Advice to late bloomers

Okay, so this is who I am: I didn’t kiss a girl til I was 19, and it was a stage kiss. Didn’t hook up with anyone til I was 21, and didn’t sleep with anyone til I was 22. I felt frustrated, sad, rejected, and often very lonely. I felt ashamed. I felt out of control, and less than. Let me take a moment and say that there is NOTHING wrong with you. At the risk of sounding like your dad, this stuff happens for everyone at different speeds.

Here’s what I didn’t do about it: Blame all women. Feel entitled to anyone’s body. You can’t do this. Seriously, you can’t. While it might sound like a dream come true for a woman to walk up to you and grab your junk or your ass, as someone who’s had this done to me, non-consensually, no, it isn’t fucking cool, and it feels nasty and violating. So you can’t do it to anyone else. I mean, look – why would you WANT to make someone feel shitty? And yes, it DOES make women feel shitty. So if you’re doing this, STOP.

(My dad raised me with a lot of respect for women, and he was a great husband. I remember saying some dumb shit at like 8 like “Dad, you MAKE the money, you should decide what to do with it!” because I wanted him to buy a new computer for me or something. My dad knocked that bullshit down real fast, and made clear to me that money decisions are JOINT decisions between him and my mom. Thanks for being a radical communist, dad!)

And before you think I’m getting up on a high horse, let me say that I was far from perfect. Did I say dumb shit like “Women hate me!”? Maybe it was because I spent too much time feeling sorry for myself and being socially awkward as hell. It wasn’t “all women.” It was just something that was happening in my life. Let me say to y’all late bloomers – it sucks. I feel you. It’s hard feeling like you’re being left behind by your peers. It’s hard feeling like the odd man out. I have sympathy for you, because I still have sympathy for 21 year old me.

Here’s what you do: Keep your chin up. Exercise. Stay in good shape. Don’t give up. Experience and learn from the people around you. Be interested in them as people and they’ll become interested in you. You’ll connect emotionally. Even if doesn’t turn into something romantic, that’s not a bad thing! You have a new friend! That’s a great thing! Your new friend has friends! Meet them too! Think of all the cool stuff you’re going to do together and learn from each other.

Develop hobbies with social groups built into them. The poetry scene was a literal lifesaver for me. I heard people’s hearts, their suffering, their joy, their anger – I learned how to relate to people through their art and my own. Maybe you’re not a poet – that’s cool! Find something that other people are doing that you like, and do it with them. Maybe it’s the Ren Faire. Maybe it’s running track or craft beers or square dancing! Learn to do it well, and meet other people who are passionate about it! A well-rounded person is easier to love.

Late bloomers, let me say: the greatest achievement in life is not becoming an alpha male. That’s nothing but a thin balloon, full of hot air, that reality easily bursts. The greatest achievement in life is making the world a better place, in big and small ways. The greatest achievement is taking care of the people around you. Be there for them. They’ll return the favor. Even if they don’t, you have the satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing.

I’m 31 and happily married. I have a real life partner who’s been with me through my mother’s death, my grandmother’s death, and a major job loss (all in one giant, shitty year). And I’m there for her. That is the greatest feeling in the world, and you’ll have it someday. Don’t worry what other people are doing – just worry about being the best person you can be. Become a person worth loving, and love will eventually find you.

To more jerkass late bloomers: you think you want sex. You don’t want sex. You want to feel less lonely and more empowered. Take a step back, man, and realize that when the dark of night falls over your bed that what you want is not more sex, it’s more love. Love yourself first, and this searing need for validation through traditional channels of masculinity will fade. Your worth is not connected to how many girls you sleep with.

Writing the Grief, the last few days.

So I’ve been away from this blog, away from Facebook, and away from my e-mail for a few days, which, if you know me, is an extended period of time. During this time, I’ve delivered my eulogy twice, seen my family members weep over my dead mother’s body multiple times, seen my father cry more in the last few days than I had in the last thirty years, and said goodbye to the woman who birthed and raised me while simultaneously celebrating her life.

It’s not an emotional stew. It’s an emotional avalanche. It’s everything, all at once. There was a Simpsons episode where Mr. Burns finds out that everything is trying to kill him at once, but because the disease can’t “fit through the door” so to speak, he just couldn’t die. That’s kind of how I am right now, but with emotions instead of diseases. I’m not… numb per se. But I’ve got a million things going on right now and I’m not sure what order to feel them in. Overwhelming is an understatement.

My mother is being cremated and interred in a small, idyllic cemetery near my childhood home. Today was the last time I was going to see her body. That feeling is still sinking in. As much as we all like to say that they aren’t in that box, they are, in a way, in that box. The morticians did an amazing job; my mom looked the way she did five years ago, before the disease really ravaged what was left of her body. While a dead person is still a dead person, it was astonishing. That made it both easier and harder. Her gaunt, skeleton-like appearance when she first died was indicative of all of her suffering, and in a way, all of ours. Her restored appearance, post-embalming, erased that almost completely. But it also made it less real – the death, the loss. Today, in the last few minutes we would have with her, it really slammed me.

Both viewings yesterday and today were lively affairs, believe it or not. My family is not one that succumbs to morbidity and despair easily. These last few days we saw friends and neighbors and family members that we hadn’t seen in years, sometimes decades. There was a lot to talk about. There was a lot to catch up on. It was easy to get lost in the joy of that. To get swept up in the love and support. And there was a LOT of it. It was weird for me. I’m used to being the supporter, not the supported. It’s hard for me to accept any of that. But I did my best, and it really did elevate my spirits.

At the end of each day, my father spoke about his life with my mother. He spoke about how they met, what their lives together meant. He broke down throughout the eulogy, but true to his character, he struggled onward, and conquered his tears each time. I was proud of him for the moving and meaningful things he said about my mother, about her character, about their love, without a script, without a safety net, with all that emotion, with everyone watching. Then my Aunt Betty, my mother’s older sister, spoke about their lives together as protesters, as sisters, as family. They told the story of my mother’s sweet sixteen, and how they rehabilitated an old stable behind their house, how they cleaned and repainted it, and how much the boys loved my mom. She also mentioned how my mother held the banners the highest and laughed the loudest. My father always said I had a lot of my mom in me, and I think that’s just more proof.

Then I gave my speech, which I’ll probably post later. I went off script near the end, regarding two things – my last memory of my mother and what this has taught me (This is actually way rougher than I delivered it during the eulogy because I am currently soul-deep tired). My last memory of my mother was the evening of Wednesday, May 29th. She was having trouble breathing because of congestion. She was death rattling, I realized later. My sister and father were pumping her chest, helping her breathe and clear the congestion. I couldn’t do much really besides hold her hand and say, “We’re all here, mom. We love you.” The care that my sister and father gave my mother was astonishing and loving and beautiful. They are my heroes. I am not afraid to say that. They are my heroes.

The other thing is this – I saw all the friends and family around me, and I knew that I still had far more than I lost. Even though I was heart broken, I knew there was so much in my life to look forward to, so many people in my life who still loved me. That is an amazing feeling – that there is still so much and so many people in my life to treasure.

Then we all paid our last respects, and that’s when all the joy and all the life fled the room. Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I don’t want to face the reality of death (a definite, and likely, possibility). But as soon as we started focusing on the death itself, we all started hurting again – as if all the joy we found (or at least I found, I can’t speak for everyone else) died with all the wonderful talk. Suddenly it was just us, alone, against the enormity of death. And I fucking hate that.

Carolyn said that these two things aren’t mutually exclusive – that celebrating my mom’s life and mourning her passing are meant to go together. I know she’s right. I just hate seeing the people I love in pain. I hate being in pain. (Who really likes it?)

I had trouble tearing myself away from the casket today. I couldn’t bring myself to touch her (kissing her cold forehead on Friday afternoon was the most awful experience of my life, but I couldn’t stop doing it) so I squeezed the edge of the casket in my hands as hard as I could. And in my head, I promised her I would live every day of my life in her honor. I would take the days of my life and use them well, in the ways that she never could because she was so, so sick.

I’ve been in a rut with my job for a long time. I think it’s time I started looking elsewhere, trying to figure things out. I need to do something, anything more. I have too much to give, too much love in my heart, too much care for the world, to burn a third of my life churning butter for my corporate masters. Life is just too precious.

I have to say that my mother’s sickness and death is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, full stop. But at the same time, I can feel vast vistas of existence, of possibility, opening up before me. Before she died, the horizon only held death and pain, and the possibility of more suffering – hers and ours. Now… who knows? My mom’s been sick since I was 13. I’m 30 now. I have no idea what my life can or could be. But I’m going to find out, one way or another. Before, it seemed like any effort I made would be doomed to failure. Why? Because my mother was going to die. Now? Who knows?

I want to find out. For the first time in my life.