50 Days 'til 50 Day 20--50 Shades of Gay

50 Days 'Til 50Day 2050 Shades of Gay editors note: Blog #20. Woohoo. Almost half way there.The Today Show had another of their “unofficial” surveys this morning of what the cool men after 50 should and should not do. I'm jumping the gun here as I still have several weeks to go before I hit the big “5” “0” but it got me thinking what does cool look like and am I following the rules to preserve my cool status as I venture into 50? God, I hope so. LOL! Their lists were short but provided much banter between the hosts. The do’s list was: embrace your baldness, date someone your own age, and trim your nose and ear hair. The do not’s list was: don’t not follow your kids on social media, do not spray tan, and what seemed to be the most important, do not wax your chest. Since I don’t have children, or wax my chest, and have only spray tanned once(orange anyone?), I guess I will be cool after all, phew!I don’t remember at what age I started to hear the words cool, popular, the “in crowd.” My Mom told me when I started nursery school she had to sit in the back of the room for half the day as I broke into a hysterical sobbing fit. As much as I loved learning my social game was little to nil. My vague memories of those early years were not of me banding together with other groups of kids. I just wanted to get through the day, unscathed, and make it home safely. I was a painfully shy boy and even though I would try everything at least once, the feelings of low self esteem and low self worth plagued me almost from the start. My self esteem back then seemed to be linked to my performance. I was a good boy if I got good grades. I was a good boy if I cleaned my room, etc. So I was constantly performing for others for my value and for my worthiness. It took me a long time to realize I was just good. No strings attached, not because I behaved how I thought you wanted me to behave or did what you told me, but just plain good.I was able to hide for a while in the classrooms and various extracurricular activities but eventually, as I sadly still believe is a right of passage for every kid, the names started coming. I heard the word gay for the first time probably in 5th grade, which would have me at about 10 years old. I don’t even think the first time I heard it I even knew what it meant. My only reference to gay was in “don we now our gay apparel” each Christmastime. I knew from their tone they weren’t talking about my clothing. Whoever came up with the phrase “sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me” can suck it. You surely didn’t walk in my shoes. Of course at that age I didn’t have a full grasp of what this meant. I only knew that I would be chased around by the big boys and girls at school until I was out of breath, having to walk home with a head full of “fag, sissy, girly girl.” It was pretty exhausting. It seems like the labels we get at that early stage follow us through all of school. Since there were no activities after school in the “fag-club” I pretty much had to trudge through the years on my own, fending for myself as much as I could. My survival skills, which shouldn’t be any surprise, would start to develop from a sharp wit and tongue, which just antagonized my antagonizers and my ability to run fast. I was pretty short until about my sophomore year in high school so could easily run and duck into the bushes or behind buildings to fend off my fearless followers. I also would latch on to the other oddballs who in my limited perception I would think somehow less of them, which made me feel superior to them…sort of. If there are parents out there who are teaching their children that they are good just because, my hats are off to you. This is pretty progressive parenting. Don’t get me wrong, my parents loved me deeply and I'm sure they knew I was a bit gay way before I did. The fact that I would make up these plays to perform for my parents with my sister and I would play the wife might have been one giveaway. My mom also owned these kelly-green satin pumps, very chic for back then as she was and my Halloween costumes for about 3 years had to revolve around these shoes. Picture a black scuba outfit with snorkel and mask as a costume but instead of flippers, I sported those green heels. That had to be a sign, no? Being gay back then still had a dark stigma to it. It wasn’t talked about as openly as it is today. We have come a long way, just in my lifetime and I hope and pray that one day it wont even be a news issue at all. It won’t matter. Why do you think I was in the glee club?I’ve heard from many gay people over the years how they “felt different” from an early age. I don’t know if what I felt was different because I just felt like I was me. I didn’t know much different back then, I just knew I wanted to fit in. It wasn’t until all the labels starting coming my way that I would start to feel somehow less than, or strange, or bad for who I was. I'm a believer that you are born this way and you can do whatever it is you want to try and not be, but at the end of the day, it usually always comes out. I’ve met many men and women who came out in their 50s after being married for 30 years and raising families. It must take so much courage to do that. At least I was able to claim my gayness from a pretty early age. I had to get of school before I could officially come out. Even though most of my schoolmates knew, and by then so did I, I still had to wait. The summer I graduated high school I moved up to Ogunquit, ME. This gay friendly summer resort town was only an hour from where I lived and being young and sort of cute could land you a job pretty much anywhere in the town. I finally was cool. I finally fit in. I was surrounded by other like people old and young and it was heaven. All the names and labels that had been bestowed on me over the years just seem to disappear. All the courage that I had to exude over the years was finally vindicated. I think, all ego aside, the one word I could see on my epitaph would be courage. Coincidentally, or not, I also have a tattoo on the back of my neck that says courage.So, how do we cultivate the courage, compassion, and connection that we need to embrace our imperfections and to recognize that we are enough -- that we are worthy of love, belonging, and joy? Why was I always so afraid to let my true self be seen? Why was I so paralyzed by what other people thought? It’s an ongoing battle still to this day but has gotten much easier. That’s one thing turning 50 gives you. Having to apologize less for me being me, and not having to act the way I think others want me to or expect me to. A deep sense of love and belonging is an instinctual need of all of us. We are biologically, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don't function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We ache. We hurt others. This has led me many times to large amounts of suffering. Making the long journey from "What will people think?" to "I am enough” is definitely practicing courage. I don’t need to shove it in people’s faces to get my point across either. I did that for many years because I could, for one, and for the shock value as well. I looked up the word courage just now online. The root of the word courage is cor -- the Latin word for heart. Courage originally meant to speak one's mind by telling all one's heart. This is so beautiful to me. Courage is about putting myself out there, practicing the courage it takes to tell my own stories and tell the truth about who I am. I don’t think it gets any braver than that.By the way, I will still turn my head for a great pair of green satin pumps.jf