8:37 p.m. - February 04, 2009
When I'm driving home each night I talk a good game - check out the bar on the corner, find a volunteer cause, walk down to the little cafe across the street, do something other than lock the door behind me and get online. But I park in the same spot I do every day, walk the ten steps up to my door, and wait for the morning to arrive again. So tonight I went in search of a gay book club to join, and I've found one. Their next meeting is a week from now, a 15 minute ride away on the metro, and reading a gay-themed book. I asked, and found - and I'm in that same spot I've been in for years, my face pressed against the glass looking at the gay world on the other side, wanting and not wanting in equal measure. There isn't anybody who can prod or pull, it's something that I either do myself or don't do. It's a conscious action and not something inevitable, you know? It is entirely possible that I'll remain behind this glass forever, mute and powerless yet growing angrier and angrier at everybody but myself. I'm just scared but that's silly, because I'm in a new place where I can be anyone I want, I can do anything I want, and only answer to myself.
What if they're all beautiful guys who count the abs on a guy to decide whether he's worth saying hello to? What if they're urban sophisticates and look at my dowdy self and I become invisible? What if I stumble over my words or poorly articulate my thoughts? And what if the ground doesn't shake and I enjoy myself? What then? What then? It's a roll of the dice, isn't it? I just can't hole up in my apartment, I can't.