Not-So-Tiny Problems I Have with this Cosmo Article About Not-So-Tiny Short People Problems

For those of you following along at home, a little bit about me: I'm short. Not like, a little-smaller-than-average short, but like really short. Like under-five-feet short. And as I am prone to having problems sometimes living in a country where everyone, on average, is a half-foot taller than me, you could expect me to appreciate an article with the title, "17 Not-So-Tiny Problems Only Short People Understand."

Not so, if you couldn't tell from my oh-so-subtle title.

Now I'm not arguing that none of these are problems for anyone - I can only speak for myself. And for myself, my biggest fear is that someone will read this article and think, "Oh no! Kate can't grocery shop alone! Kate can't ever put her feet up on the couch! Kate can't hold hands with anyone over 5'6"! STOP CALLING KATE 'CUTE!'" Never fear, people who might read Cosmo and worry about me. I'm fine. 

Here's my response to Cosmo's list:

"[People] really like to call you cute. It gets annoying fast." 

I guess if you're going for "beautiful" or "knock-out, drop-dead gorgeous," cute could be a step down. But I'm not going for particularly anything. Sure, I'm called "cute" far more often than I'm called "beautiful" or "gorgeous," but I'm okay with that. Please, continue with the cute-ing. I won't be offended or bite your ankles or anything like that. 

"Hope you have small ladder." 

Secretly, I like jumping up on counters. It's like the only time I do anything vaguely acrobatic. 

"Standing-room-only concerts are the worst. Oh, did you want to see Beyoncé perform?"

Actually no, not really. But if you really want my take on this, it's called planning. If I really really wanted to see Beyoncé perform, or more realistically, OK Go, I would show up to the venue early enough to stake out a good place. I mean, I know planning is hard. But I'm a big girl, inside. I can handle it.

"Grocery shopping is an exercise in flirting." 

Wait, what? The only way I can ever possibly get that can of soup on the top shelf is by flirting? Screw that noise, I'll use the longest item in my cart I can find - baguette, wrapping paper tube, box of cereal - and knock that sucker down myself. Or, you know, Ask someone politely to get something for me. Like a human being who doesn't need to flirt to get what I want.

"You might as well not bother owning an ottoman because your feet will never reach it." 

If only I were smart enough to get up and move the ottoman. But I'm too short! I have less brain power than everyone else!

"You have to wear heels to work. If you don't, you are basically a foot shorter than all your coworkers." 

Don't you tell me what to do, Cosmo. I'm lucky to work in academia, but even if I worked in, say, business, where I would have to more actively assert myself as a woman (and a short one at that), I would do so with my voice, not at the expense of my feet and back. 

"You look up to everyone. Literally." 

Oh wow, a correct usage of the word "literally"! I'm actually quite impressed with this one! Still rolling my eyes at the non-problem, but impressed nonetheless!

"Making out with a tall dude is a workout." 

My ex is 6'4" and I will admit, dancing at our wedding was a little ridiculous. But there are these awesome things called couches (and ottomans! Good thing I ended up getting one of those anyway!)

"Holding hands is also awkward." 

Now you're reaching, Cosmo, something I never have to do when holding hands - not even with my ex.

"People use your shoulder as their personal armrest, and sometimes your head as a headrest. Do I look like furniture?" 

No, seriously, do I? I know I waffled a bit on buying this paisley sweater but now I'm starting to worry I look a little ottoman-y. 

"Taking pictures is a nightmare. It takes at least three takes to convince your taller friend that 1) she should not bend down to take a photo with you and 2) she does not look like a yeti next to you." 

Honestly, taller friends who are reading this post, I don't care what you do when we take a picture together. Heck, you can just stand behind me and use my head as a headrest. That might even be the cutest possible arrangement for us to be pictured together.

"You will never be a supermodel." 

Promise?

A Tale of Two Metamours

When I met my first metamour, or partner of a partner, I was terrified. She was the first girl Joel went on more than a few dates with and I wanted to meet her because I knew that getting to know her would allay some of my fears and jealously. We'd exchanged some messages online so I knew I would like her, but that stomach-cramping, heart-racing feeling I had while waiting for her to meet us at the the bar made me want to go home and forget the whole thing. Maybe I was better not knowing; maybe we should have a don't-ask-don't-tell policy. Maybe being poly wasn't actually my thing after all.

And then she came through the door, and in the minute it took her to walk to our booth, my jumbled mass of thoughts clarified into one: Wow, she's hot. Fifteen minutes later I not only realized I wasn't jealous anymore, I realized I liked her. We had a lot in common, made each other laugh, and both liked so many of the same qualities in Joel. A few days later she and I went on our first date, and though she's not dating either of us any longer, I now consider her one of my closest friends. As with many things in Joel and my relationship, meeting metamours got so much easier after that. (I met the most recent one randomly when I ran into them on their way out to dinner. It was no big deal. It was a quick, "Hello!" and smile and wave. I walked away grinning stupidly at the awesomeness of our lives.)

But as with many things in Adam and my relationship, the metamour situation was a little more complicated. There wasn't fear of the unknown - I knew his wife before I met him, in fact - but once Adam and I started dating, things shifted for me in how I thought about her. She was no longer just my friend - now she was the wife of a guy I'd fallen for really hard. I stopped feeling like I could talk to her as freely as I used to. I felt awkward around her at parties. Instead of embracing her as my newfound metamour in addition to being all those great things she was before, I pulled back from her all together.

But of course becoming more distanced from her made me feel worse, so with some prodding from Joel and Adam I decided to just tell her about everything: about how this was my first time dating a married man, my first time being a secondary to anyone at all, and on top of it, my first time in a long time feeling the way I feel about her husband. Her response was not surprising, and made me feel silly for having waited so long to have this conversation: I never wanted you to be uncomfortable around me, you can come to me whenever to talk about it, and I'm happy you and Adam are together.

A few days later she and I met for dinner, and my anxiety was gone. We got to know each other even better. She told me stories about their past that didn't make my stomach clench. And, best of all, we talked a lot about how great Adam is -- how cute he is when he does or says or wears something, and how much being with him makes us both happy. It might have been the delicious German beer we were drinking, but that dinner left me so warm and fuzzy I was mushy for days.

Since then, I've obviously felt closer to Adam's wife but also have felt closer to Adam, because I knew for a fact that everyone involved is rooting for us. It's not that I ever felt disapproval, it was that I needed that approval to come from personal interactions with her before I truly believed it. There are still times I feel a pang when I think about the ways that they are close that we are not, but that's a natural side effect of both being in love with someone new and also being a secondary (which is something that I'll probably think about and reflect on more in posts to come). At least now I know that I can push back any irrational worries about disapproval and move on.

There are two things I've learned from these two experiences I hope to carry with me when the next challenge comes along: A. My boyfriend and partner are great, and it would make sense that anyone else who agrees with me will also be great, and B. Metamours aren't there to be feared, but to be embraced. They are there to learn from and learn with, support, and commiserate with (in a healthy, non-gossipy way), and best of all, to gush with. Because who better to appreciate the sickening, rambling mush that comes from puppy love than someone else who's felt it too?

As with everything, becoming comfortable with metamours is challenging. Not everyone will always want to form the close relationships I find the most rewarding. But also as with everything I've found in poly so far, working at developing those relationships in ways that work best for everyone involved is worth the challenge. I have too many complicated emotions about relationships to go it alone. Besides, how else will you figure out what to get your new boyfriend for his birthday?

Gratitude Season

All month, I've been reading posts on friends' Facebook pages proclaiming things they are grateful for. Once or twice I thought about following suit, since one of the things I tend to do is zone in on things I'm anxious about, or things I want but can't have, instead of things that I do have. But as I'm trying these days to find reasons to get off Facebook instead of being pulled back in, I never joined them. So instead, here is my contribution to gratitude season. I am grateful for...

My Cat
Self-explanatory. I mean, look at her.

My Communities
The support of the bisexual and poly communities are invaluable, and I'm thankful to have the time and energy to put work into them to pass the support along to others.

My Job
This has been one of the toughest four months of my life, but I am employed doing something I (think I still) love doing. I am actually using the degree I will be paying back for many, many years to come. I can make my own weekly schedule, have a college work year with awesome breaks, and can grade in my underwear.

My Family
Despite the stress that comes with parents who do not approve of my relationships or sexuality, I still have their support. I know that there are so many people out there who have been cut out of their families' lives after coming clean about who they are, so I remind myself that no matter how upset I might be at times that I can't share everything, I am still their daughter.

My Friends
The support that my parents can't provide -- the emotional support that is related to living the lives that we live -- has been coming from my network of diverse, caring, loving friends. They are truly my chosen family, and the biggest reason I am reluctant to ever leave what I now refer to as my home.

My Partners
I still can't believe how lucky I am to have them: Joel, who has been my rock and the source of most of my laughter for (almost) five years, and Adam, who continues to give me new reasons to smile every day. They make all the challenges that go along with being poly 100% worth it. (And also happen to be two of the cutest guys I know.)

It might not be a whole month's worth, and there are certainly more things I'm grateful for, like Diet Dr. Pepper, Harpoon UFO White, the Internet, and buffalo chicken pizza. But those are the big ones - the ones I should hang onto when it gets dark just too damned early and I have to cram onto a bus to go home and grade. And to them I should add this: I am grateful that I have the ability to help others who have less than I do. Above all else, I think gratitude season should always remind us of that.

Road to Nowhere: Ignoring Societal Relationship Trajectories

Poly and Partner, sitting in a tree

(I haven't heard this one in a while.)

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

(Might be a little precarious up there, and depending on how high up...eh, I'll allow it.)

First comes love,

(Aren't we jumping ahead a little bit? I mean, first comes lots of talking, cuddling, and processing?)

Then comes marriage,

(Well, erm, this is awkward but, he's sort of already--)

Then comes the baby in a--

(OKAY that's enough. I want down. Someone find me a ladder.)

From the time we are born, rhymes like this one are pounded into our brains. There's of course not the same level of expectation as there was in our parents' generation or their parents' generation, but this trajectory is everywhere nonetheless. We always hear about falling in love with "the one," moving in together, getting married, having children. That's the goal, the end-all-be-all of societal happiness -- which, by the way, is out of reach for single people, couples who don't co-habitate, and the childless (or what I'd rather refer to as "childfree").

It took a long time for Joel's family to come to terms with the fact that I was his girlfriend but we didn't have that trajectory in mind - the years went on and there was no talk of moving in a certain direction, no planning to move in together, no rings. And even though my own parents are happy that I'm focusing on myself after so many years of being focused on my ex's career and what our relationship was doing, they, too, want me to get back on that road to marriage.

And these expected societal trajectories of relationships are a lot of times focused on in poly, too - as stories of ethical non-monogamy trickle more and more into the mainstream, they're very often about domestic bliss, raising children as a community, and planning alternative weddings. But what about those of us who aren't going to follow that trajectory in some or all of our relationships, either by choice or circumstance? What is all this pressure doing to how we view our individual relationships?

A few years ago, I was sad that Joel didn't want to co-habitate. But then as I grew more independent and busy, and we both started to date more, we realized that our setup actually worked pretty well for us. We roll our eyes at our parents, but take solace in the fact that we're enjoying our relationship in the way that is comfortable for us, not in the way that society says should be comfortable for us.

After working through it with Joel, it should have been easy to come into my relationship with Adam in much the same "fuck 'em we'll be who we are" way. But like so many things that come with firecracker-like feelings, it's more complicated than expected. Instead of seeing a lack of trajectory as being freeing, as it has been with Joel, it's sometimes unsettling.  I occasionally think more about what we will never do than of what we will do, or even more disappointing, what we are doing now. It's sad because I miss things. I'll be staring off at the patterns in my textured ceiling dwelling on something unknown while next to me, Adam's just happy to be there.

This is one of those things that made it onto my Poly is Hard list because these trajectories are something I can't escape easily. I want to just cut down the damned tree in the poem so no one has to kiss in it anymore. It is cheering to think back to a time I was sad about my lack of trajectory with Joel, and think about how far we've come. It's also cheering to think that someday I may meet someone whose idea of trajectories are the same as the ones in love songs, if that's even what I still want for my sappy, romantic self someday. But for now, it's hard.

For now, I'll attempt to cope by playing "Road to Nowhere" on repeat and keep telling myself, "Baby, it's all right." I'll attempt to stop staring at the ceiling and look at Adam's ridiculously cute dimples and feel his warm hugs and think of little else than how lucky I am. And I'll remind myself that there are people out there who have followed those societal trajectories of relationships -- I used to be one of them -- and end up not even a fraction of how happy I am with my partners. So maybe the goal to be happy with where we are can be a trajectory in itself, and the destination becomes the journey, the ride, the cuddles, that really good beer, etc.

Sounds corny, yes, and I'm not sure it'll work. But I have to try, because it sure sounds safer than trying to lug a baby carriage up a tree.

Return of the Jealousy Monster

While Adam was out of town with other partners this past weekend, I had a visit from my Jealousy Monster. It arrived on Thursday afternoon, settled in even as I tried to unseat it with a bubble bath and a relaxing evening of reading, and was still gorging happily on envy the next day, making the most annoying chewing sounds - like someone eating potato chips and smacking their lips in an otherwise silent room. My weekend, which was jam-packed with fun things, was at stake. I had to do something. 

In my previous post about managing expectations, I talked about the fact that most of what I know about navigating relationships comes from past experiences. I know, for example, that I fear the unknown, so when I've approached situations involving jealousy before, my first instinct is to have everything laid out in front of me. 

But this time, asking about the fun things he was doing made things worse, especially as I was, at that moment, grading a particularly horrible paper. I tried to explain that maybe I didn't need to know the details, at least not right then, and we even tried to change the subject. But the longer we talked the worse I felt. So I tried the complete opposite of my past inclinations: I told him I had to go. I wished him a good weekend, told him we'd talk when he got home, and closed the chat window. 

The immediate relief I felt was almost startling. Who was I? Wasn't I someone who felt that more communication, not less, was the solution to all problems? Hadn't I hated it in past relationships when the other person had requested a few days of silence? I continued to listen closely for my Jealousy Monster for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, but I couldn't hear him. He wasn't gone, but he was no longer making those annoying chewing sounds.

I took advantage of the silence and enjoyed my weekend. It wasn't that I didn't think about Adam, but I wasn't dwelling on the envy the way I might have if we'd been checking in every once in a while. Instead I focused on those other things that make me happy, and because of it was glad to talk again when he got home. 

I know that the Jealousy Monster is still there, biding its time to come out again, and I feel like before I revert back to my tell me everything inclinations I need to make sure I'm ready to hear it. It's nice, though, to realize there are still solutions to be found, and helpful to recognize that they might be the complete opposite of what was expected. Hopefully next time I'll know ahead of time to focus on what's in front of me that I am doing, rather than wondering what I'm not. 

Dear Past Kate, This Stuff is Hard

As I go back and read some of my previous posts, I feel like I've lied a little bit. Not about the facts, necessarily, but about the feelings surrounding all this hard poly stuff. That's right, folks, poly is hard, and if I've made it seem like solutions to hard problems are tied up nicely in little boxes with rainbow sparkly ribbon, I've been disingenuous. Here's what I would like to say to my past self.

Scheduling is Hard. There's nothing more disheartening than looking at the calendar with someone you want to see as much as possible and realizing that sometimes, there will be more time between dates than you'd like.

Sharing is Hard. At some point, you are going to read a status on Facebook about a partner and another partner and it's going to be so sickeningly cute that you doubt compersion* exists.

Trying to Disentangle Societal Trajectories for Relationships from Your Relationship is Hard. You cannot expect to follow the script of a rom-com. There is no script. You are making this up as you go along, and even though you thought you might never want to follow that trajectory ever again, it's still hard to realize that with some relationships, it's impossible. You have to make a new trajectory or better yet, ignore them altogether.

Acceptance is Hard. You will want to share your NRE with your parents. They will not want to hear about it. You will lie for the benefit of your relationship with them, and it won't feel great.

Change is Hard. Five years ago you didn't even know what poly was. Five months ago you weren't even very actively practicing it. Five months from now your life will have most likely changed again. But this possibility for change is what got you into this in the first place, remember?

The goal, of course, is that on a scale from hard to rainbow sparkles, you end up on the rainbow sparkle side more often. Preferably those rainbow sparkles that catch the sunlight and make rainbows on the walls too. Because you have to remember that while this is hard, this is also what makes you happy, and you no longer can see yourself any other way.

*the state of being happy when a partner is happy, most often when someone else makes that partner happy.

"to cope"

When I looked up "cope" in the dictionary, I found two definitions - the one I expected, and this:

"to meet in combat."

It's so interesting that this word, with roots in Greek and Latin, used to mean (depending on the language) "buffet," "blow," "strike," and "cut," when we now use it to mean "deal with and attempt to overcome problems and difficulties."

Isn't that just like our world today, though? We're less likely to need help buffeting the advances of swordsmen and more likely to need help dealing with hard emotional things. It's like the stress and anxiety and depression have become those swordsmen.

The first thing I thought of when decided what to write for this week was a phrase I've uttered more than once over the last few weeks: "I'm not coping well." I'm to the point in an over-booked semester (please, someone, remind me I can't teach five sections at a time ever again) when I feel overwhelmed by stress. I'm the one valiant knight in the middle of forty opponents at a time, and every time I fight them off forty more appear. And the more than I have to fight, the less able I am to cope - to buffet, to strike, to blow, to cut - effectively. The less able I am to maintain a fighting spirit.

Because that's really what we have to do when we cope, right? Whether it's anxiety, depression, the stress of 90 students, dealing with it all is a fight. Sometimes we're more equipped. Sometimes we even have squires or other knights who have our backs. But it's always a combat of one sort or another. I mean I'm glad, overall, that I'm combating argumentation papers instead of armored warriors, but sometimes I feel like those papers had better training than I in dealing serious blows.

I know I'll be victorious eventually, if not only because the semester has to end at some point. But until then, I'll continue to fight, even if I feel more like the Black Knight by the end.

National Coming Out Day

Friday, October 11, was National Coming Out Day (NCOD). Founded in 1988, this day was created to celebrate the (very often difficult) process of coming out and to raise general awareness for the struggles of the LGBT community. Though I mostly came out to everyone I knew closely back in the summer of 2011 and somehow missed NCOD that year, I decided to post something on Facebook last year. I had a suspicion that most of the people who follow me closely on social media already knew, but decided that it was a good excuse to perhaps reach some of those friends from my days of yore. In that message, I came out as both bi and poly.

Responses were all positive, as I imagined they'd be, from "Love you, no matter what" to "What a great, honest and humble post!" But the greatest two responses were the ones in which two distant connections, a college classmate and a cousin of a past partner, essentially said, "Hey, me too!" This, I thought to myself, is one of the goals of this day, and one of the goals, I think, of coming out in general.

In my own experience, and I think in the experiences of a lot of people who are coming out as anything (lesbian, gay, trans*, bisexual, queer, asexual, intersex, genderqueer, polyamorous, kinky, etc.), coming out has more than one important function. I'll speak from my own experience because I can't (and shouldn't) speak from anyone else's; I came out for three reasons:

1. First and foremost, I came out to feel more like me. This is, in my view, the most important reason for someone to come out. Suddenly I didn't have to talk about half my life, didn't have to use euphemisms or code words, and didn't have to feel like I was being insincere with anyone about who I really was. I'll be at a pub night or something with Joel and he'll marvel at how fast I can work, "Oh yeah this is my boyfriend but we're not exclusive" into a conversation. Or, "Oh, you know, at the nonprofit I work with, the BISEXUAL Resource Center..." It's like if I'm clicking with someone, even on a casual friendship basis, I don't feel like it's genuine until they know who I am.
2. I came out to raise awareness. It doesn't always work out this way, of course, but sometimes the more personal connection people have with someone who isn't heteronormative or mononormative, the less likely it is that they will make blanket statements of discrimination. And the more likely it is they will find out more, and maybe even start to shed those small-minded ideas a little bit at a time.**
3. Finally, I came out to let others around me know it's okay if they want to come out too. I think this is one of the best parts about NCOD - the coming out domino effect. Those two people who commented that they, like me, were not straight or not monogamous (or both!) were probably already out, but they felt the need to come out again to me because I had come out to them, and all of us probably had these awesome "You are not alone" warm fuzzy moments because of it. 

I read a lot of amazing posts on Friday, some of them from friends who were coming out for the first time, some from straight, monogamous friends pledging their support to those who need it, and a lot (like me) saying, "I'm already out, but just in case you need a reminder...I'll tell you again." The community I feel on these days is really quite amazing, and the hope is that the more support and community we pledge to give to those who are still in the closet, the more they will finally feel they are able to come out when (and if) they want to. 

There are many, many hurdles to coming out, both personal and professional, and I'll admit that there are many family members who I'm still not out to. But the hope is that with days like NCOD, and with support from friends and acquaintances alike, those hurdles will be easier to cross in years to come for anyone who wants to jump them.

**Of course, your milage may vary. Last Christmas, as we were all discussing my second cousin's upcoming lesbian wedding, an extended family member actually said, "I guess it could happen to any family." I still have not come out to them, but that's a different subject for a different day. 

Reclaiming the Mix Tape

Like many children of the 80's, I have a particular nostalgia for the mix tape, especially the mix tape from a special someone. There was nothing quite like being handed that little rectangular case, pouring over the track names I knew and wondering about the ones I didn't know, and waiting painfully through the school day to go home and play it. And then, I hung on to every word and wondered, Why did he choose this one? This song uses "love" twenty times in it, is he trying to tell me something? (Spoiler: most of the time, he wasn't.) I'd reply in kind with my own mix tape that would show him my profoundly deep fifteen-year-old soul (though I'd never be there for the first listen, because who wants to see someone see your soul?)

Though I never stopped wanting to make mix tapes for special someones, something changed. It wasn't a disinterest in music - I still very much look to songs to qualify certain feelings. It wasn't the creation of digital media - I just started making playlists instead. And it wasn't that love songs have changed. It was my that my relationships no longer follow a preset societal norm, and love songs, most of the time, just aren't that poly.

But I was on a mission to make a mix, so I asked some other poly friends if they also had trouble with music. Several shared my frustrations, that otherwise meaningful songs become less so when overtly monogamous or jealous themes pop up. There's nothing quite like listening to a song and falling for it, thinking it says more than you could ever say to someone special, before realizing it contains a line like, "You're mine." I asked them, what do you do with that? How do you avoid mono-normativity* in mainstream music?

My favorite answer, other than the one recommending I just switch to dubstep, was this: I just ignore it. Though it had certainly crossed my mind to pick and choose what parts of songs I really intended to be about that special someone, there was always some voice in the back of my head going, That song is perfect except for those three lines, so it's ruined. Move on. But the more I thought about it the more I talked back to that voice: Why can't those three lines be re-interpreted? Who says I have to go along with what was it was supposed to be about? And then I got angrier: If I was one to always follow what was "supposed to be" I wouldn't be poly in the first place.

So I started to just ignore those lines that ruined a perfectly good song. Or, rather, re-imagined them. And why not? Why can't "You're mine" mean "You're mine right now," or "You're mine and you're also someone else's"? Music already squishes pages of emotion into three or so minutes, so isn't there always more complexity intended than what's on the page? And, even if that intent is totally different than the one we need, who's to say we can't change it? We're already pretty damned good at re-writing rules to fit our lives, why not re-write the intended meaning of mainstream music to fit our mixes?

Maybe this is my creative nature showing through, but once I started ignoring the mono-normativity, I found that making mixes was more fun - maybe even more fun than it was when I was fifteen. There's more of a challenge to finding a song that not only has those lines I can ignore but that also captures the desire for independence and community I have in my adult relationships. But once I find it, it's more rewarding. I mean, it's not quite as rewarding as writing out track lists by hand on a tiny rectangular cassette insert, but for some things, you just have to dig out a CD-R and a Sharpie.

I didn't use any of my friends' suggested poly-friendly songs in my latest mix, so I present their suggestions here, for amusement. What songs are on mine? Sorry, you don't get to see my soul that easily.

CSN&Y - "Our House"
Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band - "If I Should Fall Behind"
Todd Rundgren - "Hello It's Me"
Tim Minchin - "If I Didn't Have You" (to combat "one and only love forever" feelings)
fun - "Take Your Time"
Spice Girls - "Wannabe"
Alanis Morissette - "Doth I Protest Too Much"

and I'll add
The New Pornographers - "Challengers"
The Human League - "The Things that Dreams are Made Of"

Feel free to suggest your own in the comments!

*the monogamous "norm"

All Kinds of Time: Impatience and Immobility

Last week, I was hit with several large stacks of papers to grade, so many in fact that I worked through last weekend and most evenings of the week. I didn't cope very well with the pressure. I found myself anxious, jumpy, and wanting to cry at the weirdest moments. I couldn't focus. I wondered if I needed to ask my doctor about pharmaceutical assistance. The thought that Oh god there just isn't enough time rendered me almost useless for more hours than I care to admit. Last week sucked.

But I don't think I have an attention disorder. When I have one or two things on my plate, I can get them done, no problem. But when my daily to-do list expands into a weekly to-do list, my desire to get everything done right now makes it hard for me to figure out what to do first.

Saturday, while relaxing for the first time in a week and a half, I admitted that I have a problem with patience. I see things that I want to happen and for some reason expect them to happen today or tomorrow, and when they don't, or when I can't predict when they'll happen, I get anxious. I start to wonder if they'll happen at all. And in my anxiety, I am unable to work toward those things that I can actually make happen. (See: my novel-in-progress, a short story that's done and just needs to be submitted somewhere, the short fiction papers I should be grading right now.) I was posed with the question "What is your ideal for right now?" and by worrying about the future so much, I had difficulty answering.

As I sat down this morning to tackle everything on my daily to-do list, I heard a song by early 2000s band Fountains of Wayne (and it wasn't "Stacy's Mom," though that song does certainly have its merits). The song, "All Kinds of Time," is about an ultra-slow-mo moment between when a ball is snapped to a quarterback and when he throws it into the outstretched arms of a teammate. In that moment of chaos around him, everything stops: he looks around, imagines his family watching him on television, is at peace, and just like that, everything falls into place and he feels like he owns the world. 

I'm not a football fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I couldn't help but listen to it again and realize that in those moments of chaos when I'm working myself into an anxious frenzy of When will this happen or How will I ever get this done, I forget to step back and take stock. I forget to see that what I do have isn't worth ignoring for what I might have, and I forget to see that there are enough hours in the day, I just need to use them better. 

Patience isn't an easy virtue for anyone to learn, but I want to try harder because I feel like I've missed out on so many "own the world" moments. I feel like I haven't been able to separate the crushingly intimidating Future Goals from the totally obtainable Present Goals, and because of it have immobilized myself to opportunities. And mostly, I want to be able to answer the question "What is your ideal for right now?" so that I can attempt to make it a reality. Or, even better, realize that in a lot of ways, it already is my reality. 

My Big Fat Bisexual Pride Day

Today, September 23, is Celebrate Bisexuality Day. I posted about this on Facebook a few weeks ago and an old acquaintance commented, "They have to have a holiday for everything now, don't they?" My first instinct was to take him down in a brilliantly snarky, horribly piercing verbal battle, but then I took a step back, counted to ten, and instead replied, "This response is exactly why we need it."

I suppose one could question the "need" for celebrating something that's so obviously already celebrated during Pride. I mean, right? Can't you just so easily pick the bisexuals out of the amassed crowd? Isn't the parade just overwhelmed with bisexuals?

I'll give you a hint: it is. But you wouldn't know it by simply looking. Because so many doubt the existence of someone who can be attracted to more than one gender forever, it's easier for a lot of us to simply stay in one closet or another. Sometimes, we're already happily monogamously paired with a partner and therefore can blend into whatever community we appear to fit with. Sometimes, we are scared to come out because we're not positive we're bisexual because we've never had experience with more than one gender. Sometimes, it's just easier to ignore that others are erasing our existence and erase it for ourselves.

But we're out there. And we're not all just "confused," or "on the way to gay." We're not all more likely to cheat on our partners. We're not all poly (though, obviously, I'm not helping out with this stereotype). We're not all sex-crazed. We're not all experimenting. And today is the day out of the year that we try to remind others of these things, remind them of our existence, and remind them that even though we make up a significant portion of the LGBT population, simply celebrating pride with the greater community isn't enough.

Today, members of national LGBT organizations are holding a closed-door meeting at the White House to discuss the ongoing specific needs of the bisexual community. It is my hope that this meeting will not only allow activists from around the country to share ideas, but also spread awareness that we are a group to be supported, celebrated, and noticed. As for me, I will be wearing my bi pride colors today and will be happy to raise a toast to friends at the local celebration here in Boston on Friday. Thank you to all who already support our cause, and Happy Bi Pride!

If you would like to find out more about the Bisexual Resource Center and all that it does for the local and national bisexual community, visit our website. You can also support the BRC and all it does with support groups, literature, and education as the oldest nationally-focused bisexual organization in the U.S. 

Thoughts on the Word "Busy"

Last week, I decided I would try to eliminate the word "busy" from my vocabulary. This was spurred not only by my utter exhaustion of using the word (as repetition is the seed of boredom), but also because it's been the subject of several articles in my newsfeed the last few weeks. 

Laura Vanderkam of Fast Company challenges the notion that being busy equals being powerful, suggesting that "[a]nyone can be busy. It’s easy to fill your time if that’s your only goal. In our hectic world, the ultimate sign of success is empty space on your calendar." Carmel Lobello of The Week takes that idea a step farther, suggesting that "talking about how slammed you are can actually damage your ability to connect and interact with people." Finally, Meredith Fineman of the Harvard Business Review blog drove the last nails into the coffin of the B Word, in my mind, with this:

In addition to having entire conversations about how busy we are, we fail to share feelings with friends and family, ask about important matters, and realize that the “busy” is something that can be put on hold for a little while.

The last thing I want my job to do is keep me from having meaningful connections with people, and what's more, I think the more I tell people I'm busy the more I feel busy, and that leads to more stress and anxiety that I'm too busy. 

So I'm saying goodbye to the word "busy," and instead will explain that I am going to move my regular blog-posting day to Mondays instead of Fridays just because. 

Poly Communication, Part II: Managing Expectations

Though I've been poly for over four years, I still don't feel like I have a lot of poly "cred." I mean sure, I have a wonderful, stable relationship with my primary partner Joel (Boyfriend), and by witnessing chaos around us we're reminded we're pretty healthy, even if we don't have serious relationships talks on a regular basis. But because I was pretty comfortable in my relationship with him, and because grading a bazillion freshman writing papers takes up time and energy, I hadn't done a lot of outside dating.

Then a month ago, I started dating New Boy (or for simplicity's sake, Adam*), and my life abounded with new-relationship energy (or NRE, in poly-lingo). I know that it sounds like a non-problem, but as awesome as NRE is, it can be channeled into anxiety as well as happiness. There are a lot of reasons for this, I think - all those lovely things I talked about in my jealousy post, for some - but one of the biggest reasons for me was trying to manage expectations. And not just manage expectations, but manage realistic expectations for Adam specifically that weren't based on past experiences.

That's hard, because by definition, an expectation is a belief that something will happen in the future and is based on what's happened in the past. The last few people I had significant connections with before Adam (other than Joel) were temporary: when we started dating it was made clear that they were leaving town, and that our relationship time was running out. So accompanying the typical NRE I felt with Adam, I constantly had an anxiety that everything had to happen at once. It wasn't until I could tell him about this anxiety that it started to subside, especially when he reminded me that he wasn't going anywhere.

Now I've realized that part of managing expectations is realizing why I might have certain expectations that I do, and deciding whether they're realistic for someone new. Like most things in poly, this means talking early and talking often. It sometimes feels like wandering into an emotional minefield to have a conversation about where things are going and what each person wants (and frankly, can handle) in a relationship. There's nothing quite more exposing than putting your heart out there with the possibility for rejection; it really makes me want to go back to the toss-a-note-and-run methods of our youth (Do you want to be my boyfriend? ...a casual sex thing? ...just friends? ...blissfully unlabeled because The Man can't tell us what to do? Check one).

But even beyond those big, scary questions, trying to manage even the smallest expectations have made a big difference. Asking questions like, "Will you be able to chat later tonight?" can be just as important as "Where do I fit into your life?" As simple as that sounds, I think there are so many "rules" to dating that we forget we can just ask. ("He hasn't answered your IM in a few hours? He's playing hard to get. Turn the tables and don't answer him for a few hours." Or, you know, maybe he's in a meeting. Maybe he's cooking dinner. Maybe he has a date. Maybe you should chill out.)

A friend of mine has a tattoo across his chest that says, "I'm not afraid to ask." I feel like an entire world opened up to me when I realized that instead of wondering things like, "Does he like me?" "What are we?" "Should I send that extra IM tonight or will I be imposing?", I could just ask. And not only could I ask, but things would actually get better (even if it's only in the long run), if I did so instead of remaining silent. There are many hurdles to getting over silence - I'm not saying it's easy, even just to toss that note and run away - but it's freeing to know that it's actually an option.

The more expectations we can manage by asking, the fewer times un-met expectations cause positive NRE to be channeled into anxiety (or, on the flip side, the fewer times we drag out something that is really not what we want in the first place). We poly people throw far more notes at our crushes than the monogamously inclined, so it's important for the potential benefits to outweigh the potential rejection. Does he/she like me? There's no way to know for sure except getting out the sparkly gel pens and practicing our football-note folding skills.

*We've decided not to change names to protect the innocent, because neither of them are really very innocent. 

Bruised Apples

Sometime in the mid-90s, I taught myself to juggle. A lot of people would have thought, let's watch someone else juggle first. Let's rent a VHS tape. Let's buy one of those trendy Klutz books about juggling. But not me. Did I start out with silk scarves that fall slowly? Hell no. I started with tennis balls, and compensated for not having enough time to throw one before catching the next one by throwing them ten to fifteen feet in the air. It was months before I figured out technique and was able to juggle indoors.

But I never could get past juggling three. At some point, I got too frustrated to go back and learn another way, so I polished what I knew (and know to this day, to the sadness of all round fruit that passes through my kitchen).

When navigating poly, I should have thought about my past juggling limitations when deciding how much dating I could handle at one time. There was a month-long period back in 2009 when I regularly saw three different guys. This might have been okay if I felt the same level of casual connection with all of them, but there were two I felt quite fond of (one of whom was Boyfriend), so my dates with the third started to fill me with more guilt than joy. My mind was off with one of the other two while physically with the third, and that was when I realized I might not be as good at juggling as I thought.

For a long time after that, after it was down to just Boyfriend, I didn't date very many other people. I was trying to get my career going and became more involved in organizations. I went through a brief period after I came out as bisexual when I wanted all the ladies, but even that, after a while, calmed down to a quiet, "I'd like a lady, if she happens to come by."

But now, life has thrown me more tennis balls, and I'm trying to juggle again. Only this time, I know what it feels like when I'm taking on too much. I'm already feeling like I've reverted back to tossing them fifteen feet in the air. I like expanding my life to new people, but I need to be realistic, so I have two choices: lay down some juggling implements or start over and learn how to juggle properly. 

To get away from the metaphor for a second (and I know, I'm quite attached to it at this point), practicing polyamory requires the ability to manage time. If Rule One is Communication, Rule Two is Time Management. But even beyond scheduling, I feel lousy when I don't think I'm giving my attention fairly to someone. When New Boy suggested I write about juggling new partners and time management, he said the first thing should be, "Don't drop them on their heads." Of course he was trying* to be funny, but he was right. 

So what do I do? The solution depends on the situation of course, but the first thing I've learned to do is be honest. That conversation sucks, especially if you're talking to someone who you like and who likes you back. Letting that someone know you might not have as much time or as much attention to give them is hard. But what sucks worse is not saying anything and fading away over time, possibly leaving the other person wondering what they did wrong. I still might eventually realize that I can't give that person the attention they deserve, but at least I didn't drop them on their head.

I should also probably learn to juggle properly, to be honest. I should look at past experiences and realize how much I should attempt to take on in the first place. I should factor in the mountains of grading, the volunteering, the writing, and the social engagements, and more than anything else be realistic, so instead of having to limit the tennis balls, I don't pick up as many in the first place. The ideal results are less hurt feelings, fewer bruised apples, and more sanity, the last of which I need most of all.

Oh, and if anyone has one of those old Klutz juggling books laying around, I wouldn't mind reading up a bit this time.

*Okay who am I kidding, it was funny. I like funny. Funny is sexy.

Five Years Ago

Five years ago today, my friend Kristi and I set out from my parents' condo in Ohio with a packed 2001 Volkswagen Beetle. We were destined for Boston with a stopover in Niagara Falls, both on our own journeys: Kristi, to Canada and Boston for the first time; me, to a semester-long internship in Cambridge. 

I told everyone that this trip was an opportunity for me to get experience and make connections in the publishing world. I told them that I needed my own adventure before coming back and settling down. I told them this would be temporary. I told myself it would be temporary. But I lied. 

When I had left Michigan a few days earlier, I left that life: a husband, two dogs, and a person who I barely recognize now as me.

It wasn't a bad life. On the surface, I had a lot to envy. The economy was bad but we were doing okay, Tom having just started his emergency medicine residency and me working part-time at a bookstore. We had friends. We had a new house.

What I didn't have was a sense of self. I was just starting to figure out what I wanted to do after years of unsettled decisions: the recommendation letters my undergrad professors had written to apply to an MA program in literature went unsent, and the LSAT registration fee I paid, refunded. Twice. I had finally decided to continue my studies in creative writing, something that had always brought me joy. But instead of making me feel more settled as myself in the life I already had, it made me more anxious to get out. This internship was the perfect opportunity to see what it was like on my own, and if I didn't like it, I could always come back.

At first, Kristi and I had a great time being tourists. We wandered the crowded sites of Niagara, we rode the Maid of the Mist, and we sang embarrassingly loud songs as we drove on to Massachusetts. When we got to Newton, where I was renting a room for the semester, we unpacked my Beetle into the first place I would ever live completely on my own. We rode the commuter rail into Boston, ate at Fanueil Hall, and wandered the Public Garden. I TA'd my first course at school. We ate Indian food and drank Guinness in pubs. I knew the city was already affecting me in a way that would make moving back to the middle of nowhere, something my ex-husband and I had always agreed upon, nearly impossible.

When Kristi left a few days later, I came back from dropping her off at the airport and took a look around my rented room, a strange mixture of freedom and loss filling my chest. I started realizing what it meant to be me, totally alone. I was there less than two months before I admitted to myself, and then to my ex, that I wasn't going back.

The next few months were hard. I missed the stability, my friends, the dogs. I learned how to manage my own finances, something I'd never done before. I learned how to cook for one and eat at my desk every night. I learned what it really meant to be lonely. I learned how to live by myself. But I also learned how to live as myself.

On October 13, 2008, I wrote:

I hope I never regret any of the changes I make to my life. I hope that throughout it all, I can still look back and see that I became happier, or wiser, after it all. But it is the nature of change to blind you to all but hindsight. And I cannot say how any of it will turn out.

Me in 2008 would have never guessed that by this time, I'd be employed doing something that I love, that I'd have so many amazing friends in my life, or even that I'd be dating not one but multiple people who care about me. But I was right about having become happier and wiser. If I could time-travel, I'd have to try really hard not to tell past me what mistakes to avoid. But I would definitely tell her it would be all worth it to make them anyway.

All of the Above

There are a few things I'm positive I know about myself: I will never be five feet tall without shoes I refuse to wear because they're uncomfortable, I will always be right-handed despite that week in sixth grade I tried to switch, and I will never settle for either/or. In most areas of my life, I will choose letter D. All of the Above. And I've come to realize this is not a defect, but a feature.

A few months ago, I wrote an article for a local bi newsletter called "Now What?" The focus of the article was to talk about what I did once I realized I was bisexual, and to explain, I discussed my history of poor follow-through. I chalked up the year and a half it took me to realize I wasn't straight to thinking it was perhaps something else that was fleeting, like my half-finished short stories or half-eaten bags of frozen vegetables. 

I thought of my poor follow-through as me being unable to finish something, but now I don't think it's that at all. I think it's me being unable to resist starting something, because in reality, I want to do everything.


And just like my desire to do everything, which sometimes means I don't finish everything, I've always wanted to be everything. Growing up, I played softball, volleyball, the piano; I wrote, sang, drew, and painted. One of the hardest decisions of my childhood happened in seventh grade when they made me choose between visual arts, choir, and band. The answer to the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" changed from veterinarian to comedian to gym teacher to police officer to coffee shop owner to high school speech coach, then finally to writer. I didn't want to be one of those, I wanted to be all of them. I wanted to dabble.

But "dabbling" sounds so negative. It sounds like, "Hey you, why are you farting around? Pick something and go for it." But I don't want to pick something. Just like I don't want to pick one gender I'm attracted to, or one person to be with forever, I don't want to spend the rest of my life doing just one thing.

We spend so much time worrying about what we're going to be, which can be overwhelming for someone like me who doesn't want to choose. We think about the issues of stability versus variety, but in all honesty those things don't have to be mutually exclusive. I get asked all the time, "When are you going to get that full-time teaching position?" and I answer as expected: "Whenever I can publish a book. Whenever I have more experience. Whenever I start applying for one." When really, I want to say, "Maybe never. Maybe I don't want one."

I like being an adjunct professor: I can (mostly) pick and choose the classes I teach, how many I teach, and am flexible with the rest of my time. If I want to try and get a part-time job doing something else in addition, I can. If I want to save up money over the school year and do little-to-nothing for three months of the summer, I can. If I want to spend entire days switching back and forth between blogging, writing fiction, painting monsters, and grading, I can.

I used to feel insecure about how, as a person with writing degrees, I wasn't an expert at anything. But now I realize I can be knowledgeable in a little bit of everything, which, I think, makes me better equipped at teaching brand-new college students who might be a little lost themselves. It definitely gives me the power to say, "You don't know what you want to be when you grow up? Good! What do you want to be right now?"

There may be a time when I focus a bit more on one thing professionally, but I am almost positive I will never stop leaving the last few pages of my journals blank, hone in on one artistic pursuit, or resist opening that new box of cereal before the last one is finished. What I need to do right now, however, is stop listening to that pesky voice that keeps asking, "When are you going to be a professional something? When are you going to be more secure?"

"I'm a professional everything," I'll say to it, "I'm All of the Above. And there's nothing more secure in knowing what you are."

Healthy Poly Relationships Rule Number One: Communication (with Ourselves)

I wish I could title this "Healthy Poly Relationships Rules Numbers One through One Hundred: Communication," but that sounds a little clunky.

While I think that most people new to (or curious about) nonmonogamy are at first the most concerned about jealousy, even more important (and usually more useful) is learning how to be a communicator. And not just a communicator, a super-communicator. Communication is a huge topic in any form of interpersonal relationships, not just romantic and/or sexual ones, but people who practice nonmonogamy (or for the sake of my typing sanity, "polyamory" or "poly"*) need to make it even more of a priority.

Take, for example, this almost exact word-for-word conversation I had with my boyfriend the other day:

Me: New Boy and I are going to get ramen on Thursday night.
BF: At the new place?
Me: Yes....wait! Was that a you-and-me thing?
BF: I was kind of thinking it was.
Me: I'm sorry! I don't know why but I thought you'd already gone.
BF: No, I haven't.
Me: New Boy and I can totally change our plans.
BF: Thanks, love.

Okay, I'll admit the above example is simple and possibly even a little gag-worthy, especially if you have much bigger issues than what restaurants you and your partners try together first. But think about what might have happened if Boyfriend hadn't spoken up: New Boy and I could have gone to the ramen place and had a fabulous time, and even though Boyfriend isn't generally an envious person, a little resentment could have formed. Little resentments can build into bigger resentments, and then grudges, and then all of a sudden you're angry at your partner for something that could have been made better (or even resolved) with a little communication.

But Boyfriend couldn't have communicated that he wanted to be with me for our first slurp-tastic new ramen experience if he hadn't known that it would bother him if I went with someone else. Before we can communicate with our partners or potential partners what we are feeling, we have to know what we are feeling and admit it to ourselves. This is especially true when our feelings are less on the uncomfortable side and more on the dark-and-painful scale.

Authors Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy, in their book The Ethical Slut, put it this way: "Silent suffering and self-deprecation have no place in this lifestyle. Pretending that you feel great when you're in agony...will make you bitterly unhappy, and it may make those who care about you even unhappier." (I will point out that "[s]ilent suffering and self-deprecation" don't have a place in any lifestyle, but for ours they are especially destructive.)

Admitting to our own feelings (and allowing ourselves to feel them) is the starting point to being a better communicator, because then we can address issues that arise from an "I" place rather than a "you" place. Boyfriend said, "I thought we were going to try that place together," not "You said we were going to try that place together." He was saying, "I don't feel so great about you trying that place with someone else," not "How can you do this to me?" When we communicate from a place where we know what we are feeling, or even that we know we have no idea what we are feeling, we take ownership in the communication instead of placing blame and, ultimately, building resentment.

The first place to start is by checking in: what are we feeling? What made us feel that way? As with allowing ourselves to feel jealousy if (when) it arises, we need to allow ourselves to feel whatever else it is we are feeling: envy, shame, resentment, guilt; but also joy, happiness, love. Because communicating the good is just as important as communicating the bad. It's not only, "I felt envious about you going to the ramen place with New Boy" but also I'm happy that you checked in with me about the ramen place. I'm happy our relationship is important to you. Communication of the good is the end-goal of sloshing through all that other stuff. It is, in my ramen experience, the sweet pork and slippery noodles in the bowl of broth.

It is only after we have checked in with ourselves about how we are feeling that we can bring those feelings to our partners, and I want to explore challenges associated with doing so in a future post. But first, I have to find a time for Boyfriend and I to get ramen, because for some odd reason I have a craving for it.

*Not everyone uses these terms interchangeably because they're not always exactly the same. If you're curious about terminology in general, check out this glossary.

The Jealousy Monster and Me

Jealousy is not a big green monster. I mean, it could be for some people, but my jealousy is tiny. It grips the folds of my ear, just inside the external auditory canal, and whispers to me. I've never put it under a magnifying glass, but I'm assuming if I did it would look like a tiny green fuzzball with menacing, jagged teeth, meant to gobble up emotions and spit back hurtful and sometimes irrational things. I know when it's there - it starts as a weird feeling of unease, and the longer I let it hang around the more my brain listens to it.

Everyone might not have a fuzzy green ear-dweller, but everyone experiences jealousy. Those who practice nonmonogamy are not somehow magically excused from it; in fact, we probably experience more of it simply because more people equals more possibilities for it to crop up. Sure, there are some lucky ones out there who say they've never felt jealous, but they are few and far between (and, I'm going out on a limb here, probably lying).

So how do we battle our monsters, no matter which form they might take?

I start where I start with most things: with the idea that knowledge is power. Information about jealousy in nonmonogamous relationships can be found in many sources, from books like Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy's The Ethical Slut to a myriad web articles, blogs, and forums. However, the discussion about jealousy that rings truest to me can be found in the book Opening Up by Tristan Taormino.

Sources agree that jealousy is not a cause, but rather an effect: a result of something else. Taormino outlines what some of these causes may be, including envy, insecurity, possessiveness, feeling excluded, and fear of abandonment.  My Jealousy Monster feeds primarily on envy, insecurity, and feelings of or fear of exclusion. Once sated with these emotions, it whispers things like "He's closer to her than than he is with you" (envy), "You'll never please her like he can" (insecurity), and "They're at the top of the Eiffel tower while you're just sitting at your desk surfing Reddit" (feelings of exclusion). Realizing the roots of the jealousy, or what it is that your Jealousy Monster feeds on, is the first step to weakening it.

After that, Taormino urges readers to allow themselves to just feel it. She writes, "Don't criticize yourself or pile shame and judgment on top of [the jealousy] -- that will just make you feel worse." If my Jealousy Monster's first course is envy and insecurity, shame and self-judgement are like its dessert.

So where to go from there? Just as Taormino suggests, I turn to friends and partners for support. Today, in fact, just as I was typing this post, a friend admitted that her Jealousy Monster had been a particular glutton for envy and insecurity, but also enjoyed a particularly big helping of fear. In addition to venting, she just needed to know that her feelings were valid, and that's something that we can all provide for people: the reminder that what we feel is what we feel, and it is only after we have admitted and found the root of that feeling can we move on to try and get past it.

As for my Jealousy Monster, it grows weaker when I replace feelings of envy with focusing on what I have that others don't; when I replace insecurity with doing something I'm good at and really love; and when I replace feeling excluded with getting up from my desk and creating my own adventures. I work on all of these by addressing the roots one by one, and most often talking about them with my partners, both the ones I'm jealous of and the ones whose partners I'm jealous of. It doesn't happen right away, and not usually without help, processing, blogging, journaling, and lots and lots of communication, but with time, the monster has little to nothing left to eat (at least, temporarily).

But I don't kill it nor forget it's there. Everyone's Jealousy Monster will reappear at some point, even if it's much weaker than it was before. It could feed on insecurity again, related to my relationships, but it also could feed on the insecurity that I don't fit into those jeans anymore. The key is to not forget it, but keep it distracted with other things.

I distract mine with marshmallows.

It likes marshmallows.