Light in the heart of darkness

Dallas? Like in Dallas, Texas? That’s the place where a misbegotten soul assassinated one American president, and where another president—misbegotten himself—finds refuge in the heart of darkness.

Yet deep in the heart of Dallas there is a neighborhood called Oaklawn, which shines a bright light in the midst of an otherwise bible-belt, mega-church congregation. Maybe I’m being too harsh; to be honest, I did not wander far or sample amenities such a large and diverse community must have to offer.

Oaklawn is an active and mature gay enclave. I recently visited the Oaklawn “gayborhood” with a group of men I joined when my marriage went south because I am gay. Men in our group have lots in common: being gay and having travelled similar paths. To me, the gay part is special; being part—even temporarily—of a larger gay community is liberating and enabling.

As I define my out of the closet path, I experience a gestalt so much more fulfilling than quickie, hook-up sex I sought when in the closet. I enjoy walking down the street holding hands or sharing a kiss in public. I can enjoy being with a bunch of gay men or my boyfriend. I can be with another man with whom I feel an attachment, with whom I am bonded, and I don’t have to hide it.

Among a community of gay men, no one stares, no one makes rude comments and everyone understands. Like-minded souls embrace my feelings and my passions. These are rewards for coming out of the closet and living an honest and authentic life. This is practically unique in my experience, because no matter how far out of the closet I travel, I cannot experience that freedom at home where I live.

That is absolutely not to say I would move from my home here at the head of the draw to an urban neighborhood where I could more openly celebrate my sexuality. In all this coming-out-sexuality talk, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that sexuality is only one part—albeit sometimes all-consuming—of the whole that is me. I ski…and I am gay. I frequent rarified ridges…and I do so as a gay man. I annoy my horses, and they don’t give a damn one way or another whether I am gay or not…but of course, I am.

Back home now, far from the heart of darkness, I am in another enclave. My place is by no means gay, but instead is a recreation archipelago that celebrates mountains and nature, clean air and water, solitude, prospect and refuge. I have left my gay community behind for the time being, and no question: I miss it. But I am happy in my chosen place. I am content as a gay man because no matter where I go, there I am.

Glass slipper

Having labored so long under the cruel stepsisters of heterosexual relationships, my prince finally fitted me with a glass slipper of love and companionship. My transformation involves an epiphany of truly life-changing proportions. Although I expected my coming out would change things, I wasn’t entirely prepared for the depth of feeling I am experiencing.

He told me I would begin to experience feelings, recognize nuances and notice differences in the way I perceive other men and the way they perceive me. My feelings have transitioned from yearning for clandestine, transitory and often somewhat insalubrious experience, to deeper sexual understanding created by friendship and companionship. Although there remains certain appeal, I no longer seek strictly one-night stands, quickies and hook-ups. I have discovered more complex and satisfying feelings, and find myself quite taken with them.

Ah, nuance: tricky stuff. We un-reconstructed hippies call it a vibe. As an out, gay man I find myself more keenly attuned to different vibes. Certainly there is the question, when I meet an acquaintance on the street, of whether or not they know I am gay. Sometimes that vibe is easy to discern. If I sense, for example, a tentativeness or outright stand-offishness, I know they know and either don’t approve or don’t understand how to deal with it. I find myself highly sensitive to homophobia. In other people I sense approval and happiness for me. Yet others simply don’t want to know about my sexuality—too much information—a penchant I completely understand.

Finally, there are differences in the way I perceive other men and they way they perceive me. Some call this “gaydar.” In the microcosm of my small community, I find all too few blips on the gaydar screen. Even so, I celebrate my growing awareness of other men, but am careful, knowing most of them don’t share my predilections. It is my hope that as my gaydar becomes more sensitive, I can more easily distinguish those who are comfortable with me and my gayness.

I am on a new and exciting learning curve, surrounded by fresh feelings and harbingers of a wonderful new way of being me. Yes, I am still the old me, but now there is so much more. Born again like Cinderella on the half-shell, the glass slipper fits really well. However, I will have to fit it with waffle-stomper soles in order to negotiate the rocks and ice.