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.

The Monopoly Metaphor: Ethical Non-Monogamy and Playing by Our Own Rules

When I first learned how to play Monopoly, it was from people, not the instruction booklet. Let's say for the sake or argument it was my parents, or perhaps even my aunt and uncle who like to recall a particularly silly game during which I said I was "property poor" and eventually degraded to wearing my headband across my forehead, shouting, "RAMBO!"

Yeah, let's say it was them. 

When Aunt and Uncle taught me to play Monopoly, I knew the basics - I could buy properties and if someone landed on that property, awesome! I got money. (By now you've realized that little me sucked at buying properties.) I enjoyed Monopoly for about as long as anyone who can play longer than an hour enjoys Monopoly. Life was good.

And then my friend Molly from next door filled me in: How had I not known about the Free Parking rule, and if you landed there you got ALL THE MONEY people had been paying for luxury tax, or getting out of jail? So when I played with Molly, we played Free Parking. I was still horrible at it, but happy to realize there were other rules. It was like a whole new game!

Apparently, there are many variations to the rules of how to play Monopoly, and since it's been around a long time, different families and friend groups have probably always made up their own rules to make the game a little more interesting (or, you know, not take five hours).

I like to explain ethical non-monogamy (or in my case, polyamory) by talking about Monopoly. When I played with family, I played differently than when I played with Molly. But in neither case did anyone cheat at the particular rules we played by. Everyone agreed to the rules, so everyone had fun. Relationships can be the same way.

There's this societal idea (for the sake of this metaphor, the official Monopoly instruction manual) that two people have to be monogamous to be committed, to have a healthy relationship, and to be a family (not contingent upon having a family, but that's a discussion for another time). But what if we want to play by our own rules? What if we want to toss the manual and make up something new? And, as long as everyone playing (i.e. everyone in the relationship) is playing by the same rules, why do we have to feel we shouldn't be able to enjoy the game just as much as those die-hard official Monopoly rule-followers?*

In any given game, I might have slightly different rules with each other player. For example, maybe when I land on Boardwalk, I don't have to pay the owner the full rent but rather half-rent and also stand up and do a little jig. But when I land on Indiana Avenue, I have to pony up the full amount. This silly example translates into real things: maybe I share every detail with X about Y, but Y and Z would rather not know about the details of each others' "turns." It sounds like a lot to keep track of (and trust me, it can be), but that's why being very clear and consistent about communicating** our rules is vital to everyone's happiness. 

My intention with this metaphor is not to say we should treat our relationships as games. But rather, to say we should think of the camaraderie we feel with each other when we're all having fun and following the same rules. Being clear about what rules we're playing by is the first step, and after that...well, this is where my Monopoly metaphor breaks down. Because unlike the frustration I felt from losing game after game of Monopoly as a child, the ideal objective of ethical non-monogamy is that everyone wins. 

*Who are, in fact, perfectly wonderful people and I'm sure are also having fun. What works for you works.

**Dear god do we poly people talk a lot. We probably talk more than anyone else, because we have to. But this is a more in-depth discussion for another time.

Brussels in Five Hundred Words

Enjoying some trappist ales at La Lunette

Our trip to Brussels was waylaid due to train delays and cancellations, which I hear is not that common in Europe, so lucky us. We spent a random night in den Haag (The Hague), though thankfully not because we were in trouble with the United Nations. Though we didn't visit any political buildings of interest, we did find an Indonesian restaurant that stuffed us to the gills with delicious food I’ve never had before. (If you ever pass through The Hague, eat at Warung Bude Kati, order the rijsttafel, and leave feeling more full and happy than you’ve ever been before.)

Our first stop upon finally arriving in Brussels the next morning was a café near the Grand Place that served frikandel, which is sort of between a hamburger and a hot dog, frites (fries), and of course beer. We’d been drinking Belgian beer our whole trip and finally we were in its homeland. My Leffe came out of a bottle, just as it would have back home, but it still tasted better.

Frikandel and frites

Leffe Brown, my love.

After lunch we wandered a bit, ducking into chocolate shops. Following a commandment from Joel’s Belgian coworker Geraldine, we had our street waffles sans-sauce or whipped cream on top, and enjoyed the sugary dough by itself. We bought giant syrup-filled gumdrops and wandered the Grand Place, was accosted by mussel vendors, and found the famous Mannekin Pis fountain, which was smaller than I expected. We enjoyed one last beer with Emily and Roger at Poechenellekelder, which is filled with hilarious figurines, pictures, and comics of the peeing little boy.  

Hot, sticky street waffles

Mannekin Pis

We bid Emily and Roger adieu at the train station and treated ourselves to a hotel room instead of a hostel, where I took a nap (I’m not used to day-drinking) while Joel planned our evening. Again thanks to recommendations from Geraldine, we set out through the comic book district to La Lunette, a bar featuring trappist ales and giant beers. We talked with a lovely couple from the UK who used to live in Brussels, who gave us recommendations on neighborhoods to visit. He was not a fan of Belgian fries, which he described as akin to worms. Proper chips, he said, are flat.

Rochefort 8º

After our new friends took their leave we found another Geraldine-recommended bar, A la Morte Subite, where I discovered my love for kriek, a sweet cherry lambic. We indulged in frites from a cart on the way home – they are a perfect drunk food.

Our last day in Brussels had a pretty loose schedule – we had breakfast at a Parisian-style bakery in Old Brussels, walked to the Royal Palace, and spent a few hours with the iguanadons at the natural history museum. Our final dinner was spent at Le Petit Boxeur, where we celebrated our four-year anniversary, and we had some final Belgian beers at The Greenwich.

Poor iguanadons. Scientists used to believe they stood upright, but since these were displayed it's been discovered they walked on all fours. The bones here are too fragile to fix.

Verdict: Our time here was not long enough. Need to come back to Belgium, if even for the beer alone. 

A Poem for Spring

From Under a Pile of Kleenex
(with apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee with each sniff and cough and sneeze
my lungs do make, when pollen asks its fees
at the end of April and into May.

I loathe thee to the level of every day’s
most loathsome hate, from grass and leaves and trees.
I loathe thee freely, as a toddler hates his peas;
I loathe thee purely, as vampires hate sun rays.

I loathe thee with the passion put to use
in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s whines.
I loathe thee with a loathe I seem to lose
only when Ben’dryl’s strength I use in time.

Hours, sneezing, for all the year!—as seasons move,
I shall but hate thee moreso in July.

Amsterdam in Five Hundred Words

Before I get to Amsterdam, some words about European train travel: it’s heaven on a track. Clean, efficient, fast, on time (mostly, but I’ll get to that in another post), the trains were just about my favorite overall thing about the trip. From the windows of our car from Copenhagen to Hamburg to Amsterdam, we saw farmland, countryside, deer, and hares while sipping coffee and munching croissants. The best part came while crossing the Baltic Sea from Denmark to Germany. Instead of a tunnel or bridge, our minds were blown as the whole train rolled onto a ferry: we rode a train on a boat. (Okay technically, we had to exit the train during the crossing, but still. It was pretty damn cool.) It started snowing in Germany, and we watched the big flakes stream down outside the train car as we sped along.

Roger, Emily, and Joel. WE'RE ON A TRAIN. ON A BOAT.

Snowy Hamburg

After a quick connection in Hamburg, where we purchased and bolted down currywurst (yum) and schnitzel (yum), we arrived in Amsterdam. The first thing one can’t help but notice about Amsterdam, at least the central portion, is that it’s all canals – I can now see why, back before climate change ruined all the fun, it used to be quick to ice skate to get around in the winter. From the vast front window of our apartment (Yeah off-season traveling in the middle of the week!) we looked down on the Amstel Canal and the houseboats that line it. The apartment was a traditional canal house, which means it was three stories high with a stairwell that could very well have been classified as a ladder. We tried not to ever have to go down the stairs after a considerable amount of drinking.

Just a bit steep.

The view from our apartment. Off-season travel's the way to go!

We mostly wandered - across the Amstel Canal that first night to the Red Light District (surreal at nighttime but even more so at noon on a Tuesday), through the narrow streets and across bridges, dodging tiny European vehicles and bikes, bikes, bikes. We saw myriad shops, places to get coffee and traditional Dutch Pancakes, and a central flower market where The Netherlands’s biggest exports can be purchased: tulip bulbs. We skipped partaking in another famous product of Amsterdam (weed), though did take advantage of their more liberal stance on sexuality and walked through their sex museum – quite amusing.

Bikes! Canals!

One of many stalls at the bulb market

The sex museum toilets were only vaguely sexual.

Corny tourists, HO!

On our last day, we visited the Anne Frank Museum, which brought to life a book I read in elementary school, and the story sunk in. I’m glad we made it a priority to visit. After the museum we had lunch at one of Amsterdam’s oldest cafes, Café Kalkhoven, where we ate mini Dutch pancakes with butter and powdered sugar. We ended our visit with a boat tour of the canals, which perhaps offered the best views of the city.

Verdict: Definitely my favorite city of the trip. I’d fight tourists to go back in the summer and rent bikes. Many thanks to my friend Madeleine for great activity recommendations.