You might have noticed that I've been around even less that usual.
In fact, I took a month off to see if I actually wanted to continue blogging and suss out what my possible reasons for continuing might be. I wasn't sure I wanted to share every hue and cry, every sigh and whimper that my aching psyche endured last year.
Having successfully ridden my wave to shore these past several years, I made landfall most ungracefully, skidding and bumping my way across a rocky coast. It has not been pleasant. I've had to learn to undo many of the social and behavioral traits I developed over the past forty years and suck up a few hard lessons along the way. Old dogs can learn new tricks; they mostly don't want to. However, sometimes they're forced to, and so, here we are.
I've been spending time trying to figure out just who I am at this point in my life and thinking ahead as to where and how I might want to live out the next 20 or so years if the fates are kind enough to allow me that much time.
Armistead Maupin has said: "Age is the last closet you come out of in the gay world. There are such gloomy visions of gay men aging. But if you worship beauty above all else, if you worship sex above all else, you're in trouble. If you're not working on your heart every second, you are going to have a very sad old age."
Now Armistead has a year or two on me, but I've never been anything if not precocious. And he's right. It is a painful process, akin to coming out all over again, but with considerably less stellar results. While I've not been one to worship sex and beauty, I have been known to use both to my advantage, at times. I'm well aware that those days are numbered, if not over. It wasn't easy leaving the dance floor, but I've done it, thinking I'd just try to find a good perch on the sidelines where I could still listen to the music and watch the other dancers cavort.
Tim watches, aware of what I'm going through. He's been a comfort to me when that was necessary; laughing with me when that was necessary, and cheering me on pretty much full time. We've been discussing plans for the next year and several years to come.
So here's one of them plans:
I'm going to give myself one last spin around the floor. I'll spend the spring pulling my act together, dropping some poundage, getting back to my work out. I'll do my level best to avoid the unopened and unused box of Just For Men (Real Black) that's been taunting me from my medicine cabinet for the past year. I've adjusted my level of expectation to almost nil. We'll have a bit more fun, then cede the floor to anyone who wants it. I can retire as an elder statesman and write my memoirs.
Aren't you glad you didn't have to go through the past couple of months with me?
Having said my piece, I am planning to continue with this blog. Perhaps more anecdotally, if that's even possible. Short pieces. Observations. Hopefully not about this old canard, either.
We shall see.