Secret Santa

I've recently been in contact with an old high school friend who sought me out to offer her condolences after Daddy died. She knew I lived in Austin and managed to get a letter to me. It was guarded at best, because there are apparently more than 1 of me in town. Or at least that share my name.

Once I confirmed my identity by asking about what ever happened to her old boyfriend, Scott, it was just like old times.

Well, except that she's married with 2 kids (adorable, both) and I'm gay with a dead husband and new one of 8 years. (Actually, 8 years doesn't count as new.)

But she's the same as she ever was. We used to talk about important things, like religion and faith and how it fits into our lives. And that's what we've been talking about lately.

As usual, her latest email made me think about something I hadn't before. She asked me if I went to church, because worshipping with other people is so important to her. Sounds like a simple question, but it got me thinking about why I don't.

There are plenty of congregations in Austin that would have no problem with me being gay. Unfortunately, they tend to be the hippy-dippy type of liberals who have never thought about why they are liberals. It's just trendy in "intellectual" circles in Austin.

Oh, it's also trendy to be "intellectual".

Said it before, and I'll say it again: "liberal" does not equal "intellectual." Unless you know why it is you believe what you do and can talk about it intelligently without resorting to truisms and cheap shots at those who do not agree with you, you're either unintelligent, uniformed or just don't care enough to think.

Having said that, that's not the real reason I don't go to church.

It's all about secrets.

I wasn't honest about who I was, even with myself, until I was 23 years old. I kept my sexuality a secret, even from myself. I got used to living apart in one part of my mind while I lived among people who didn't really know me.

Keeping that secret made me a very solitary person whose life of the mind is sometimes more real than the one that I can touch. And even though people are more open to homosexuals than they have been since the days of Greece and Rome, to one degree or another, I've lived with this secret in one way or another most of my life.

And still do.

I consider carefully whether I use the term "partner" or "roommate" when I refer to Shannon. The two words have totally different connotations that sometimes still matter. Unfortunately.

It's not a secret for the most part, but I still keep it that way when I think I need to.

It keeps me apart from people, and I've grown used to that. And no matter how much I would like it not to be an issue, it is always, on some level.

So I keep to myself. I never know who's ready for the truth, and if I don't know them, that's one bridge we don't have to go over.

I live a very private life with a limited number of people who know the whole story. I prefer being alone more than being with other people more often than not. That way, I don't have to decide who I'm going to lie to.

I've grown used to it. It may not be every one's model for a happy life, but it's the one I've built.

In secret.