Come back, wit!

Earlier this week, I was feeling unwitty and uncreative.  As such, not only did this blog remain silent and untouched, I made almost no Tweets on either of my Twitter accounts and made no Facebook updates (other than linking to articles I found interesting).  Hey, everyone's allowed to quiet every now and then.  Everyone's even allowed to have moments where they're not feeling creative or witty.

The problem is, I hate such moments.  Such moments are psychological and emotional torment on me.  I start to worry about whether I'll ever feel creative or witty again.  I start to wonder if I ever really was creative and witty to begin with.  Was I just kidding myself?  Am I fake, who is uninteresting in reality?  Is my sham finally over and exposed to the world?

I'm sure you can now see why my therapist zeroed in on my self-esteem problems so quickly when I was seeing her.

You see, I put a lot of stock in my creativity and wit.  I think -- and I think it's justifiable -- they are two of my greatest qualities.  I take pride in the fact that I can usually charm people with a quick-witted response or a rant that is so laden with hyperbole and other absurdities that people listening to me start cracking up.

So when I go through dry spells like earlier this week, I get worried.  I fear that I'm losing that part of myself, a part that I trade on regularly when it comes to social interactions.  Fortunately, the humor starts coming back eventually, proving that my fears are all for not.  But that doesn't change how dark and uncertain those times feel in the moment.

Authenticity, Friendships, and Coming Out

Average gay dude wrote a short but powerful post about coming out yesterday.  I highly recommend checking it out.  He encourages everyone to come out, expressing what he sees (and I concur) as a terrific benefit:

No one said coming out was easy, but it will be the most beneficial decision to your happiness. But one thing I can promise you is that you’ll feel FREE.

I think every single one of us who have been there were smiling and nodding along with that statement.  It's one thing to admit to yourself that you're gay or bisexual.  And there's a lot of power to be found in the self-acceptance process.  But there's a lot to be said for admitting it to others as well.  Average gay dude is right:  It's about freedom.

• It's about freedom from having to hide who you were with Friday night.
• It's about freedom from having to change pronouns.
• It's about freedom from having to worry about who sees you with your date or lover.
• But most importantly, it's about the freedom to share your authentic self with others.

Okay, some of us think
we're in the closet when
everyone's already figured
it out anyway.

I'm grateful that when I first accepted myself as a gay man and started the coming out process, I was constantly bombarded with messages that emphasized that last point.  Much of the coming out advice I read contained a statement similar to the following:

Always remember that the reason you're coming out to the person in front of you is because you care enough about them that you want to be truly honest with them and share the real you with them.

As a total people-person^[1], that idea is always important to me.  I think it's also what makes the coming out process so scary, especially when it comes time to come out to loved ones who are already an important part of our lives.  We fear that those loved ones may prove to be too attached to the not-quite-accurate versions of ourselves that we've presented them for so long.  We fear they might actually prefer that version of ourselves to the more authentic and more fully multidimensional versions of ourselves we are now offering to share with them.  We fear this could create endless conflict or even a permanent loss of that relationship.

I've been blessed in that most of the people I've been close to were able to come around to accept and embrace the "new" (though "newly revealed" or "more fully revealed" might be more accurate) me.  Even my mother has started to ask me about dates I mention in passing or any boyfriend I might have at the moment.  Sure, it took her over a decade to reach that point, but here we are now.  It wasn't an easy road, but in the end it was worth it.

Those who could not fully accept who I was, I've allowed to drift away.  In at least one case, it was pretty easy as the process had already begun.  In fact, in that case, the person had been out of my life for several years and I mainly came out to her to let her know why I doubted it would be a good idea to rejuvenate our nearly dead friendship.  (She agreed.)

While that pain was small for me, I do know the pain that comes with the realization that sharing a more honest version of myself may mean rejection.  And I can understand why many fear facing the painful realization that even one of their close friends may choose to reject zir true self when it is offered.

I also know that in time, the pain of such rejection when it occurs fades.  The pain of lying to someone and knowing (or even just fearing) that the only reason they'll stay by your side is to keep the lie going will last indefinitely, compounded each time that choice is reenacted.  In the end, I prefer and recommend the pain that lasts briefly and will fade to be replaced by the acceptance of those who can and will cherish one's authentic self.  Many old friends will stay true, and there are new friends to be added.  In the end, I think that's worth it.

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^[1]It may seem ironic to some people that I'm also an introvert.  The thing is, being a people person is very much a separate issue from being introverted or extroverted.  We introverted people persons might be a bit odd, and we certainly might struggle to balance our desire to be connected to others with our need to have our alone time and rich inner lives, but we do exist.