Becoming a Statistic

Random acts of violence… a fact of living in the city? Not for me, at least not until last Monday night. It was a night were everything seemed a bit “off”. I was unsettled, needed to get out of my house, so I went to Showtunes… nothing unusual. The crowd was not filled with the “regulars”, but it was fun all the same. I had my fill, a little earlier than usual, and decided it was the perfect night to walk home. I’ve done it before; it takes about 20 minutes and would have given me just the right amount of time to catch up with my mother and get home in time to climb into bed. After all, I was 2 days away from my trip to CA for the wedding…

“Fate” had something else in store. I got to 15th and T and my mother realized I was walking home. Just to cover her bases she made sure she had the right number for my friend L the cop. I verified that and we discussed what she should do in the case of an emergency. I assured her nothing was going to happen, but just to ease her nerves I told her where I was. Two blocks later it happened… The worst nightmare for a mother 3,000 miles away and a nightmare for me. I was attacked from behind.

I’d love to go into the details of what happened, but I can’t remember all of it. It all kind of blurs together now: the arm around my neck strangling me keeping me from getting air or screaming, the guy squatted down on my chest demanding my money and threatening me with a gun, the other guy standing at my feet. I gave them my wallet, or maybe they took it from my pocket (I can’t remember), they took my cell phone (I believe my mother had hung up by then) they wanted my jacket, but the guy strangling me had the collar stuck in his grasp and he wouldn’t let go and then the hitting started. I don’t remember the pain, I just remember the blows:

1) he hit me in the right eye, my glasses went flying
2) he hit me in left eye and my already blurry vision got cloudier
3) he hit my nose; I heard pops, but didn’t have time to digest it before:
4) he hit me on the right side of my mouth

In my memory that was it… it was over they ran off, I got up and ran down the street to find someone, anyone to call the cops. A witness fills in a few of the gaps: http://cafe227.blogspot.com/2006/05/new-jack-city.html

I found someone to help, called 9-1-1 and waited. Conversations with several cops and a trip to the emergency room later I was left with a broken nose, fractured floors to both my orbiters, a chip taken out from the C-7 vertebrae in my neck, no wallet and no cell phone.

A week and a half later I sit in my office finishing this post (it took forever to write), still restrained by a neck brace, but looking almost normal… Now I ask, is what happened to me anything special or have I just become another statistic of random acts of violence in DC?

Eggs in a basket (part 2)

A comment from Jo, a reminder that once again I have forgotten an important part of “love” and relationships; the other person…

Here is what she wrote:

“I was touched by what you wrote because it is so different from what I believe. I think LOVE is something you create with someone who mutually believes in the relationship. Love isn't something mysteriously out there like a buried lost treasure waiting to be discovered but a possibility lying within each of us available under the right circumstances. I feel like I just rained on the Romantic parade :-(“

It is through voices like Jo’s, ones that are not afraid to challenge and put their beliefs forward, that we learn. She’s right; without believing that I am entirely wrong, she has brought up an interesting point that I often forget: it takes two.

Her “challenge”, was not taken as a “rain on [my] romantic parade,” but an addition to it (and one that is greatly appreciated). Although I still believe that the potential for love could be around any corner, I see her point that it already exists within each of us. It is a matter of timing, it is a matter of commitment by both parties and most importantly it is something that everyone must be open to for it to truly happen.

Thanks Jo! The “rain” didn’t squelch my belief, but instead turned my head to an aspect I was forgetting and is giving the thought the nourishment it needs to truly grow.

LOVE is a treasure; not one that is lost, but one that is just waiting, within each of us, to be unlocked at the right time, under the right circumstances and with the right person.

Eggs in a basket

I am often warned by my friends that I put too much emotional attachments into every day encounters; more specifically potential romantic encounters. At my core, I am a romantic. I truly believe that my heart, body and soul will find someone to connect with and that through this connection we will find love and the trivial life experiences will become easier to handle. I am not unrealistic to believe that all these connections will happen at once or be infinitely sustained throughout a relationship, but I do think it’s possible. I honestly believe that one can enrich their experience through a genuine connection with another person. Perhaps I have been “corrupted by Hollywood” or the imaginations of other idealists, but I allow myself the luxury of thinking that this kind of connection may be around the next corner. That’s where, I am told, I make my gravest mistake.

It is through this belief that I allow myself to look for small ironies that I can attach myself to and think the “universe” is sending me a sign. These inevitably lead to small heartbreaks that somehow haven’t managed to quell my hope for the “ultimate connection.” More importantly when I see/feel one of these signs, I shut out all options. I am the purest from of a monogamist; if I even sense the possibility of a connection, I will inevitably “put all my eggs in that basket.” Many times I have been warned and many times I have experienced this inevitable failure, but I don’t seem to be able to change my pattern. Perhaps keeping my options open would make the sting of the failed connection less, but then I am not giving my all and what fun is that?

Does it really matter? Will whether or not I put my all into every potential encounter really make a difference in finding “the one”? Who knows, I guess, time will tell.

Maybe I am making a mountain out of a molehill, or maybe I am just trying to prevent myself from being bitter about the fact that I am being stood-up… again.

Returning "home"

What a perfect time to start a blog…

It is one week before I am going “home” to San Diego for a quick Memorial Day trip. The impetus of my voyage – my ex’s commitment ceremony, an event that, honestly, thrills me. He is an incredible individual that has found an equally amazing partner to share his life with. I feel incredibly honored to be sharing this with them and their families. Sure, a part of me is saddened by the fact that I am, once again, attending a wedding event without an official date by my side, but my time will come. In the meantime, I am not going to the celebration “alone”.

At my side (and attached to my hip for the weekend) will be my mother. Funny! Somehow she convinced my “PhD ex” (the beginning of names to protect the identity of those associated with me) to get invited to the ceremony. She is officially coming as my “date” since I missed the cut-off for having a boy to bring as my companion. It will be a blast! My mother is the heart of every party and, most often, the center of attention. She will be the highlight of our table and be additional entertainment for all seated with us. The trick for me in these situations is seeing her less as my mother and more as other people see her “an incredibly hip, liberal, out-spoken, fun women who happens to be the mother of a gay son.” The plus side of having her there is that I am guaranteed to have a blast, the downside – I will be with my mother for 36 straight hours… She will be there when I awake, she’ll be there through each and every day and she will be there when I fall asleep, for almost three days. Forgive me if I don’t sound thrilled, but 36 hours straight with anyone is exhausting, let alone your mother. There will be no time for high school friends during those days and limited time for anything where she is not immediately by my side.

Of course, this changes the dynamic of my time in CA and turns, what should be, a “Memorial Day vacation” to simply a “Memorial day trip.” The question becomes, “When does going back to the place you grew-up, stop being ‘returning home’?”

Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to my trip back west! I am sure I will have a great time. The trick will be in striking that balance between “mom-time” and “me-time”. I think that is what holds the key to “home”. To your parents, you will always be the small child that grew-up under their roof. Their definition of you returning “home” is you being that child, the object of their affection and their legacy for the future. Breaking free from that, realizing the duality of your existence in the place you grew-up, establishing YOUR needs (visiting friends etc) and reminding yourself that “home” is just as much where you choose to live as it is where you grew-up makes every trip to your childhood residence a true trip “home”.