Where are you from? No really--where are your originally from?

I've had the first question asked of me for more than 30 years since living in Utah.

"Where are you from?"

I used to think that it was just an innocent question--and would happily answer: "Mexico City, but grew up in Houston, Texas"

A few years ago I started thinking, is there some other meaning to this question? I figured I lived in Utah for long enough to consider it my home so I started answering: Salt Lake City, over by the West side. Surprisingly enough, I got the follow up: 

"No, really where are you from?"

"Um--well, if you must know--my family is from Mexico and I grew up in Texas, but Utah has been my home longer than any other place I've lived in, how's that?"

It almost felt like a "you're not white, surely you're from somewhere else, certainly not from Utah"--I'll admit it stung a little, but not really much--I'm not into being offended about everything so I just let things go whenever I get that question asked and to be fair, I still have an accent so it is pretty obvious I wasn't born in Utah, so there's that...

The other day a friend posted the question: "Where is home to you?" I like that question a lot more.

Maybe I blame my mother--she was sort of a nomad and I honestly she never felt home anywhere. To her home was her birthplace in Mexico City and moving around and changing scenery was never a big deal to her, I swear in the 10 years I lived in Texas we moved 10 times (maybe I exaggerate--not sure) but we sure shuffled around a lot. 

Texas never really felt like home, I love Mexico City, where I was born but Utah has a special place in my life--no other place has felt like home--not just when I was active/Mormon and believing, it continued after my church activity ended (lord knows I tried leaving a couple of times but returned to Utah), and any other lifetimes---and it still feels like home. 

I'll admit that living in Utah wasn't all flawless either--I also moved a ton--I don't even want to think of the times I moved until I landed in my current place years ago that has been home and have managed to remain still (and plan on it for several more).

But overall--Utah is home, it feels like home--I love to travel and go see new places but there's a certain level of familiarity and comfort that comes with living here, and I like it, even as an out-gay man living in a state with a predominant religion that isn't that accepting. The reality is that Salt Lake City itself is a big-ol gay-borhood and anyone who thinks otherwise is not looking.

So next time I get asked "where are you from?" I'll try blurting out "Salt Lake City" then move on to elaborating my whole life story, but I'll end up saying "Utah is home".

Baggage

 

 

Welcome to a chapter of "My life as a hoarder"...

 

Kidding of course.

But I think I am getting to a point in my life where I need to figure out what kind of stuff is important enough to keep, what is important enough to pass along and what stuff needs to go.

For someone who has restarted their life a few times I think I own too many things that I need to figure out what to do with--I don't mean important documents like birth certificates, taxes, college diplomas and stuff like that. 

I mean things like: 

1. Yearbooks

2. Photo albums

3. Mormon Scriptures (from seminary, mission and post life). 

4. Mission journal (cringe)

5. Other journals (cringe, cringe).

I don't think my children will be interested in a lot of that stuff--they're not religious and not interested in anything relevant to my Mormon lifetime. 

Most of that questionable stuff is boxed up.

 I hate throwing away books--yes even most Mormon books to be honest--but I am also aware enough to know that not all books have the kind of value to pass along. 

So what should I do?

Sell?

Donate?

Throw away?

If I had my way I'd probably do a huge bonfire and throw most of that stuff in it--but they really don't do many bonfires where I live.

But at least I've written about it--maybe I can start doing something about it for 2022.

The Time I almost Went to my Mormon Mission Reunion

A couple of weeks ago I received 3 messages from people: "Hey, the mission president wants to have a reunion, why don't you come?" or some variation of that. 

I joked with 1 of the messengers:

Me: "Sure, can I bring the husband along?" 

Messenger: "I don't see why not"

Me: "You're right--I don't see why not--I'll plan on it"

I then informed the husband what the plan was and he was fully on board joining me. My thoughts at the time were that it has been a long, long time since I'd seen anyone from the mission and surely 30+ years later, I don't know how much longer the president/wife will be around and I honestly did think how little things like me not being an active Mormon (or a member at all), being totally out and having a husband would not be a big deal, right?

Right?

I am out on social media--those that are friends with me from the mission days know, I don't hide anything and while we don't really talk about it and I had decided when I came out that I wasn't going to live different lives. Aside from maybe Pride and National Coming out Day I honestly don't spend lots of time flaunting rainbow flags, etc. Being gay is just a part of who I am just as much as being a former missionary, a dad, a worker, a human etc.

 I didn't think much more of it until the morning of the reunion when I felt cold feet. I messaged a few friends to ask their opinion. Most of their opinions were why would I bother going to a place where I haven't seen anyone i n years, have nothing in common and put myself in a place where I might incur the judgement and wrath of someone who might be self-righteous? 

Let alone in the middle of a pandemic.  

I'll admit to having at least morbid curiosity about attending.

Only one friend was of the opinion that it was a good idea and that a gay couple in the middle of all those Mormons would be a good thing.  

By noon, I made the decision not to go--I think the cons outweighed the pros and I basically chickened out. I saw some pictures the next day, but part of me wished I had gone. 

I can't figure out what gave me the feeling that I missed out (while logically this all makes no sense!).

Do I still want to be liked and get approval from people that mean nothing to me?  

I don't know how others feel, but after all is said and done, I don't regret having gone on a mission--I honestly didn't have anything better to do with my life at the time. It was a huge influence in my life, for future life decisions and unlike others, I don't feel like many that it was the BEST TWO YEARS--nah, but it also wasn't the worst two years either. 

On the other hand, I don't feel the need to relive the glory days of being 20 and thinking I knew everything there was to know about life, religion and spirituality--(as if!). I did talk to someone that reassured me that there was self-righteous talk, after all--it is a Mormon mission reunion--duh!

I don't even know why I felt the need to write about it, so here I am.

If anyone reads this, in my situation--what would you have done?

Losing a Parent

I've debated whether to post about this or not; after all, sharing one's vulnerabilities online is not really something that I like to do, but I also feel like people don't really talk about this stuff a lot and I feel like I kinda need an outlet.

So my mother died a little over a month ago. It wasn't unexpected, she had been fighting cancer for many years--lots of treatments, scans, radiation, chemo, side effects, many things that healthy people probably don't even realize can happen when someone is diagnosed with the big C.

I also feel like I need to explain that my mother had a personality that brought on a lot of issues to others--aside from my standard mommy issues as a gay man, there were so many other layers of issues that we dealt with: My leaving the LDS church--that was probably more traumatic for her than my coming out of the closet (since she knew that part since I was a kid and all) and other things that frankly at this point don't matter anymore. Anyway, long story short--mom and I had kept a respectful-once-a-week-call-over-the-phone relationship since she lived in another state. It was cordial but really superficial 'how's the weather, how's your health?' kind of a thing.

The point of my story--I did get a chance to say goodbye in person about a week or two before she passed. I'll admit that while there was high drama going on everywhere around mom, siblings, family and others, I think I managed to keep most of my wits about me during the trip to see her--thank heavens for my husband who was a huge help during that time and pulled me away from a few situations when I asked and was a huge support!

We made it back home and she went into a hospice center where after a few days I got the notice that she had just passed. When I heard of her passing, which I had anticipated and had told myself for years how I was going to handle things, my reaction was more or less calm but also a rush of thoughts and emotions--some good, some bad--but I still went through some emotions I was not entirely ready to process.

I noticed that friends and other family reached out, showed care, love and concern in unusual ways. Of course you have to be grateful for caring and thoughtful people who surround you with love, condolences and offers for "if you need anything". I thought about this for a while and realized that some of these people had also lost a  parent and have been through the emotional rollercoaster of losing someone that significant in your life or at the very least dread someday having to deal with that situation, hence the extended empathy.

I don't think it mattered that mom and I were not the best of friends or that we were not super close as other mom-child relationships seem to be; I think at the end of the day, nothing prepares you to lose a parent, it is a hard thing to go through, I rank it up there with the high traumas of my life. I think it just sucked to lose her and I hope I will feel like I'm processing things by writing about it.

Crazy hu?

So there's been some ups and downs; a lot of the feelings have come through, maybe a song I hear and I know she loved, it may be through a picture someone posted or a note from a sibling or my step-dad who is still sorting through things. Sometimes there's tears, sometimes there's just feelings and I'll be honest, sometimes there's nothing...

I loved my mom but it was really difficult to love her at times. I know she loved me too and maybe a lot of things she did were out of love--I don't know and at this point I honestly, don't care to know. Part of me makes me feel like an ungrateful son, part of me feels like I have the right to feel any way I want and I shouldn't be making excuses for the way I chose to maintain the kind of relationship I had with her even up until the end.

Funny how humans and relationships and feelings work!

So there's that!

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas...

Up to a few years ago--I'm going to say 5 years I was NOT a fan of Christmas.

I won't talk about the details of how I came to hate the holidays but when someone right about September of every year would bring up drawing names for Secret Santa and how much money was expected to be spent--the rest of the time up to the day was one big anxiety attack. I recall literally going into a dark place when I would hear

I'm dreaming, of a White Christmas...

..and have literal body convulsions. It wasn't the most wonderful time of the year, it wasn't a season of love, it was everything but--I didn't want to be part of it. I used to fall for the tear-jerker movies like The Family Stone, Love Actually and others because they could make me cry and release some of that hate for the season. I actually enjoyed being called a Scrooge, a Grinch--yeah I owned that and the last thing I ever wanted to hear was a Christmas carol--none of that!!!

Move forward a couple of years after coming out, divorcing and being only in charge of my own and my kid's Christmas--money was sooooooo tight, every extra penny was spent on what to get the kids, every bit of extra credit on my card was carefully spent on something they would love--not the best of times but much, much better times--I had a much narrower purpose and I could handle that.

With time I started feeling better about the holidays--gift exchanges, showing up to events, festivals and lights were much better on my soul--but there was a piece of me that I couldn't shake off: Christmas Carols--I still had the same retching sensation when I'd  hear the first one of the season. I wanted to be home for Christmas, I wanted the Snow and Mistletoe and presents on the tree... I didn't want to have a Blue Christmas and oh lord--don't even throw Christmas shoes into that mix--I was trying to re-build my life with a new love, a new life, give it meaning but those songs and themes made me sad--really sad and bring me to tears--sometimes ugly, snot-bubble, open wailing cries...

In spite of having a new-great life I was still having Hard Candy Christmases...

Then one day I thought, what is this home I want to go home to? What is this Blue Christmas I want to propagate? What in the world is there to be sad about? I have a great partner, great children who love me, a place to live, great family, great friends, a good life--what is this melancholy about? I had to have an attitude adjustment and instead of focusing on the sad stuff I started having better thoughts and enjoying the great songs and themes:

All I want for Christmas, is you!!

I can now sing along without getting depressed, I can now feel good to hark the harold Angel's sing, I can laugh along with Rudolph The Rednose Reindeer, Sleighbell, Jingle Bells and others-- I can even make it through

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas---

...and not lose it--unless I'm watching Meet Me In St. Louis--then I lose it completely--but if it is just on the radio I can do it--I'm proud of where I am now and the progress I've made. This post has got long (as usual).

How do you handle Christmas?