It has been a long while. Nearly a month since last I wrote, and there have been many changes in my life. It has seemed the longer that I stayed away, the easier it was to brush off the fact that I longed to write you—but, had yet to find the words.
I have found myself “coming around again” being inspired and inspiring others. I have taken steps forward, giving myself room to breathe. One such inspiration came from this very blog. As I sat discussing my struggles with “coming out” to a new friend I met here in Chicago, an idea was conceived. As a dancer, the written word is not her forte, however, she understood the pain I had been through and she longed to help share my message with others.
Taking excerpts from my blog, she choreographed a dance, inserting the lines of text among the dancers in a free flowing dialogue of movement and expression. Depicting the struggle of conformity, to “be a man” and “defined” by words given to us by society. Her dance was performed this past month and received much praise and acclamation from the dance community and her peers. Though my story had a sad beginning, she made something beautiful from it, and it is now an instrument for change.
In the weeks that followed, I threw myself into my work. I was pleased that my friend had done something so wonderful, but, was disappointed in myself for not trying harder to follow my own dreams. At one time I had many aspirations for life—but, seemed to lose them somewhere along the way. During the past ten years, I had been writing off and on a short story in my spare time between classes and work schedules, but, nothing had ever become of it. Picking up my pen and paper again, I scrolled the lines, and feeling inspired, I penned the last words. I had finally struggled through, editing to the point that my writing meant something personal, it was not just a work of fiction. The characters were lifted off the pages, able to breathe on their own, no longer just a part of my mind.
My story had been a labor of love, which I guess is true for most first time authors. Knowing that I had accomplished this aim, I could breathe again. Not only because I realized I am no longer drifting—someplace between the regrets of my past and the longings of a bright future, but, because I am “coming around again.” I am becoming me again.
Sincerely, The Open Closet