I'm Here, and I'm . . . um . . .

I have been away from the blog for a few days in an attempt to focus on other projects. 

Key word, attempt.

One area that has definitely kept my attention is the rallies that have been flaring up all over California and now across the country. Proposition 8, the state proposition to ban gay marriage which passed on election day, is a 

difficult pill to swallow. (And I have swallowed many pills this year.) The struggle for most gay people throughout our lives is a sense of not feeling as good as others. We generally were not athletic stars, and were more "sensitive" than others. Individually, we have always felt that we are different, and as we get older, we have to somehow accept and justify that we ARE different, but still equal to others. The world has just told us that we are not equal. It hurts. It is not hard to understand why there are so many gay teen suicides, and such a high percentage of alcoholism.

A young boy, around 14 years old, interviewed me the night of the elections. He was producing a documentary about Prop 8 for a class project. He was extremely insightful for his age and asked me if I was offended by the mere fact that there was a Prop 8. Then he asked me to say something to the girls and boys his age who were struggling with their sexuality. I was suddenly silent. Fortunately I was with a good friend who has a grown daughter. Since she grew up with a gay father, he told her story of struggle and ridicule.  

I have not stopped thinking about that little boy. He was me. But thank God we have progressed enough to discuss it, and that a child his age can produce a documentary to help him deal with it.

As someone who always looks for the positive side, I see the passage of Proposition 8 to ban gay marriage as a chance to bring more attention to the issue than if it were defeated. I would have never written this blog, forcing myself to confront a topic I never talk about publicly. I'm still afraid to do that. How does that help that little boy? That is why I march despite a swollen leg. I personally need to physically release the frustration. We are always peaceful, but always passionate.  It is difficult not to hate, but we cannot. We are marching for the cause of love.

The photograph above was in the Los Angeles Times yesterday from Saturday's rally, which drew over 20,000 marchers. I can be seen in the far right bottom corner. Talk about coming out publicly! Unfortunately they did not capture my sign, so I have also included a photograph of it.

I have complete faith that times are changing and we are about to cross over a line in history. One small, fabulous, dancing skip for mankind. Soon these rallies, and the entire issue, will seem as incredulous as women not voting or blacks being forced to the back of the bus. I hope I live to see it.

Q & A

The election is over. All of our months and months of queries have been solved. What in the world will CNN do now? Probably have several more weeks of reliving the same questions, only now knowing the answers.

While waiting in line at my polling place yesterday, I ran into an old friend who has been going through a tough time. He said he has so many questions about his life's direction. Another friend called last night and said, "I question why the human spirit is so fragile."

So many people with so many questions. Of course we want answers, and need answers, but my question is this . . . don't we also love dwelling in the question? Many questions, such as the one about the human spirit will never be answered. Those are our favorites because we can reside in the "what if's" forever. They make for great discussion and intellectual debate. And our own solutions bring us peace.

A year ago, I was in pain and my legs were swollen. I didn't know why, and I was desperate for an answer. I got my answer and didn't like it. I wanted another answer. But here is the kicker. The true answer is yet to come. Do we really take our questions far enough? What if, one year ago, I would have said, "I wish to God someone would tell me why I am in pain," and then followed it up with, "And will this pain lead to one of the most unbelievable years of my life?" "Will this pain ultimately change the direction of my thinking and my life as I know it?" "Will an African American be elected President next year?" I can't even imagine that I would have had any clue to ask those questions which all would have been a beautiful "Yes."

We need to take our questions which we project to have negative answers and follow them up with unbelievably positive new questions. I love that. Ask any question you want, and then follow it up with three very positive "what if?" answers.

Last night, a big question was presented to the people of California. Do you approve of gay marriage? Their answer was a clear "No." Questions answered lead to far more in depth questions. "Why?" is a good start. The only issues in question are love and equality. So my biggest question is "How can you not believe in those?" And I close my political questions.

My original question was about our natural instinct to enjoy the questions. 

Let me rephrase the question . . . 

Would I?

I can't remember the last time we had a thunderstorm in Los Angeles. After weeks of record-breaking heat, it's a welcome change. Rain is very comforting, and ironically, lightening and thunder make it even more so. I think the reality is that God decided to wash the streets (and a few people) after last night's West Hollywood Halloween festival, the largest in the country.

So I made a cup of coffee and decided to flip through my journal from the past year just to see if there might be material for advancing my very early stage of considering a book.

Wow. I wasn't expecting the emotion that came with that. I only got through my writings about the early tests, the diagnosis, and my first chemo treatment. Maybe it's too soon to go back.

As I have tried many times to convey, the emotions are not sad. Each moment, each hour, and each day were filled with so much love and strength and learning. The difficult part for me today is the realization that this was the most powerful year of my life and it's ending. Like a football game, I could have won or lost, but as long as I played with passion and tenacity, it didn't matter. Winning just made it all the sweeter.

How can I convince myself that the game might be over, but the season is just beginning? Why can't I continue that passion? Maybe I've just gone through training and I'm not even in my first game yet.

No matter what I type, it sounds like a bumbling mess. I've got to come up with some way to try to communicate this feeling, and I'll tell you one thing for sure . . . football is not the answer!

Last night in bed, I asked myself the question, if I could repeat this past year, would I? It took lots of thought. One of the blessings of the  human mind is that we forget pain and remember joy. I remember waiting for several hours in the emergency room on February 6th, but more vividly, I remember laughing so hard as the nurses danced around my gurney. I remember being sad and lonely in the hospital on the 4th of July, but more than that, I remember the harpist who played "Oh Danny Boy" for me that night.

A harpist, dancing nurses, costumes for chemo, family who visited and cooked and cleaned, friends who called every day, and my head painted like an Easter egg. That's what I remember. Who wouldn't want to repeat all of that? Who wouldn't wish that every year of his life could be filled with such intensity?

So why am I crying right now? It's not at all about sadness. It's all about the beauty of life.

Trust

I found a small store in Venice (CA, not Italy) last week that sells pins called "Blessing Rings." I bought one to wear around my neck that says, "New Beginning."

All of us question our future, and in this economy, I am certainly not alone in wondering about my immediate future. I have been given a new life and I don't take that lightly. I want to be certain that what I do with it has a purpose to honor my recovery. We all have interruptions in our lives, and if we look back on them, they were usually direct blessings. They often change our direction in a positive way, once we get through the uncertainty.

One of my favorite quotes, by Sandra Watson, is "The real issue is not about whether the door is opening or closing, but how you deal with the hell in the hallway!"

I'm hoping to continue my work in developing seminars which would assist people in discovering new careers and purpose, and I have been working on two or three other projects as well, but it's just a part of the human brain to worry.

I have blogged several times about changing that word "worry" to "trust."  Two days after I bought the pin, I flipped it over and on the back, in very small engraved type, it says, "Trust and Believe." You can't stop me . . . I'm taking that as a sign. A sign of what, I don't know, but it's definitely a sign.

There is a great song that I listen to often. (Ignore the fact that is is from the musical "Hairpsray.")  Queen Latifah sings the ever-lovin' poop out of it. The title is "I Know Where I'm Going 'Cause I Know Where I've Been." These are some of my favorite lyrics:

There's a light

Burning bright

Showing me the way

There's a cry

In the distance

It's a voice

That comes from deep within

There's a cry

Asking why

I pray the answer's up ahead

'Cause I know where I've been

There's a road

We've been travelin'

Lost so many on the way

But the riches

Will be plenty

Worth the price

We had to pay.

There's a dream

In the future

There's a struggle

We have yet to win

And there's a pride

In my heart

'Cause I know

Where I'm going

And I know where I've been.

There's a road

We must travel

There's a promise

We must make

'Cause the riches

Will be plenty

Worth the risk

And the chances that we take

There's a dream

In the future

There's a struggle

We have yet to win

Use that pride

In our hearts

To lift us up

To tomorrow

I know where I'm going

'Cause Lord knows 

I know where I've been

A Quick Smile

I always love my blogs that have photos. So this time I thought I would include one of my favorites. My brother and sister came to visit a few years ago and I took them to the new Disney Concert Hall downtown. Behind the theater are the Lillian Disney gardens. My favorite part of the gardens is the giant flower water sculpture made entirely out of broken Blue Willow dishes that belonged to Lillian.

Kathy, in all of her sunburned glory, posed comically on the fountain, and when I got the photo back from printing, I saw that Kevin was waving in the background. It still gives me such a chuckle.

Now I stage this same shot every time people come to visit. Click on the photo to get a larger view of the fountain (and the sunburn).

I WAS Happy

My favorite blogging topic has been "Happiness," what makes us happy, and how do we maintain a certain level of happiness. My friend Reese sent me another link the other day to an article about our favorite subject.

The article, repeated a few basics; happiness is not relative to others' happiness, (We know that the opposite is true.  If you base your happiness on others, you'll never be happy), happiness fluctuates, happiness is difficult to measure, age brings more happiness (so why do we regret getting older?), and most of all, you can't teach happiness.

Then the article began to list the categories of people who are the happiest . . . .

1) Women are happier than men. (One mark against me.)

2) Baby Boomers are the unhappiest generation living today. (Oops. Two down.)

3) Those over 65 are the happiest. (I'm not doing so well.)

4) Parents are much happier than those without children. (I'm doomed to sadness.)

5) Purpose makes us happy, like work, religion, or politics. (Doomed. Doomed. Doomed.)

6) Those who lean to the right politically are happier (Super doomed.)

7) Extremists in politics are happy. (I quit. I'm very sad now.)

It concludes that the strongest key to happiness lies within our sense of purpose outside ourselves, like children, volunteerism, or politics.

It also says it is essential that we are content with our lot in life and who we are. I was just fine with that until I read this article!

Hanging Out All Over

Last night I went to a reading for a new musical. For those of you who have never been to a reading, it is a very early preview of a new piece of theater to get the reaction from an audience. The cast members are generally seated and "reading" the script. There is no stage blocking yet, no sets or lights.

In this instance last night, there was a piano, simple cast movements, basic lighting, and . . . oh yeah . . . the cast was completely naked. You see, the musical was titled "Hanging Out" and was all about nudity, sex, and body image. There were four men and four women, each of whom had nerves of steal as far as I'm concerned. It was a very intimate setting in that there were only 18 of us in the audience. (More than once, I had to distract my eyes so I counted the audience.)

The cast went in and out (pun intended) of different sexual issues, and often had the balls (pun intended) to pretend to be their own genitalia. Other moments were tender and softer (pun intended). (I got a million of 'em! Tip your waiters.)

I applaud the writer/producer in that it was a very entertaining show, once I got over the fact that I was sitting crotch level in front of eight nude adults, ranging in age from about 30 to 60. If ever there was a show with a major distraction, this was it, but once I got beyond the boobies and "tinkle bottoms" (as my parents called them when I was young), I was able to listen to the lyrics and music.

I went with my friend Dan who wrote one of the songs titled, "Does This Song Make My Ass Look Big?" There was a great number depicting Mr. Rogers and his little friend Dick. And my favorite was a gospel choir song dedicated to "St. Viagra."

In Hollywood it is easy to get strong actors, which can make or break a new show. Otherwise a reading can be dreadful. Last night's performance had great singers and funny stand-up (sorry, that's the last pun). You should have seen the fear in the eyes of the audience in Act 2 when they asked for a volunteer. She did a great job and all she had to do was sit in a chair while the men sang to her.

All in all, it was a fun night. On the outside I was distinguished and poised. Inside I giggled like a ten-year-old and was dying to shout, "Look! I see his tinkle bottom!"