everyone of my crowd to make fun
Of my proud protestations of faith in romance
And they'll say I'm naive as a babe to believe
Every fable I hear from a person in pants
~Oscar Hammerstein II
MY FAITH IN ROMANCE
sixth grade I was utterly infatuated with a girl who had a winning
smile, a sharp mind, and beautiful long dark hair. I still remember
her phone number, though I don't think I ever had the courage to
dial more than six digits of it. We never spent a single minute
alone together, but I still wanted mightily to impress her.
the fall of that year, I had my shot at some big press coverage,
national press coverage. The reporters wanted a picture that showed
me with my friends at school, so I made sure the One I Liked was
in the photo. It was the kind of romantic gesture I favored, enormous
in my own mind, barely noticeable to the outside world, and unknown
to its beneficiary. I was too afraid to make my intentions known,
but I hoped her momentary celebrity might cause her to think of
me more fondly.
was over twenty-five years ago, and I remember it so vividly not
just because of the photo or the girl, but because it was the first
time I had admitted something to myself. Publicity was super, but
it was insignificant next to the possibility of a romantic relationship.
Being known slightly in the world had its perks, but the prospect
of being known intimately by one person was far more nourishing
to my soul.
hope still excites me and spurs me on, though I am older, 400 miles
away, and paying more attention to men these days. People often
ask me why I am so focused on changing my single status. Well, the
ignorant world tells crips they can't be sexual or form relationships,
and tells queers they shouldn't. For me, hearing "can't" and "shouldn't"
used in reference to desirable things is a provocation, a summons
to work toward "can" and "should," even "will."
have worked and learned and grown, at least a little, but progress
is something I'm far less certain of. I think a big part of me is
still back in elementary school or junior high, seeing popularity
and dating and romance as the only real litmus tests of success.
Intellectually, I know that's wrong, but my emotional attic is so
cluttered I often feel buried under the junk.
this article I will try to clear out the tangled mess and see what
remains. Perhaps some fundamental truth may emerge, a guiding compass
more suited to a gay crip approaching forty than to an eleven-year-old
who yearned to be loved and not just respected.
The Advice: A Cantata for the Many Voices in My Head
so special . . . You just need to wait till someone equally special
comes along . . . It's tough to wait, I know, but there really
is someone for everyone . . . It only comes when you aren't looking
for it . . . Pushing can't make it happen . . . Just let it happen
. . . Relax, and trust the universe.
now the trouble starts. I know I push too hard sometimes. I know
it's often counterproductive. But I have been trained to push, conditioned
to make things happen. Were I more comfortable relaxing and letting
things happen, I might be happier and less ridden with anxiety;
on the level of achievement, however, waiting for things to happen
is alien to me. I suppose I am afraid that if I cease the relentless
press forward, I'll get stuck, or forget how to push myself. When
I hear these voices, I remember Annie Oakley's rueful realization
that you can't get a man with a gun.
Being a human bulldozer might have helped me break down years of
barriers, but heavy construction equipment is hardly the most effective
tool for tending the delicate gardens of Relationship.
have to love yourself before you can love anyone else . . . You
need to be happy being alone before you can be happy with another
person . . . A relationship should augment a fulfilled life, not
fill up an empty one . . . You should be self-sufficient, independent,
want others, enjoy others, but never need them.
do love myself. I also know myself well enough to know how much
I honestly need to be with other people. I think the "enjoy your
solitude and self-contained peacefulness" rhetoric is for people
who have no calm center in their lives, who may need to foster something
inside to counterbalance the chaos which exists outside.
me, it's different. Solitude is more curse than blessing, and isolation,
no matter how meditative its character, is more prison than refuge.
Because of my disability and other alienations both related to it
and separate from it, I have spent more time alone than any three
people not affiliated with the cloistered life of a religious order.
At last, without shame I can admit here, in this forum, that I am
getting sick of my own company. If I had three solid weeks where
my only solitary time involved sleeping and using the toilet, I'd
be exhilarated. True, eventually I'd need to be alone and some degree
of habit might reassert itself, but until then I'd be happy to be
overtaxed. I know it's neither chic nor prudent to admit the need
for companionship, but I'm doing it. Anyone want to come sleep on
can't come off as needy . . . Neediness is a turnoff . . . It
reeks of immaturity, reminds people of their own problems . .
. A relationship should be an escape and a haven from the world
of problems, not something that chokes and smothers . . . A guy
won't respect you if he thinks he'll have to take care of you
all the time.
I need. Short simple words, but words with a profound and lasting
ripple effect. Many men, gay/bi/straight/whatever, are scared to
death of needin others or themselves. Seeing and acknowledging
need means recognizing fragility, vulnerability, yearning, aching.
Not many guys are ready for that. But there's more going on here.
For many men who run from need, there is no distinction between
ordinary human-proportioned need and the yawning gaping all-consuming
black-hole kind, the sort of fevered appetite that, in a relationship,
can erase the other person.
be fair, viewing need from the inside is often not much different.
When I am in the grip of need, it's very hard for me to know whether
my impulses are reasonable. Am I making legitimate requests or am
I grandstanding? Am I full of refreshing honesty or wallowing in
selfishness? How can I let a guy know that showing me consideration
will not open the floodgates and drown him?
I just can't accept that a relationship is anything like a bank
loan. I shouldn't have to prove I don't need one in order to get
one. When I was first coming out, I'm sure I scared guys away with
the sheer depth of my need and the sheer force of my gratitude for
their company, but I'd like to think I've improved the mixing valve
on my emotions somewhat in the years since.
should not, cannot, must not make anyone feel guilty!
now, this voice is strong enough that it merits a solo. Guilt is
pernicious and inescapable for many people, and guys have told me
they sensed I'm particularly skilled at it. In the old days, if
a guy I'd been on a date with called me on my use of guilt, I might
have denied it and told him it was all in his head, but I know better
now. I use it. Guilty as charged. I hope that by my admitting this
and not being defensive, people will keep calling me on it, so that
I can continue trying to purge it from the way I communicate with
I hope people can be patient with me though; after all, a hyperintellectual
neurotic Jewish crip can't obliterate the results of centuries of
conditioning in a few short years. I think the people who know me
may cut me some slack, but I worry that those who don't know me
may not stick around long enough to understand.
Ironically, even if I somehow managed to remove conscious and unconscious
guilt completely from my repertoire, people would still feel guilty
around me. Disability is too often the personification of guilt,
shame, injury, illness, mortality. When you take these negatives
and add to them the dubious positives of courage, fortitude, spunkiness,
pluckiness, bravery, endurance, and saintliness, you realize that
some able-bodied people can get just as screwed up about disability
by looking at it from the outside as we disabled folks can get by
living it from the inside.
Men I've been interested in have told me they wouldn't ever want
to get involved with me out of fear they'd hurt me. Well, despite
their contention that they are looking out for me, this really says
more about them. Because they've somehow decided that screwing over
a gay crip puts one in a deeper circle of hell than simply breaking
the heart of a regular homo, they would rather not take any risks,
because they claim they couldn't live with the consequences.
As far as I'm concerned, the worst consequences of getting hurt
are still better than the empty certitude of what doesn't happen.
People hurting each other is sad, but I don't think it's really
tragic. The only true tragedy is possibilities never explored, risks
never taken, people never loved, hopes never realized.
can't play games with people . . . No one likes being manipulated
. . . Nobody likes a phony . . . Be honest . . . Be yourself.
is a really tough one. Thinking strategically and tactically is
one of the first and best life-skills that my disability has taught
me. I have learned to spin out options, contingencies, and consequences
almost automatically, which is funny when you consider that I couldn't
do the same thing coherently in a flowchart or a computer program
if my life depended on it. When it comes to certain kinds of planning
and organization, I'm a whiz. Alas, figuring out accessible transit
options and task accommodations is just dealing with objects and
situations. People are a different matter entirely.
Somewhere in my past I internalized two major rules of conduct.
One was not to be demanding, and the other was never to antagonize
anyone if I could avoid it. This was very simply what anyone from
a minority group learns early in life: Anything you accomplish depends
as much on the good opinion of others as on your own actions, especially
if those others have real or perceived control over your future.
The honest and forthright skills I used in disability activism seemed
to desert me when I dealt with my own needs. Instead I learned to
be crafty, tacking and shifting with the wind like a sailboat rather
than barreling along like a Sherman tank. My major lessons: how
to get things without crassly and riskily demanding them, and how
to avoid confrontations even at the cost of my own needs. These
are the shame-inspiring survival skills we deny using, the dark
passive-aggressive side of the pioneering activism we point to with
I can communicate subtle and complex ideas to hundreds of people
at a time. People often praise me for stating succinctly what's
on everyone else's mind, or for finding exactly the right word or
phrase to use in a given situation. Despite all these skills, it
is still excruciating for me to ask someone for something directly,
or to say something if I have the slightest fear someone will be
offended. Sometimes, this makes people think I'm telling them only
what they want to hear. Today one very honest friend asked me what
was on my mind. I told him one thing and nothing else, even though
he pressed me to tell him more. I knew it made me look silly and
insulted his intelligence, but I was ashamed to tell him how many
things were running through my mind.
I am not a dishonest person, but it is not natural for me to "be
myself" without some form of mediating control over what of myself
I share with other people. Face it, I think we all hide, showing
ourselves in glints and facets and glimpses because we don't know
how or whether we can unleash whoever is really inside us. I feel
entitled to decide what and how much of myself to share with others,
but I do recognize that anyone who wants to give a damn about me
has the right to expect an authentic me, rather than a false or
strategically-presented persona. But where is it, and how do I find
it? Being a phony may be disreputable and ultimately self-destructive,
but being real is so difficult. Am I ready for it? Are any of us?
out the kind of feelings you want to get back . . . If you are
positive and upbeat, people will flock to you, if you're a depressed
downer, they will run away . . . Why would they stick around?
. . . Don't be bitter, especially not about your disability .
. . I don't even think of you as disabled . . . No one here has
a problem with your disability except you, so get over it.
THAT'S it. How entirely comforting it is to know the truth at last.
It's all up to me, totally my responsibility. If something good
happens, it's because I made it happen, and any negative outcome
is my fault. Even this disability thing is completely blown out
of proportion. It's not that important, not an issue for anybody
else unless I make it one.
To quote the Church Lady, "How conveeeeeenient!" How much I've obsessed
over how I was coming across to others, how many hours I've spent
banging my head against the wall trying to figure out just the right
way of presenting myself so that people would look past my anxiety,
my pain, my chair, and see the charming witty sexy fellow they might
want to go out with! Enough about me. What about everyone else,
their fear and confusion, at least as great as mine if not greater?
What of their guilt and frustration and neuroses? Surely I can't
hold myself responsible for them; hell, I can barely take adequate
responsibility for myself.
I'm not saying I should be the kind of egotist who thinks he's perfect
and everyone else is a mess. And, much as I'd like to, I can't force
myself on people full steam ahead while ignoring reality. That might
work for Pepe Le Pew, but I'm far less debonair than he is.
I know I need to be careful about the self I present to the world,
but I don't want to be so good at Disneyfying myself that some guy
I get to know feels cheated and betrayed later, when he finds out
I'm very different from that false and plastic vision. Ideally,
we should value each other warts and all, but when can we feel safe
about sharing our bumpinesses? How much of me, or you, can we expect
someone to accept when we're all very tentatively trying to feel
each other out, or even up?
Some Answers, Or Perhaps Just More Questions
of you who have stuck with this attic-clearing effort of mine may
think you have an answer for me. Balance and moderation are the
keys, you might say. Neither too much nor too little of any one
quality or behavior pattern. This is indeed a good answer, as far
as it goes, but if it's taken me years to embody the kinds of extremes
I've written about, then it will probably take me just as long to
find appropriate middle ground to stake out, an effort that
will seem natural only after lots of practice.
However, I find myself doubting the very idea of answers to the
dilemma of finding a romantic relationship. Indeed if I've learned
anything in over twenty-five years of climbing the walls that separate
me from those with whom I might share romantic love, I have learned
world of relationships is not a meritocracy. You don't end up with
a partner merely because you think you deserve one or because others
think you've earned the reward of romantic love after years of sacrifice.
Some thoroughly undeserving people are blessed with good relationships
and partners they are unworthy of, while some great people are romantically
underappreciated. So you can't console yourself with the hope it
will happen for you, or with the petty vindictiveness that says
if you have to be single, at least that schmuck down the street
will never find anyone who'll put up with him . . . but on the other
hand, if we didn't inoculate ourselves with all different kinds
of hope, we might not be able to get through our days, let alone
as relationships have no real connection with merit, neither do
they have any connection with strategy or tactics. Who we end up
with, and when, and why, and for how long, is a matter of luck,
chance, utter randomness. Rather than trying to find the key for
every lock, I think we should understand that nothing really works.
Plenty of tactics might work, even more will backfire completely,
but almost none are guaranteed to work, because people are neither
animals nor machines. We are unpredictable, maddening, impossible.
what am I going to do with these insights? Simple. I'm giving up.
Not on the idea of being in a relationship, or even on the hope
that it might happen, but giving up on the folly of thinking that
if and when it happens, it will clearly and solely be due to something
I've done. I will stop looking for solutions while still working
to rid myself of the patterns I know will only make me more miserable.
my best to be myself and not screw up might seem insufficient to
the task, but it will still represent progress after years of struggle.
This course of action might not bring my Ideal Man down from the
sky or out of the woodwork, but it just might give me back a huge
chunk of the time I've used up in my quest for love.
©2002 Danny Kodmur
lives and writes in the San Francisco Bay Area.
For him, this article is the psychological equivalent
of posing for a Playgirl centerfold.
He dares you to find him romantically interesting after you read
Write to him at email@example.com.