The Story of YOUR Life

In “These Are The Days,” as Tyler struggles to come to grips with his sexuality and the dysfunction of his family, he often looks at Caleb and Caleb’s family and expresses a desire to have the things Caleb has.  To Tyler, Caleb has everything figured out and has a healthy family that supports him unconditionally.  At one point Caleb shares some advice his mother shared with him:

“When I came out to my mom,” Caleb started slowly, conjuring the memory in his mind.  “She said that we all wish we could be something or someone other than we are.  All of these people we want to be like, we don’t know their whole story.     Are they really that smart or good or inspirational?  Do they really have it all together?  And more importantly, how did they get that way?  Something or someone happened in their lives to help them become the person we see, who we end up being jealous of.  My mom said that instead of focusing on other people and their stories we should focus on our own story and make it the best it can be.”

People are constantly looking around themselves and comparing their own lives to what they imagine to be the lives of the people they respect or envy.  Notice I said “imagine.”  Our imaginations are really good at filling in the blanks that exist in our appraisal of other people’s lives.  Let me give you an example.

I’m fascinated with youtuber culture.  I can’t tell you how much I enjoy watching someone who is figuring out their gifts, who has the ambition to figure out the technology, and who not only  discovers a voice inside of themselves but a following in the world that wants to hear that voice.  There are some people on youtube who have literally changed the medium.  People like Zoella (who just crossed the ten million subscribers mark on her youtube account today) set the bar high.  They originate quality entertainment, collaborate to augment their own skills and gifts, and even sometimes articulate very real struggles they face in their lives. 

Those of us who peek through the youtube window into the homes and lives of these internet celebrities sometimes walk away wishing that what we just saw was a part of our own lives.  We all do it.  I’ve done it.  I talked about this a little in my first blog post; a part of me watches these incredibly talented people who seem to have their lives together and/or seem to be having the universe handed to them and I envy that.  I sit and wonder what my life would be like if I had the access to today’s technology fifteen years ago or if I could figure out “a voice” or “an angle” that would help me accumulate a following and all of the opportunities that come with that. 

The problem is, of course, that the five to fifteen minute video that is opened to the world via youtube only shows a small portion of the 23+ hours that remain in that person’s day, not to mention the 167+ hours that are unrecorded from that person’s week, 52 weeks out of the year.  Like I said, some youtubers are good about speaking to the world honestly about some of their struggles.  Going back to Zoella, I’m deeply impressed that she has so openly spoken of her struggles with panic and anxiety.  Some youtubers have powerfully shared their coming out stories.  Others never draw attention to their low points or their struggles or the challenges they face in life. 

And that’s okay.  Maybe that’s not a part of their voice or their vision.  I don’t think it’s the responsibility of every youtuber to offer the world a 100% accurate portrayal of their lives.  I do think it’s important for us to remember, though, that when we look at youtubers or recording artists or actors or that kid in our class or the person at work—all of these people who seem to have it all together, who appear so talented, who are lucky enough to have everything go so smoothly for them—we have to remember we don’t know their entire story.  We only know what we see.  Everything else that causes us to wish their life was our life is simply a product of our imagination. 

In reality the only person’s story we know completely (or as completely as we possibly can) is our own.  Too many times we look at our own stories and discount, discredit, and disregard them.  Our experiences are mundane, our talent is negligible, our opportunities are limited. 

Here’s the problem with that thinking.  When we compare the story we create for that person we envy to the story we muddy up for ourselves, we corrupt our story. 

How many of us would sit by and listen to someone tear another person apart?  “Your life is a mess!  Why can’t you be more like so-and-so?  Why are you too stupid to figure things out?  Why can’t you be funnier?  Why can’t you do your hair different?  Why don’t you have cooler friends?”  If we were walking down the street and came across someone being so insulting and abusive to another person, very, VERY few of us would keep walking.  We would do something to intervene.  But this kind of abusive talk is what we subject ourselves to all of the time when we compare ourselves to other people, when we minimize our own story and glorify the stories of people we don’t even know.  And like all victims of verbal abuse, we eventually begin to believe the things we so harshly tell ourselves. 

There is no greater power that we can be given than to take ownership of our story.  By all means, be honest with yourself about your shortcomings.  I’m never going to record an EP and I’m never going to paint a masterpiece.  But I am much more than my shortcomings and I will not give my shortcomings and my failings center stage in the story of my life.  I will be candid about the difficult things as best as I can, but the story of my life is not the story of a victim.  I will not exaggerate my gifts and talents but I will take pride in my knowledge and my abilities and how I am able to use these things to help others.  I will tell my story by telling my story not by drawing comparisons with the stories of people I wish I could emulate. 

God knows it can be a struggle to wrestle control of your story away from that voice in your head that likes to tell you what you lack and how far short you fall.  I think the power of our narrative is like any other muscle in our body; we have to exercise our commitment to telling our story for it to become as natural as catching yourself from falling on the ice. 

Before I end this entry, I want to address the irony of my advice to you.  “Physician, heal thyself” or some other similar sentiment has probably crossed your mind while reading this post.  How can someone who seems to be trapped by other people’s expectations be qualified to comment about the need to resist being trapped by our understanding of other people?  I’m not going to insult you by saying, “Take it from me.  This is a lesson from the trenches.”  Instead I’m going to remind you of a couple of things I’ve already said.

First, taking control of your story is a struggle.  It’s not something that happens all at once.  It’s also not something that, once done, won’t need to be done again several more times.  We all have ups and downs, good times and bad.  And that little voice inside each of us is always ready to start tearing us down again.  How we struggle to own our story is one of the fundamental themes of our stories. 

Second, we find those things in us that we can do and we embrace them.  I can’t come out at this point in my life, but I can write.  I can share my knowledge and my experience.  Like I said, I won’t exaggerate my gifts and talents but I will take pride in how I use these things to help others.  And that’s really what the writing of Troy Comets is all about—offering people the help and support and experience that is in me that only Troy Comets can express right now.

So, how about you?  How do you own your story?  What struggles have you had to overcome to take control of your story?  What nips at your heels, trying to trip you up and so you fall back into that old habit of talking to yourself in derogatory ways? 

As always, share what you’re comfortable with and if you ever need to talk, I’m always here.  

Oubliette

There is a word that I learned a long time ago.  I’m not sure how I was exposed to it; maybe I learned it from one book or another.  The word is oubliette.  It’s a French word and, if memory serves, means “place of forgetting.”  In a practical sense, it’s basically a very isolated dungeon cell. 

I don’t know why this word has stuck with me over the years.  Words tend to do that to me; I learn the most random word and its etymology and it’s permanently carved into the tissue of my brain.  But this word, oubliette, is one that has been especially bewitching over the years. 

It’s human nature to want to forget things like embarrassing experiences.  We all have those “I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die” moments, as if the underside of that rock would become a metaphysical clinic for specialty brain surgeries.  Once we’re checked in, the world famous French surgeon, Escargots à la Bourguignonne, would skillfully work his medical magic and remove the mortifying memory.

The thing is, though, that even if we could remove the memory of our embarrassing blunders, other people would still remember them.  And isn’t that what makes an embarrassing moment embarrassing—that other people were there to witness our screw ups?  We feel embarrassed because we are worried about how people will judge our words or actions. 

When I was a completely awkward and totally uncool teenager (as opposed to the perfectly uncoordinated and exceedingly maladroit adult that I have become), I remember one painful incident in which I said something and walked away wondering when exactly I had become the social disaster I had just witnessed.  I grew up in a small, rural community.  In our community was a store on the corner of the intersection that boasted the only stoplight in the entire county.  This was “The Merc.”  Merc being short for mercantile, an all-purpose store that sold everything from paint for your kitchen to long underwear for grandpa.  For some reason or another I had just stopped at “The Merc” before heading up the street to the county fair where, as luck would have it, I would run into my much cooler cousin and one of his friends from the upper echelons of our class at school.  For some reason that cannot be explained, that completely defies logic, that still makes my inner self cringe and curl up into the fetal position, I told my cool cousin in front of his super cool friend, “You should go to “The Merc.”  They have pants on sale.”  I am not exaggerating when I say my cousin and his friend exchanged a look and my cousin literally did the slow, “Okay.”  I said a hasty goodbye and walked away, looking for a place where my humiliation could be forgotten. 

It wasn’t so much what I said, though I suppose that was the catalyst for the embarrassment I felt.  It was how my cousin and his friend saw me in that moment that was the reason I felt embarrassed. 

This isn’t an example of an oubliette.  This is an example of what everyone deals with.  Now let me show you what a contemporary oubliette looks like.

When someone is gay and either hasn’t arrived at a time and place in which they can come out or simply is trapped in a life where coming out isn’t an option, that person is literally locked away in a dungeon inside themselves.  Sometimes the dungeon is of their own making; more often than not it’s the prison which was created by religion and perpetuated by society.  This isn’t about worrying about how people react to the things we say and do.  This is about being terrified at the prospect that people will react poorly to who we actually are. 

Psychology tells us that the prefrontal cortex, that part of our brain behind our forehead, helps us control the things we do and say.  These are our “social breaks” that, as a rule, keep us from saying or doing stupid things at the wrong time.  It’s what helps us from constantly producing episodes in our lives that would force us to seek out the skills of Dr. Escargots à la Bourguignonne

Psychology also tells us that we can’t control our sexuality.  Whereas there is a part of our brain to help protect us from perpetually living out embarrassing moments, there are no “sexuality breaks” to keep us from being attracting to any socially acceptable gender. 

We can learn to cope and recover from embarrassment.  I mean, eventually I was able to look my cousin in the eye again.  When we are trapped in the prison of a sexual identity we can’t admit or express, we truly find ourselves wanting to forget.  We become walking places of forgetting.  We repress, we deny, we compartmentalize—all because we realize there is something about ourselves we cannot change that could or would cause unmitigated damage if it were truly known.

So, like a prisoner locked away in that deepest, darkest dungeon who eventually forgets who they are and what human contact is and even that the love of God touches them in the most abandoned recesses of the most abysmal prison, too many LGBTQ people, trapped in their own private oubliettes, begin to forget these fundamental needs of survival.  We are convinced by well-meaning people that God does not love who we truly are.  We put up walls that prohibit human contact we are programmed to desire lest we betray ourselves.  We desperately try to starve and even kill the part of us that makes us who we are because we can’t possibly be someone that everyone from society to our own family tells us is not acceptable.

It is the most isolating prison imaginable.  It is a prison without walls, where anxiety is the chain around your neck and fear is the jailer.

So why am I writing about this?  Why would I talk about something that’s so depressing?  Something that, thankfully, fewer and fewer people have to struggle with because our culture is finally changing?  There are a couple of reasons.

The first is that, in writing about this, I hope that it gives you a glimpse into the struggle that nearly every LGBTQ person moves through at some point in their life.  Most people find a way to be pardoned, or at least paroled for periods of time.  Others live their entire lives locked inside of themselves, watching the world experience all that it can while they languish in their oubliette. 

The second reason is that I hope this serves as a reminder.  With all of the success and progress of the LGBTQ community in the United States, it’s sometimes difficult to remember that there are still pockets in our country in which this progress is denied and even undone.  And that’s just in the United States.  Think globally.  Think about the places around the world where to confess who you truly are is to literally risk death.  For all of our progress, we still have a long way to go.

What are your experiences, either with embarrassment over something said or done or with being locked inside of yourself?  I would like to hear your story.  Share what you’re comfortable with.  And remember, if you are locked in your own oubliette, you are not alone.  People are here for you.  I am here for you.

Hello! My Name is NOT Troy Comets

I am a writer.  

Well, I'm a lot of other things but they all lead back to writing.  I'm not going to claim to be a good writer or even a fair writer.  I'll leave that judgment up to you.  I do know that it's fairly easy for me to make words bend to my will and I've always been complimented on how well I communicate through writing.  

I've been a writer, or at least a writer-on-the-grow, since I was eleven years old.  I'm now in my early 40's.  Although I have assured you that I would leave the estimation of my writing skill up to you, dear reader, I think I can safely say:  I am MUCH better than I used to be.  It took me a long time to find my voice.  

And I guess that's what this blog is about:  My voice.  Or least an opportunity to add my voice to a larger, ongoing conversation.  You see, as I point out in my little "about me" summary on the right, Troy Comets is not my real name.  It's a pseudonym I've adopted for the purposes of writing.  (Someday I'll tell you the story about how I came up with the name.)  This name gives me a chance to share the thoughts and the stories that live in my head.  

So you're probably wondering what the big deal is and why I would need a fake name.  If you knew me (and I hope you will get to know me) you would know how difficult the decision was to adopt a fake name for the purposes of sharing my thoughts and my work.  I am an adamant proponent of people owning their words.  Most younger readers probably won't understand this but many older readers probably will be able to identify all too easily.  You see, dear reader, I am gay.  

...wow.  I have to stop for a moment even in writing this.

It's strange to write that so plainly, so boldly, so...openly and honestly.  My heart feels like it's about to pop inside my chest for the anxiety typing those three words.

I am gay.  

It's been an extremely difficult journey to get to the point where I can even type those three words, those six little letters, the truth that very, VERY few people actually know in my real life.  I was born at a time and raised in a place where gay was definitely not okay.  Yes, I realize it's 2016 and older, married professionals from every walk of life are finding ways to come out.  This isn't a possibility for me.  Not now.  Maybe not ever.  I can hope that someday I'll be able to say those three words without having a panic attack, but for now I can't.  This is my reality.  This is my life.

The difficult thing has been, though, that I don't want other people to struggle with the things I have been forced to struggle with.  I celebrate in my heart the equality that the LGBTQ community has won in the past year and I look forward with great anticipation to the accomplishments we have yet to achieve.  I thrill when I find myself drawn into those endless youtube autoplays of coming out stories and see, for the most part, the relief that the freedom of an identity claimed brings people.  And, to be honest, I struggle with the whole “If only I knew then what I know how” arguments I have with myself which typically lead to bouts of depression. 

The next question you probably have for me, dear reader, is:  Why now?  What has changed in my life that would cause me to make such a precarious decision as to put myself out there with such a weak cover?  Especially knowing that anyone with any technological talent will be able to peak behind the sheer curtain and see who I really am?  There are three fundamental reasons.

First, I have finished a story and, for better or worse, I have self-published that story.  It’s the very first story I am actually pleased with and the topic is pretty relevant, I believe.  It’s the kind of book I wish I would have been able to read when I was growing up.  That being said, it’s self-published.  It’s not as fine-tuned as it should be.  Every time I look at the manuscript I see things that need to be fixed or improved.  I chose to self-publish and get the story out there because I’m desperate to be a part of the conversation and try to make a difference.  Though the final product would have been a better product with an editor involved, I just couldn’t bring myself to taking that big of a step and exposing myself so obviously.

Second, I have been inspired.  You see, I’m a youtube addict.  There are very few things I’ll watch on TV but I will sit and watch youtube like there’s no tomorrow.  Music, knowledge, stories---all there ready to be discovered.  For the past couple of months I’ve been drawn into the “youtuber culture” in which talented people from all over the world post video blogs, providing not just entertainment for the viewer but a candid glimpse into their lives.  Travis Bryant, Zoella, Caspar Lee, Troye Sivan, and so many others—all sharing the power of their stories, inspiring not just their generation but obviously MY generation as well.  In the interest of fair disclosure, though, I need to tell you how very jealous I am of these brilliant people who are changing the world.  I wish I would have had the chance to make use of technology like these people; imagine the difference I could have made.  Imagine the person I could have become.

But that just wasn’t in the cards.  I’m okay with that because my journey, my story, gives me an insight into issues that I think people need to be aware of.

And that leads to the third reason I’m putting myself out there now.  Recently I was sitting on the sofa, all of these thoughts and inspirations and drives and needs colliding in my head, and I was trying to figure out what to do.  How do I share my story?  What do I have to offer?  I continually ran into the problem that *I* am not in a position to offer much of anything.  BUT…Troy Comets certainly can.  Troy Comets is fairly unfettered as long as we, dear reader, can agree to respect one another. 

It's a seriously risky thing I'm doing, you see.  I realize this is the internet and there are no secrets on the internet.    I also know that, because this is the internet, people can chose to be ignorant of certain facts.  In this case, it is my hope, dear reader, that you will chose to be ignorant of my true identity.  Troy Comets, for all intents and purposes, is me.  I simply can’t use my own name at this time.

Well, that was a lengthier first post than I had imagined I would write.  I hope it explains what “the point” of this blog will be and I hope that it’s caught your attention.  I hope that, as we move forward together, you will feel comfortable sharing pieces of your story with me.  I hope that this blog doesn’t become a soap box but instead serves as a launching platform for conversations.  This world has enough people talking at each other; let us agree, dear reader, to speak with each other.  Let’s share our stories with each other and the world.  Let’s see if we can make a difference.