confessed he didn't really know because they were using a GPS. (This is a somewhat common side effect of using a GPS for travel that I simply don't comprehend.)

We then spent a few minutes talking about their plans, and I recommended a few things in the Niagara Falls area I enjoy doing. We then talked about their larger trip, which includes an earlier stop at Hershey and a future excursion into New York City. The conversation lasted about five minutes as we all waited our respective turn to use the restrooms.

As I thought about it later, I was amazed at this further evidence of some of the changes I've gone through. While my father has certainly been the kind to strike up conversations with random people on the road, it's not something I've ever shown either an interest or ability in doing. And yet, here I was, engaging in a conversation that would come perfectly naturally for Dad, and I was finding it equally natural and comfortable for myself, too.

What happened to the shy, socially incompetent guy I used to be? How did I become this self confident, only slightly socially incompetent guy who spoke with ease to a group of perfect strangers?

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's just surprising.

This past Saturday, I took my parents out to dinner at TGIFriday's. While there, our waitress asked me about my pendants. I normally wear two pendants:

1. A silver pentagram which is a little bigger than a dime. It has a bear at the top point, walking on all fours.
2. A brass spherical cage, which contains a piece of amber resin.

Both pendants are religious in nature and are deeply personal to me. I've had a handful of people ask about them, and I'm usually quite happy to answer their questions. In fact, the only two times I'm hesitant to say anything are as follows:

1. When I'm at work (or a work-related function) and there are customers around
2. When I'm with my parents, especially my mother

Sadly, this situation falls into that second category. And I could already see my mother's expression when the waitress asked about it. The problem with being the sole witch in a family that consists mostly of evangelical (and even fundamentalist) Christians is that it can certainly strain family relationships a bit.

After a brief hesitation, I simply told the waitress that they are religious symbols of significance to me. I think she realized I was being somewhat avoidant (and I hated that I was being avoidant) and let the matter drop. Fortunately, the subject quickly changed.

Then again, maybe that's not so fortunate. One of the messages that I keep getting over and over is that I need to be more open with my family. I need to let them into all aspects of my life. The problem is, that's difficult when there are certain aspects of it that they don't really care for. Certain subjects cause hackles to raise.

In fairness to my parents, it's not just them, either. Any time the subject of my faith comes up around family, I get defensive. I automatically expect a problem. And that's not fair. Not only that, I'm beginning to wonder if on some levels, my own family is unconscioually reacting to my own defensiveness. It wouldn't surprise me.

But at the same time, I still haven't found a good way to overcome my first reaction in such situations.

Through Benton Quest, I found out about the yearly efforts of Kelly Stern to spread a bit of pride on the blogosphere during Gay Pride Month. In addition to supplying his yearly picture, Kelly has also asked everyone to post a story -- their coming out story being the most obvious choice -- with the image. As I have an entire subdomain dedicated to my journey to sexual acceptance (And I hope to update it in the next couple months), I won't reproduce my coming out story here.

Instead, I'd like to take this moment to talk about why my coming out story matters to me and the implications that my coming out has had for the rest of my life. You see, to my mind, my coming out represented the beginning of a much larger process, my journey to freedom and self-discovery.

Before coming out, I was trapped in a certain self-image, one built on ideas of who I was supposed to be, how I was supposed to behave, and how I was supposed to interact with the world around me. I had accepted others' (and many people were part of that group) expectations and limitations, and tried to fit the mold set out for me.

Coming out as gay was the first step I took in breaking and rejecting that mold. It was the first time where I said, "No, this is not who I am." And in that moment, I was able to ask the frightening, yet liberating question that followed, "Then who am I?"

At that moment, the journey to answer that question began, because I gave myself permission to seek that answer, no matter what. It started out slow and certainly was rocky at times. Indeed, there were more than a few times when I looked back at that broken mold that I hadn't entirely discarded and worried that I was drifting too far from who I should be. But as time went by, I realized that I needed to let myself discover who I was and not worry so much about who I should be.

Years later, I'm still working on answering that question. But as time goes by, I'm finding that I like the answer I have so far more and more. And in that, I have found increasing freedom.

Back in November, I wrote about noticing a picture from my past while visiting my parents. While at my parents' house for Easter, I decided to scan a copy of it. So now, you can all see how incredibly good I looked back in the Summer of 1991.

I'm actually quite pleased with how well the scan came out. I commented to my parents that if I had made the printed copy I made the same size as the original, I could've just about swapped them without anyone noticing.

One thing I did note about the picture is my eyes. I didn't go in for the second surgery (the reasonably successful one) to correct my lazy eye until my late twenties. So if you look at this picture closely enough, you can make out where they were misaligned at the time. It's something I never thought about back then unless someone asked me about it. But now, it just seems so strange. It makes me wonder how much it actually did effect my feelings about myself on a subconscious level at the time.

I can still see a lot of myself in this picture, really. I have a receding hairline now, and my stomach is considerably larger, though I'm slowly working on changing the latter. (I think I'm on the brink of dropping another waist size.)

And for anyone who wants to know, the tee shirt says, "In the market for a new brain." It was my favorite shirt back then. Of course, that was also back when a lot of my classmates would ask if they could have my old one. ;)

Yesterday, I did something I haven't done in almost two and a half years. I went grocery shopping.

I tried grocery shopping and cooking for myself when I first moved to Rochester. I think that lasted for about a month before I decided it was too much bother. I just found the idea of running home after work and cooking my own food to be a nuisance. So I started ordering takeout, ordering delivery, grabbing a sub on the way home, and even eating out most of the time. I even started buying food items for lunch and breakfast at convenience stores.

And for two and a half years, this arrangement worked perfectly for me. I had the excess cash flow to support expense of that kind of lifestyle, so it was comfortable. However, now that various factors -- like starting to contribute to my company's 401k plan and the extra expense of taking dance classes -- have altered my (non-existent) budget to the point where I'm just barely breaking even each month.

As such, I've decided it's time to change my eating habits. This week, I decided to start with something simple: Buying groceries and putting together my own lunches and breakfasts rather than buying something "on the run." The net result is that I covered two thirds of my meal requirements this week on about one fourth of my typical food bill for a week. It's actually kind of depressing to realize how much money I have been wasting due to overspending.

I figure I'd start with just lunches and breakfasts for now, as well as dinner for the two nights I need a quick bite before dance class. For most dinners, I'll still buy something or eat out for the next week or two. So my spending won't be completely minimized, but I'm hoping to at least put a bit more of a buffer between my income and my total expenses.

I'm also working on bringing my own snacks to work, which is my other big expense. This will have the advantage of being cheaper as well as healthier for me. Granted, I don't expect my trips to the candy machine to disappear immediately. (If that was the case, I already failed on my first day.) But overall, I hope this will help cut down on my spending even more.

I actually got a huge compliment from the woman in front of me in the checkout line. She glanced over my pile of items, which consisted mostly of yogurts, fruits, and stuff to make salads (as well as a couple pre-made salads at real good prices) and wraps. She smiled and said that I had an extremely healthy selection. In fact, her exact words were that her nutritionist would be pleased and proud of my groceries. I smiled and thanked her. Eating healthier isn't one of my primary goals in doing this (I actually feel I do pretty good at that anyway), but it should be a nice side effect of the process.