Queer Updates

Happy Coming Out Day! Today is the third anniversary of my coming out (here is my first anniversary post and here is my second, in which I talked about my faith journey). In keeping with the tradition, I just thought I would provide a general update on where I am now. You might notice that this post is less profound or less organized than in previous years; I suppose that's because I've already said many of the things I've wanted to say.

In June 2024, I saw an old colleague, and he asked me how life was: "Are you happy?" I told, him, truthfully, that I really love both my jobs. But inside I was thinking, "No, I haven't really been happy for a long time, and I don't know when I will be." I was still grappling with a lot of big questions.

Then in January this year, I thought, "Actually, I think I'm happy for the first time in a long time." (Even though I still grapple with a lot of the same questions.)

In many ways, I am happier because I am making decisions because I want to do them, not because they're expected of me. I now ask myself, "Why am I doing this? Am I doing it because I want to, or because I think I should?" To be sure, there are plenty of things I need to do that I don't necessarily want to do, like going to the dentist, filing my taxes, or getting my oil changed. But I have often done things simply because of expectations. Some of these expectations are self-imposed: I should finish reading this boring book because I started it. I should buy this candy because it's seasonal. Some things, of course, are expectations of others. My decade of dating women was primarily motivated by others' expectations (Church leaders and nagging aunts, even non-LDS nagging aunts).

This applies to Church participation as well. Last December, my bishop called me into his office and asked if I would serve as the ward's temple and family history cochair. For the first time ever, I said, "Can I take some time to think about this?" The following day, I sent him this email:

I have spent some time thinking about the Temple and Family History calling you extended to me, and here are my thoughts. 

 

As a professional historian, I fully support family history.

I am uneasy about attending the temple. I personally do not find it to be an edifying experience, and in fact it is often a negative experience for me. Last month I attended an endowment session for the first time in a year and a half. I satiated my curiosity about the latest changes, and I don't feel a need to attend again anytime soon.

With that said, I know it is meaningful for other people, and I am happy to support others in their temple worship. I can help schedule ward temple nights, etc.

I am willing to accept the calling if (1) I am not expected to attend the temple regularly and (2) I am not expected to talk about how great I think the temple is.

Let me know if you still want me to serve in this calling.

They opted not to give me that calling, and they asked me to teach Sunday School instead—which I like much better. I still do most Church things, but I often skip the Saturday sessions of stake conference. And 7 a.m. priesthood meetings are a tradition of our fathers that needs to be abolished, so of course I don't go to those.

Pretty much all of us in the gay LDS space have to navigate things in our own way, since every choice we make is the wrong choice in one way or another. That is extremely frustrating, and yet it is also liberating in its own way: When every decision is the wrong decision, I get to do what I want. And I don't know if or how long my current level of Church participation will last. I give myself permission to step back anytime, and honestly that makes it easier to participate. I have significant concerns about the state of the Church and its future, especially Oaks's veneration of the Family Proclamation, but many things are better than they used to be.

Sometimes people ask me if I'm dating, and the short answer is no. But I'm not actively not dating. I'm very much open to dating men if it comes up. I just keep myself busy with running, writing, editing, reading, swimming, shopping, etc., so dating is not a priority for me. Maybe one day I'll decide I want to date more actively. I have had the perplexing situation of guys sending me flirty texts, then not responding when I ask them if they want to go to dinner.

There is a concept called the gay adolescence, which I definitely experience. For most people, when they are adolescents, they experience their first crushes, go on their first dates, etc., and they have parents, teachers, and mentors as they navigate growing up. But for many of us who are gay, we experience those things when we are full-grown adults. For example, I was fully convinced I was a perfect match for another guy, only later for me to realize we really weren't all that compatible after all. And since I haven't had many close friendships throughout my life, I also have to navigate "Do I have a crush on this guy? Or do I just think he's a great friend?" I don't know what my type is, and I don't know whether I do or don't actually want a relationship, and I don't know what the trajectory of my life will be. But since I've only come to terms with this part of me in the last three years, I'm being patient and compassionate with myself as I learn things and keep figuring things out.

In fact, I'm trying to be more patient with myself in general. I have always been hard on myself and a bit of a perfectionist. Of course I'm not going to do everything right the first time I do it. Of course I'm not going to do everything right even the second or third or fifth time I do it. And if it's something I do frequently, of course statistically I'm going to mess up sometimes.

If something doesn't go right, I tend to think it's always my problem. Certainly there are things I could do better, but not everything is my fault. For example, a recipe might give a prep time, and it takes me twice as long to make it. I just assumed I was slow at cooking, and maybe I could cook faster, but maybe the problem is actually with the recipe's estimate, not with me. When I had less-than-ideal mission companionships, maybe it wasn't entirely my fault. When I still meant to pursue women, I didn't date often, and dates were negative experiences. But the problem wasn't so much with me and my dating skills; the problem was being in a heteronormative culture that placed excessive pressure on dating and didn't have a viable option for me.

Part of me wonders if any guy would or could ever be interested in me. When I dated women, I often thought that most women were out of my league. As I look back now, I think, Would they have been out of my league if they were men? And I don't think they would be, at least not as much as when they're women. But I still think it would be prideful or presumptuous to think that a guy could be in love with me.

About a year and a half ago, I was looking at some old pictures of myself, having many unkind thoughts. Look at this kid. He has a double chin and ugly clothes. He has very niche interests. He's just generally awkward. And then I thought, Sheesh! Why do you hate this kid?! I have always been good at convincing myself that people don't like me, and in that moment, I realized I think people don't like me because I don't like me. Here are various things I believe to one degree or another: 

• If someone wants to hang out with me, they’re not as cool as I thought

• If someone does hang out with me, they'll see how weird, awkward, and annoying I am, and they won't want to see me again

• If someone is my friend, they’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel, so I can’t be friends with people who have a lot of friends

• If I want to be kind to someone, I should not talk to them

• If someone doesn’t respond to a text, it means I’m bothering them, and they don’t want me to talk to them ever again

• I’m like an animal at the zoo: People might find me interesting or amusing, but they don’t want to be close to me, and they may or may not think about me when they go home

• If I moved away (say, to New York City or Antarctica), only my family would miss me. Well, my bosses would miss me, because I’m good at what I do. But everyone else would think, “Oh, that’s sad,” then move on with their lives as though nothing happened. Many wouldn’t even notice. (I was going to say “If I died,” but that sounded sadder and darker than I intended.)

To be sure, I have valid reasons for thinking these things. But that doesn't make them true, and I'm working on combating these negative ideas. I am proud of the things I have accomplished in life, but those accomplishments do not give me any more value than I had as a 250-pound nerd who worked at Walmart.

There are a variety of reasons why I think I earned this self-hatred. It certainly wasn't helpful to be taught that being gay was evil, especially since I don't recall hearing a distinction between "attraction" and "behavior" until I was sixteen. And I think the rhetoric of "beware of pride" (which I don't disagree with) led me to think it was sinful to think anything good about myself. But there are plenty of other factors as well, even ones that can't (or shouldn't) be used to blame anyone.

I want to thank everyone who has given me reason to believe that people care about me. This includes comments on my blog; invitations to dinners, game nights, runs, and other events; random texts for any number of reasons; birthday or Christmas gifts; people saying flattering things about my skills; and more.