Recently, I was talking to a good friend about a woman in whom I was interested and some of the issues that meant navigating. After a while my friend, who identifies as gay and at least says he'd never be interested in polyamory, commented, "Wow, I'm really glad I'm not bisexual."
At the time, we had both been drinking so I didn't bother to clarify, but I thought about it a bit more and realized: It is a common misconception, and one I've encountered frequently among people who identify strictly as gay or lesbian (but not bi or omni/pan), that bisexual means non-monogamous. Before getting married, I cannot count the number of times I'd have a woman to whom I was attracted turn me down saying, "I'm really into you, but I just don't want to have to share you." This, before I had ever heard the word polyamory or ever considered ethical non-monogamy as a lifestyle.
It's just not fair. When I'd approach a woman, I'd get the "I don't want to have to share you" or "what if you leave me for a guy" reaction. When I'd tell a guy I was into or newly dating that I was bi, I'd often get either the same response, OR the "hey, cool, can I watch?" Watch what? Us in the mirror? At that point in my life, all I wanted was to find someone nice, settle down, and be happy. The idea that I had to have BOTH a man AND a woman at any given time just because I was bi seemed absurd, and still does, actually.
But then, I remember. I remember a guy in a bar trying to talk me into following his wife into the restroom to ask for her number. I remember one of my best friends being asked by her bi girlfriend's boyfriend to join them for a wild night because, "hey-- it's her birthday, and this would be the best present ever." I remember being invited MYSELF a few times to join someone as their human sex toy, because "my husband allows me to get some action on the side as long as he gets to be there." (I declined, by the way, and quite grouchily.)
I can totally get how some people mistakenly assume bi=poly (or open marriage, to be more specific). There are enough straight folks out there pimping out their partners for their own enjoyment, and bi folks out there using that as an excuse to be non-monogamous (ethical or otherwise), it makes sense. Plenty of folks looking for the perfect Mythical Bi Babe who can fulfill all their Unicorn Relationship Fantasies-- all sex, no emotion, be satisfied with the fact that you get to have sex with us with no level of commitment at all or consideration of your needs/feelings from us. W. T. F.
And really, I'm not opposed to Unicorn Relationships, if that's what's meeting everyone's needs. I once had someone tell me she enjoyed dating a couple and knowing it was secondary because she wasn't in an emotional place to have a strong primary relationship but didn't feel a need to be alone. I'm also not opposed to someone being an occasional human sex toy, if that's meeting their needs and sex for sex's sake is the goal. As long as what is happening is mutually respectful, meeting everyone's needs, and not keeping anyone from finding their own unique joy, I'm down with consenting adults doing what works for them.
But for the love of Zeus, can we please just abandon this fantasy that someone having the capacity to be in relationship with someone of either gender means that they WILL BE, no matter what? If someone who is bi asks you out or comes on to you, don't be afraid to ASK if they are looking for something exclusive or open instead of just assuming. If you ARE bi and doing the open or poly thing, make sure you don't misrepresent yourself and cause lots of lovely monogamous bi folks a lot of stress by presuming to speak for all bisexuals.
I don't struggle with the emotional and practical challenges of attempting to have multiple relationships because I am bi, pan, or omnisexual. I struggle with that because my husband and I have allowed our marriage to be opened up, not just to cheap sex, but to polyamory, loving other people, and dating. Sometimes that's with someone who identifies as a woman. Sometimes that's with someone who identifies as a man. But it's because I'm poly, right? For almost 12 years, we've been monogamous without any unfaithfulness, and it wasn't a hardship for me to miss out on women, any more than it's a hardship for a hetero person to be monogamous for that long.
Orientation does not define my relationship structures. I do.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Pressure of Expectation
So, while my husband and I have realized that polyamory was our ideal for most of our 11-year marriage, and have identified as "poly" for at least the past year or so, it's only fair to point out that we're still new to this journey, exploring where it leads us and how it will all play out. A year doesn't sound all that new, except when you consider that it's been a year of being open and repeatedly dipping toes into the waters of poly, but never finding anyone worth diving in for (at least not who wanted to be dove in for, if that makes sense). This to say, we've started putting ourselves out there, and dated some (sometimes individually and sometimes together), but that it hasn't gone particularly far (not beyond hanging out and the typical public-display sorts of affection that aren't exactly eyebrow-raising).
Part of the hangup has probably been that we've both gone so long in a monogamous relationship that we've become firmly accustomed to the kind of safety that comes from having been in a relationship with the same person for over a decade. You know you won't be rejected. You know you like similar things. You know you and the other person are compatible. And you know, through and through, that the other person is completely worth any hassle they may bring into your life, because you know fully all the blessings they bring into your life.
Get yourself used to this, and you might start to discover, say about 11 years later, that the thought of going through that whole process of uncertainty, feeling things out, figuring out who the other person is, and all that comes along with dating, is a potentially terrifying process, anxiety-provoking and nerve-wracking. Add to that the fact that I didn't particularly enjoy "dating" all that much the first time around, having often been a mostly-homebody with an occasional wild streak flare-up. Don't misunderstand-- I enjoyed the process of falling in love, hanging out, getting to know each other, spending time together, and the rush of skin touching for the first (and second, and third) time. But I didn't enjoy the stress of all the questions dating seemed to bring with it.
Part of the hangup has probably been that we've both gone so long in a monogamous relationship that we've become firmly accustomed to the kind of safety that comes from having been in a relationship with the same person for over a decade. You know you won't be rejected. You know you like similar things. You know you and the other person are compatible. And you know, through and through, that the other person is completely worth any hassle they may bring into your life, because you know fully all the blessings they bring into your life.
Get yourself used to this, and you might start to discover, say about 11 years later, that the thought of going through that whole process of uncertainty, feeling things out, figuring out who the other person is, and all that comes along with dating, is a potentially terrifying process, anxiety-provoking and nerve-wracking. Add to that the fact that I didn't particularly enjoy "dating" all that much the first time around, having often been a mostly-homebody with an occasional wild streak flare-up. Don't misunderstand-- I enjoyed the process of falling in love, hanging out, getting to know each other, spending time together, and the rush of skin touching for the first (and second, and third) time. But I didn't enjoy the stress of all the questions dating seemed to bring with it.
- Where is this going?
- Am I going to get hurt? Will my heart get broken?
- Do my expectations match my partner's?
- Is s/he using me?
- Do I seem desperate when I'm expressive about my feelings? I'm much more expressive and authentic about my feelings than most people are used to, and this frequently gets misunderstood.
- Does s/he really accept me for who I am?
- What if s/he found out about (insert weird thing about my past actions or present quirkiness)?
In the old age of my primary relationship, I've become a bit of a fuddy-duddy. I like knowing what is going on and what I can expect. I'm still spontaneous and silly, with a wacko sense of humor, but I've become unaccustomed to the emotional swirliness that new relationships can bring.
Which might be, in large part, why my partner and I started out our dabbling into the poly world with a big ol' slew of expectations and guidelines all hedged under the guise of being "clear in our communications." I could offer a desperately long explanation here of what we'd discussed and agreed upon, but suffice to say that we'd created this big list of conditions upon which we'd feel safe exploring poly. We'd need to be SUPER-DEE-DUPER BFF with the other person first to make sure we knew they cared about us and respected our relationship. We'd need to have discussed (the ever-living daylights out of) our understanding of polyamory with the person first (thus creating a bizarre and arbitrary sense of urgency and intensity that may or may not match what the other person is seeking). We didn't want to allow any room for that unpredictability that sucks about new relationships.
What we failed to realize is that unpredictability is almost always the defining factor in new relationships, and that isn't always a bad thing.
After falling in love with a very close friend, and keeping it to myself while I continued to fall deeper and deeper in love with her, the universe schooled us on a few things about poly. And it hurt. But it was something we needed, that taught us something we needed to know.
Some things we learned:
1) No matter how close you are to someone, you aren't going to be able to recreate the same level of safety and security entering into a relationship that you've developed over the course of 12 years of a relationship. Plus, this isn't a fair expectation to place on a potential new poly partner.
2) As much as I thrill over the thought of being in relationship with someone that my husband and I can both love and be loved by, fully and in every way, that, also, isn't a fair expectation to place on a new relationship or poly partner. I still stand by my desire for my husband to be able to maintain a sweet, safe, close friendship (if not romantic) with anyone I date, and for me to have a precious place (again, if not romantic) in the life of any partners he dates. But maintaining a polyfidelitous closed triad or quad (or more) as the only ideal to which I'll aspire places too great a complication on new poly relationships. For starters, it's hard enough getting to know one person in a relationship, much less two at once, particularly two who are already strongly bonded to each other. Not to mention that this kind of expectation rules out anyone who doesn't identify as bisexual (or omni/pan), again adding a layer of burden to the exploration of a new poly relationship. Do I really want someone to feel they have to pretend to be interested in me to have a relationship with my husband, or to pretend to be into him to be with me? I need to have a safe enough relationship with his potential poly partners to know that they value and respect and honor our marriage. It would be great if they also become close, special friends of mine. And it would cause rainbows to spatter my cloudless skies and unicorns to prance the countryside if they also were to fall in love with me, and me with them. But that isn't a requirement.
3) Chill the eff out and have some fun, will ya? Seriously. I am not a player. I'm not a ladies (wo)man, or a player, or whatnot. I'm not particularly fond of physical intimacy with other people outside of the context of either intense emotional intimacy OR ego-dissolving spiritual union. This has led me in the past to feel like I was "saving myself," not out of some conservative drive toward purity, but more out of the recognition that the most mind-blowing make-outs and sex I've ever had (and I'm a very sex-positive, kinky, mind-blowing-sex-having kind of gal) have been in the context of a mind-blowingly safe and secure relationship with someone who was my emotional, social, spiritual partner, another expression of the core of my being in a separate body. A friend once said, "I like to bump souls as well as uglies." Amen, sista friend. But I think I'm realizing that if I wait until I've found another "The One" to make any sorts of moves at all, I'm going to be waiting a long damn time-- time that could have been spent enjoying life, exploring other people's hearts, souls, and bodies. Is that really my ideal?
I remember that while I was wrapped up in the falling-for-you stage of in-love with my closest friend, the thought of HER being my first kiss in over 12 years-- the first I'd kissed since marrying my love-- was a BIG DEAL. I wanted it badly, not because kissing her meant she was MINE ALL MINE FOREVER AND EVER, but because it would have been a perfectly beautiful, intense, intimate, and precious expression of how I felt about her-- something meaningful and sweet and special and loving. As it turned out, though, several evenings of emotional intimacy and closeness and cuddling aside, it didn't happen. Although she said she loved me as I loved her, thought about a relationship, and had intense feelings about me, ultimately she was not comfortable dating a woman, and her vision of polyamory (as she envisioned it for her life) was built around her finding a primary MALE partner around which to build her polyamory network.
The road since then has been a little rocky, but we're navigating it, trying to respect each other and preserve our friendship, because each believes the other is worth it.
And then after some time to reflect on it all, I realized that dating can be fun, not just for the kinds of long-term relationships it might allow to develop, but because being around other people in a fun, flirtatious way can be a good thing, whether or not it leads to anything serious or long-term. This realization settled in on me over a period of a few months, and then something very interesting happened.
Out at a club last week, way too much alcohol in my system, I was chatting with my husband, our friend, and a few new friends. Somehow the conversation turned to orientation and attraction, and although there are disagreements as to how it all came about, the end result was the same. A beautiful, sweet, smart, and funny woman I'd only seen twice ever walked around my table, right up to me, and we kissed. It wasn't planned, or the result of some kind of intense emotional relationship, or anything other than two women enjoying a kiss.
And it was great. Instead of being freaked out, it was like a massive burden lifted. There are no more "who will the first kiss post-husband" be anxieties. And there weren't really any "OMG we kissed" anxieties, either. It was like, "wow, we were tipsy. And we kissed. Go us." And that was it. And if we become great friends, fabulous. I'd love to be her friend, because she genuinely seems like a wonderful person. And if we simply stay on the peripheries of each others' lives, that's cool too, because there'd still be nothing lost but potential, which can't be the basis of all life decisions. And if we ever do become friends and decide to date, not a problem. See, that's the lesson in this for me-- what I needed to learn. Ease up. Let go of expectations. Don't be a complete idiot, but don't weigh down every action in life with the burden of permanency. Just be. Flow. Live.
I've long realized that as long as I live with authenticity and integrity, being who I am and treating others with kindness and respect, the rest will fall into place. I'm now learning how to apply that spiritual practice to my approach to polyamory.
,.....
Oh yeah, feel free to add me on facebook or click "follow" to stay up to date when new posts come out. :-)
,.....
Oh yeah, feel free to add me on facebook or click "follow" to stay up to date when new posts come out. :-)
Monday, April 11, 2011
No Expectations, No Hard Feelings
One of the trickiest things I've discovered yet about polyamory is negotiating the beginning parts of a relationship. How do you let someone know you're interested? How do you let them know you aren't if they express that they are? How do you let someone know you're looking to take things in the present moment, one step at a time, but open to wherever they lead? How do you let someone know you've thought through future possibilities and are open, but not hung up on how it all turns out?
It's probably sensible at this point to say that I sucked at this part of relationships when I was single and dating the first time around, so it should come as no surprise that I'm not particularly smooth at it now. I do, however, have a crapton more confidence and self-esteem, and experience with navigating relationships (platonic and romantic) than I did back then. And one of the things I've learned in 10+ years of partnership is that honesty and truth-telling, even when it's awkward or nerve-wracking, is the most beautiful gift someone can share with you.
What a lovely honor, to have someone trust you enough to reveal that they could potentially care for you in a unique and special way. And what an obligation, to think of the loving way to respond, yes or no or maybe, with heart and kindness and compassion and respect.
I recently saw a discussion among local poly folk about the merits of honesty or a "white lie" if someone is interested in you, but to whom you feel no attraction. Someone pointed out that he felt a "white lie" is often the kindest way out, for self-preservation as well as to protect the other person's feelings.
While I can respect that this person (and others who tell "white lies") has good intentions, I have to disagree with the idea that dishonesty is ever okay. It seems that some people see a dichotomy that puts a truthful (yet possibly undesired) answer as harsh, and a lie as more gentle. I think somehow, we are missing the third option-- a gentle, compassionate, thoughtful response that is honest, yet kind.
I have firsthand experience with this.
Sometime last year, I came to the realization that I was attracted to, already loved, and could easily be in relationship with my closest friend. I let her know I was interested, and open to see where it would go. What happened next was as beautiful as it was unexpected.
She wrote me back-- not that day, but took a couple of days to let the dust settle and reflect on a thoughtful response. A few days later, I got an email that warmed my heart, even as it was essentially a rejection. Lovely feeling #1: Someone cared about me enough to give me a thoughtful response. The response affirmed that there were, in fact, amazingly powerful loving feelings, even feelings of attraction, but that for a variety of practical reasons a relationship would not be likely to meet her needs. Lovely feeling #2: It isn't always about me, after all. It's about compatibility and mutual needs.
Instead of being hurt or disappointed by this email, I was overwhelmed with joy that in spite of the awkwardness, our friendship was strong enough to sustain honesty even under challenging circumstances. I was elated, and walked around for days with my head in the clouds, feeling so blessed to have her respond in a way that was both honest and kind. We still hang out much like we did before, confide in each other, and are like family.
I suppose it might have been different had this not be a close friend, but rather someone I was just meeting. But then, that's one of the things about my particular approach to polyamory-- I'm not all that interested in dating someone without establishing a friendship first. And maybe this experience is a part of the reason why I do feel safer exploring romantic relationships with friends. With a friend, there is already a shared history that allows each to trust the other in some way, with insights into how the other thinks and feels and processes. I feel safer approaching a friend about a relationship. I would feel safer responding to a friend who approached me about a relationship, whether it was to move into closer intimacy, or let them know I wasn't interested.
.....
I used to have a bumper sticker that said, "I'm bisexual and I'm not interested in you." The idea is, once someone knows you're bi, sometimes you have to deal with all of your friends, male and female, constantly wondering if you're hitting on them. The end result of this was often one of two things: either people were constantly coming onto me as if bisexual is simply code for "sex-crazed," or people avoiding me in situations that would otherwise be acceptable with a same-sex friend.
While a lot of this has settled down in the years since I've married, I've found a little resurgence of this weirdness since becoming poly. I'm a very loving person. I run with a very huggy and touchy-feely crowd. I have almost a dozen friends with whom phone calls or visits are ended with some variant of "I love you," and it is meant whole-heartedly, but not romantically. This is what is natural for me, and has been since before coming out to the closest in my circle as poly. And, all in all, I feel like I've been accepted by the handful of people I've talked to about poly as exactly who I am, not judged, and not treated differently. But every now and then, I get a weird vibe off of someone, like my husband or I can't be around them, hug them, talk openly and hang out, without thinking they are being hit on. It's a little unsettling for me, and frustrating, because I'd never in a million years want to lose or sacrifice a friendship due to a flirtatious approach (real or perceived).
A few things to keep in mind with me and my husband, or possibly any poly folk you may know:
1) If we ask you to clarify your intent if it seemed you were coming on to one of us, that isn't necessarily an invitation. It is what it is, at face value: a request for clarification of intention. Don't get weirded out. Just clarify the intention, and the discussion can go from there, either way.
2) If one (or both) of us expresses an interest in you, and it turns out you aren't interested, just say so. Unlike a lot of suitors I remember from my past, I do take no for an answer, and that will probably be the last you'll hear about it unless you bring it up again.
And for the love of all that's holy, just be honest. Speak your truth. As long as there is compassionate honesty, there'll be no expectations, and no hard feelings.
It's probably sensible at this point to say that I sucked at this part of relationships when I was single and dating the first time around, so it should come as no surprise that I'm not particularly smooth at it now. I do, however, have a crapton more confidence and self-esteem, and experience with navigating relationships (platonic and romantic) than I did back then. And one of the things I've learned in 10+ years of partnership is that honesty and truth-telling, even when it's awkward or nerve-wracking, is the most beautiful gift someone can share with you.
What a lovely honor, to have someone trust you enough to reveal that they could potentially care for you in a unique and special way. And what an obligation, to think of the loving way to respond, yes or no or maybe, with heart and kindness and compassion and respect.
I recently saw a discussion among local poly folk about the merits of honesty or a "white lie" if someone is interested in you, but to whom you feel no attraction. Someone pointed out that he felt a "white lie" is often the kindest way out, for self-preservation as well as to protect the other person's feelings.
While I can respect that this person (and others who tell "white lies") has good intentions, I have to disagree with the idea that dishonesty is ever okay. It seems that some people see a dichotomy that puts a truthful (yet possibly undesired) answer as harsh, and a lie as more gentle. I think somehow, we are missing the third option-- a gentle, compassionate, thoughtful response that is honest, yet kind.
I have firsthand experience with this.
Sometime last year, I came to the realization that I was attracted to, already loved, and could easily be in relationship with my closest friend. I let her know I was interested, and open to see where it would go. What happened next was as beautiful as it was unexpected.
She wrote me back-- not that day, but took a couple of days to let the dust settle and reflect on a thoughtful response. A few days later, I got an email that warmed my heart, even as it was essentially a rejection. Lovely feeling #1: Someone cared about me enough to give me a thoughtful response. The response affirmed that there were, in fact, amazingly powerful loving feelings, even feelings of attraction, but that for a variety of practical reasons a relationship would not be likely to meet her needs. Lovely feeling #2: It isn't always about me, after all. It's about compatibility and mutual needs.
Instead of being hurt or disappointed by this email, I was overwhelmed with joy that in spite of the awkwardness, our friendship was strong enough to sustain honesty even under challenging circumstances. I was elated, and walked around for days with my head in the clouds, feeling so blessed to have her respond in a way that was both honest and kind. We still hang out much like we did before, confide in each other, and are like family.
I suppose it might have been different had this not be a close friend, but rather someone I was just meeting. But then, that's one of the things about my particular approach to polyamory-- I'm not all that interested in dating someone without establishing a friendship first. And maybe this experience is a part of the reason why I do feel safer exploring romantic relationships with friends. With a friend, there is already a shared history that allows each to trust the other in some way, with insights into how the other thinks and feels and processes. I feel safer approaching a friend about a relationship. I would feel safer responding to a friend who approached me about a relationship, whether it was to move into closer intimacy, or let them know I wasn't interested.
.....
I used to have a bumper sticker that said, "I'm bisexual and I'm not interested in you." The idea is, once someone knows you're bi, sometimes you have to deal with all of your friends, male and female, constantly wondering if you're hitting on them. The end result of this was often one of two things: either people were constantly coming onto me as if bisexual is simply code for "sex-crazed," or people avoiding me in situations that would otherwise be acceptable with a same-sex friend.
While a lot of this has settled down in the years since I've married, I've found a little resurgence of this weirdness since becoming poly. I'm a very loving person. I run with a very huggy and touchy-feely crowd. I have almost a dozen friends with whom phone calls or visits are ended with some variant of "I love you," and it is meant whole-heartedly, but not romantically. This is what is natural for me, and has been since before coming out to the closest in my circle as poly. And, all in all, I feel like I've been accepted by the handful of people I've talked to about poly as exactly who I am, not judged, and not treated differently. But every now and then, I get a weird vibe off of someone, like my husband or I can't be around them, hug them, talk openly and hang out, without thinking they are being hit on. It's a little unsettling for me, and frustrating, because I'd never in a million years want to lose or sacrifice a friendship due to a flirtatious approach (real or perceived).
A few things to keep in mind with me and my husband, or possibly any poly folk you may know:
1) If we ask you to clarify your intent if it seemed you were coming on to one of us, that isn't necessarily an invitation. It is what it is, at face value: a request for clarification of intention. Don't get weirded out. Just clarify the intention, and the discussion can go from there, either way.
2) If one (or both) of us expresses an interest in you, and it turns out you aren't interested, just say so. Unlike a lot of suitors I remember from my past, I do take no for an answer, and that will probably be the last you'll hear about it unless you bring it up again.
And for the love of all that's holy, just be honest. Speak your truth. As long as there is compassionate honesty, there'll be no expectations, and no hard feelings.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Why "Omnisexual?"
Eh, honestly, it's not something I get too hung up on. Bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual-- any of the three describe me well. And some days, I might feel/act a little more straight than others, and some days, I might feel/act a little more lesbian than others. But all in all, I am comfortable with being attracted to people completely based on heart, soul, and personality.
It isn't a "my queer is better than your queer" thing, and it isn't just semantics. It's a genuine appreciation of the way our world defies binary polarity. Bisexual, to me, suggests that you can like either men or women. Pansexuality, or omnisexuality, suggests that you can love all sorts of gender identities and expressions in all people, whether male, female, something in between, or something wholly outside of the conventions. For a while, I used the term "pansexual" because it was one I had heard used most frequently in the poly community, but lately I've been leaning a little more strongly toward omnisexual, simply because pansexual makes me think of the god, Pan, and that makes me giggle a little.
I was reading earlier tonight about sexual orientation, and came across the following:
This speaks to me. I am sometimes attracted to extremely girly girls, and sometimes to extremely effeminate men. I am sometimes attracted to very butch lesbians, and sometimes to traditionally masculine men. Frequently, I'm attracted to a whole lot of people in between. And I'm attracted to the idea of playing with gender, and to people who do it well. I, personally, can't wrap my head around polar sexual orientation, not because I don't believe it is possible, but because I have nothing in my own experiences to help me relate to it. That said, I have friends who consider themselves to be strongly gay or straight, and I respect their self-understanding, just as I respect the idea that each of us gets to determine our own inner experience and define it for others.
So, if you call me bi, that's cool. We won't get into a fight over it, because I think both men and women can be fabulous. But if I'm describing myself, it's going to be omni- or pansexual.
Other interesting reading on this:
From Not Your Mother's Playground: I'm Here, I'm...?:
From The Scavenger: Bisexuality Does Not Reinforce the Gender Binary:
Click on the links to read more of those articles!
It isn't a "my queer is better than your queer" thing, and it isn't just semantics. It's a genuine appreciation of the way our world defies binary polarity. Bisexual, to me, suggests that you can like either men or women. Pansexuality, or omnisexuality, suggests that you can love all sorts of gender identities and expressions in all people, whether male, female, something in between, or something wholly outside of the conventions. For a while, I used the term "pansexual" because it was one I had heard used most frequently in the poly community, but lately I've been leaning a little more strongly toward omnisexual, simply because pansexual makes me think of the god, Pan, and that makes me giggle a little.
I was reading earlier tonight about sexual orientation, and came across the following:
Allison says: “When I say I’m pansexual/queer, I mean that I am attracted to much more than one type of person. It’s beyond bi, because, well, that would just be two broad categories, and mine goes beyond that. Not to mention that bi means you like boys and girls, but what about everyone else? … I trust the worldview of the people I know and love who experience the world as neither man nor woman. … I’m very queerly pansexual, which means most of my desire is focused in the queer direction. I do have a handful of ‘types’ I’m often attracted to — when we’re in a new city, for example, my best friend can always spot the ones I’m going to be hitting on. I do love gender expression, and I especially love gender extremes.”
This speaks to me. I am sometimes attracted to extremely girly girls, and sometimes to extremely effeminate men. I am sometimes attracted to very butch lesbians, and sometimes to traditionally masculine men. Frequently, I'm attracted to a whole lot of people in between. And I'm attracted to the idea of playing with gender, and to people who do it well. I, personally, can't wrap my head around polar sexual orientation, not because I don't believe it is possible, but because I have nothing in my own experiences to help me relate to it. That said, I have friends who consider themselves to be strongly gay or straight, and I respect their self-understanding, just as I respect the idea that each of us gets to determine our own inner experience and define it for others.
So, if you call me bi, that's cool. We won't get into a fight over it, because I think both men and women can be fabulous. But if I'm describing myself, it's going to be omni- or pansexual.
Other interesting reading on this:
From Not Your Mother's Playground: I'm Here, I'm...?:
Eventually it hit me that while at home I feel quite straight and married, out with her I can feel totally bi and with others there are various degrees of – let’s say – Kinseyness that I experience depending on the relationship. Outside of being a fan of people, genitals and connecting, my identity fluctuates with every relationship I take part in but they all fall under one, beautiful queer umbrella.
From The Scavenger: Bisexuality Does Not Reinforce the Gender Binary:
In the hetero-mainstream, when I am paired with a man, I am read as straight; when I am paired with a woman, I am read as queer. In queer settings, when I am paired with a woman, I am read as lesbian/dyke/queer and viewed as a legitimate member of the community.
But when I am paired with a man (especially when the man in question is cisgender), then I am not merely unaccepted and viewed as an outsider, but I may even be accused of buying into or reinforcing the hetero-patriarchy.
So in other words, the “bi” in bisexual does not merely refer to the types of people that I am sexual with, but to the fact that both the straight and queer worlds view me in two very different ways depending upon who I happen to be partnered with at any given moment.
This aspect of the bisexual experience is not captured by the word “pansexual,” nor by the more general word “queer.” In fact, I regularly call myself queer, and when I do, people often are surprised when I mention that I date men (as though in their minds, bisexuality does not truly fall under the queer umbrella).
Anyone who is familiar with the history of the bisexual movement can tell you that the reason why some queer people began outwardly identifying as bisexual rather than as gay or lesbian (the two predominant queer identities throughout the ’70s and ’80s) is precisely because of this insider/outsider issue.
So long as a bisexual woman was only sexual with women and called herself a lesbian, she was accepted. But as soon as she admitted to, or acted upon, her attraction to men, she would be ostracized and accused of being a part of the problem rather than the solution.
This is why the label bisexual came into prominence—as a way to gain visibility within the queer community and to fight against exclusion.
Click on the links to read more of those articles!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Love vs. Attraction vs. Behavior
A while back, drinking with a friend, I was trying to explain my worldview with regard to relationships and poly, and was struggling to explain how I view love and behavior as different beasts. Since then, I've added attraction to the mental mix, and the result is this blog post, still a work in progress-- an unfinished reflection on how my mind, heart, and spirit work.
LOVE
I love almost everyone. Not just like. Not just care for. Love. LOVE-- got it? Honestly, it's so hard to describe to most people, and I'm not sure that I, myself, could have wrapped my head around what this feels like has someone tried describing it to me a few years back. Love is just so easy for me. It flows so naturally into my life, through my heart, and (hopefully) out into the world. I'm not going to spend a whole lot of time blabbing about the ways I try to manifest (or have manifested) love into the world, because that would be awkward, but suffice to say that the majority of the last 16 years of my life have had service to others, and to improving the world in general, as a prime theme. I've done paid work in service fields, organized volunteer work, and have (on multiple occasions) reached out to someone when I felt led to extend myself for them in love, service, and solidarity. Sometimes, it's a small thing-- a kind word, a gentle touch, a ride home from work. Other times it's a big thing-- a place to stay for as long as needed, a U-Haul full of furniture for a single mom, or a voice on the phone until the police arrive for safe escort out of an an abusive home. But love is both noun and verb for me-- it is the essence of our connectedness as humans and the feelings that accompany unqualified connectedness with another, and it is the action of that essence expressing into manifest reality.
Some of my favorite writings on love are from M. Scott Peck's The Road Less Traveled (a book I highly recommend). Peck defines love thus: "The will to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth." He adds, "as defined, love is a strangely circular process.... When one has successfully extended one's limits, one has then grown into a larger state of being. Thus the act of loving is an act of self-evolution even when the purpose of the act is someone else's growth." There's a lot more fabulous reflection on love in this chapter-- so much that I can't even begin to touch its intensity here. Read it.
The ultimate points I glean from this definition and my own reflection upon it are:
- Love is a cosmic, soul-expanding, mind-blowing, indescribable feeling, as well as a chosen action to express.
- Love grows me. When I love you, I grow. When I love me, I grow. When my love for you causes me to extend myself beyond my own comfort zone, within the boundaries of my own mental health and physical and emotional safety, I grow in ways I cannot imagine.
From experience, I can add that this is not an altogether reasonable proposition that can be trusted innately, but that once I began to trust in the process of love, I began to see the ways in which my expressions of love have grown, challenged, and healed me. There was a time when I was scared of giving love that was misused or not returned. Now that fear has faded considerably. I love because it is the right action, not because I have an expectation. I might still take a little time to sort out what the best way for us to be connected and share love might be (it won't be the same with every relationship, of course), but I'm not afraid of loving you, or me for that matter.
ATTRACTION
While I feel strongly that love is love, all love springs from the same source and can carry the same definition, and that I'm not very good at loving some people more than others, I can tell you that attraction, for me, is separate from love. I love my partner, my closest friends, my peripheral friends, my kids, my dad, and my coworkers. I don't lust after all of them.
Love is the same, and love is the underlying nature of the universe.
Attraction is what sets my heart on fire with desire for greater closeness with someone. Attraction can be a simple longing to know more of someone, to be closer to them, to be more open in what shared love might be there. I'm attracted to all sorts of people, although I'm not attracted to every person I love. Usually, I'm also pretty good at keeping my attraction to someone else in check. If someone is of a gender identity and/or sexual orientation that would make a relationship with me a high impossibility, my attraction will probably never expand beyond a desire to know more of someone or be closer. If someone is a potential romantic partner (in terms of gender identity and sexual orientation) and lets me know they are not interested in or comfortable with a relationship with me, that's also a deal-breaker. I'm not much for pining after or longing for someone who doesn't want to partner with me in that way, although I'd love to continue the friendship in whatever way is comfortable.
But if someone to whom I feel attraction expresses an attraction in return, that's when simple attraction to the idea of closeness becomes something more, and becomes desire for intimacy, contact, and physical connection. It might be slow going (because all omnipolysexuoamorous leanings aside, I'm still pretty old fashioned and cautious), but things do (ideally) start moving in the direction of increased intimacy and trust.
General philosophical leanings aside, I'll add the more personal caveat that I'm not likely to feel much attraction to people I don't know at all. Attraction, for me, is only minimally influenced by cultural definitions of physical attractiveness, and tends to radiate out from within someone to grab ahold of me at a similarly deep place within me.
All of which bring me to...
BEHAVIOR
No matter what love exists between me and another person, or how attracted I might be to someone, or what the nature of our relationship, love and attraction are still separate issues from any kinds of behaviors.
A few illustrations of this point:
- I love my kids. I am not attracted to them in a romantic way, obviously. My expressions of love for them include cooking for them, feeding them, diapering them when they're babies, making choices for them that they are too young to make for themselves, and providing healthy discipline.
- I love my primary partner. I am attracted to him in a romantic and sexual way, obviously. My expressions of love for him include (occasionally) cooking for him, helping around the house, picking up special things for him when I'm out, sending intimate (and sometimes kinky) texts and emails to him, grabbing his ass whenever the chance presents or kissing him, making love, and more. I do not make his choices for him or discipline him (not counting kink-- duh!) even though those are perfectly loving behaviors that work for my kids.
- I love my closest friends. I am attracted to them in loving ways that sometimes feel romantic and/or intimate, but are rarely sexual. My expressions of love for them include praying for them (something I obviously do for my kids and partner, too), spending time together, calling, sending texts when things remind me of them, calling or texting when I am wondering how they are doing, and picking up any sweet little things that make me think of them. I don't do their laundry or housekeeping, even though that's one of the ways I express love to my partner, and although I run in a circle of (potentially awkwardly-) long huggers who are touchy-feeling in our shows of friendship, I don't typically make out with my friends.
- I love people I don't even know well. I am usually not attracted to them in my normal ways, even if I find them to be physically gorgeous. I find that the most attractive quality for me in those I am just getting to know is a view of vulnerability as normal and human-- not as something to be feared or hidden. Usual everyday expression of this love might include learning their names, remembering things they like if they've mentioned them to me, following up about things they've mentioned are on their minds or schedules, and sharing pieces of myself as relevant. Sometimes, though, I go much farther for those I don't know well, depending on the situation. If it is in one of my volunteer capacities, in which I do crisis intervention, I step out in the way that I've been trained. If it is simply an acquaintance or coworker, I assess two main areas: First, are there other people, friends, family, or resources stepping in to help the person crawl out, and second, do I feel personally equipped (skills, emotional balance, energy) to extend myself, step out, and help? I never help if I feel like doing so hurts me or damages my family. If it seems like a need, and I feel equipped to step in, I go for it, not out of a sense of hierarchy or better-than-you-ness, but out of a deep awareness of our sameness as humans. You and me-- we're the same substance. Why should I not help you, particularly if doing so grows me in the process?
Behavior is the part where relational love is assessed for all it's complexities and facets, and a reasonable course of action is logically determined.
.....
So, for me:
- LOVE is involuntary as a feeling, and beautiful and natural as an intention and action. It happens in the divine part of me. I don't do a great job of keeping it a secret, and regularly tell people I love them, particularly if they seem comfortable with the idea of being loved.
- ATTRACTION is complex, and while it can sometimes lead to more, it doesn't always. It happens in the feeling part of me. Attraction can be a completely inner process for me, and I can choose whether or not I let you know about it. The inner-ness of this process provides both a degree of emotional safety for me, as well as a frustration when circumstances seem to conspire against me (which is rarely, if ever).
- BEHAVIOR is a decision for the right things to do based on love, attraction (or lack thereof), and social awareness. It happens in the thinking part of me, although my intellectual process relies heavily on the strength of my intuition, which I trust almost completely. Behavior is the outer expression of how I feel about you, combined with what I know about you and how you react in relationships, expressed into our worlds.
And I love you. And depending on who you are, how you found this blog, and how we know each other, I might even be a little attracted to you. But none of that has full decision-making over my behaviors with you, which I choose based on a variety of factors.
But I do love you. What do you say about that?
LOVE
I love almost everyone. Not just like. Not just care for. Love. LOVE-- got it? Honestly, it's so hard to describe to most people, and I'm not sure that I, myself, could have wrapped my head around what this feels like has someone tried describing it to me a few years back. Love is just so easy for me. It flows so naturally into my life, through my heart, and (hopefully) out into the world. I'm not going to spend a whole lot of time blabbing about the ways I try to manifest (or have manifested) love into the world, because that would be awkward, but suffice to say that the majority of the last 16 years of my life have had service to others, and to improving the world in general, as a prime theme. I've done paid work in service fields, organized volunteer work, and have (on multiple occasions) reached out to someone when I felt led to extend myself for them in love, service, and solidarity. Sometimes, it's a small thing-- a kind word, a gentle touch, a ride home from work. Other times it's a big thing-- a place to stay for as long as needed, a U-Haul full of furniture for a single mom, or a voice on the phone until the police arrive for safe escort out of an an abusive home. But love is both noun and verb for me-- it is the essence of our connectedness as humans and the feelings that accompany unqualified connectedness with another, and it is the action of that essence expressing into manifest reality.
Some of my favorite writings on love are from M. Scott Peck's The Road Less Traveled (a book I highly recommend). Peck defines love thus: "The will to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth." He adds, "as defined, love is a strangely circular process.... When one has successfully extended one's limits, one has then grown into a larger state of being. Thus the act of loving is an act of self-evolution even when the purpose of the act is someone else's growth." There's a lot more fabulous reflection on love in this chapter-- so much that I can't even begin to touch its intensity here. Read it.
The ultimate points I glean from this definition and my own reflection upon it are:
- Love is a cosmic, soul-expanding, mind-blowing, indescribable feeling, as well as a chosen action to express.
- Love grows me. When I love you, I grow. When I love me, I grow. When my love for you causes me to extend myself beyond my own comfort zone, within the boundaries of my own mental health and physical and emotional safety, I grow in ways I cannot imagine.
From experience, I can add that this is not an altogether reasonable proposition that can be trusted innately, but that once I began to trust in the process of love, I began to see the ways in which my expressions of love have grown, challenged, and healed me. There was a time when I was scared of giving love that was misused or not returned. Now that fear has faded considerably. I love because it is the right action, not because I have an expectation. I might still take a little time to sort out what the best way for us to be connected and share love might be (it won't be the same with every relationship, of course), but I'm not afraid of loving you, or me for that matter.
ATTRACTION
While I feel strongly that love is love, all love springs from the same source and can carry the same definition, and that I'm not very good at loving some people more than others, I can tell you that attraction, for me, is separate from love. I love my partner, my closest friends, my peripheral friends, my kids, my dad, and my coworkers. I don't lust after all of them.
Love is the same, and love is the underlying nature of the universe.
Attraction is what sets my heart on fire with desire for greater closeness with someone. Attraction can be a simple longing to know more of someone, to be closer to them, to be more open in what shared love might be there. I'm attracted to all sorts of people, although I'm not attracted to every person I love. Usually, I'm also pretty good at keeping my attraction to someone else in check. If someone is of a gender identity and/or sexual orientation that would make a relationship with me a high impossibility, my attraction will probably never expand beyond a desire to know more of someone or be closer. If someone is a potential romantic partner (in terms of gender identity and sexual orientation) and lets me know they are not interested in or comfortable with a relationship with me, that's also a deal-breaker. I'm not much for pining after or longing for someone who doesn't want to partner with me in that way, although I'd love to continue the friendship in whatever way is comfortable.
But if someone to whom I feel attraction expresses an attraction in return, that's when simple attraction to the idea of closeness becomes something more, and becomes desire for intimacy, contact, and physical connection. It might be slow going (because all omnipolysexuoamorous leanings aside, I'm still pretty old fashioned and cautious), but things do (ideally) start moving in the direction of increased intimacy and trust.
General philosophical leanings aside, I'll add the more personal caveat that I'm not likely to feel much attraction to people I don't know at all. Attraction, for me, is only minimally influenced by cultural definitions of physical attractiveness, and tends to radiate out from within someone to grab ahold of me at a similarly deep place within me.
All of which bring me to...
BEHAVIOR
No matter what love exists between me and another person, or how attracted I might be to someone, or what the nature of our relationship, love and attraction are still separate issues from any kinds of behaviors.
A few illustrations of this point:
- I love my kids. I am not attracted to them in a romantic way, obviously. My expressions of love for them include cooking for them, feeding them, diapering them when they're babies, making choices for them that they are too young to make for themselves, and providing healthy discipline.
- I love my primary partner. I am attracted to him in a romantic and sexual way, obviously. My expressions of love for him include (occasionally) cooking for him, helping around the house, picking up special things for him when I'm out, sending intimate (and sometimes kinky) texts and emails to him, grabbing his ass whenever the chance presents or kissing him, making love, and more. I do not make his choices for him or discipline him (not counting kink-- duh!) even though those are perfectly loving behaviors that work for my kids.
- I love my closest friends. I am attracted to them in loving ways that sometimes feel romantic and/or intimate, but are rarely sexual. My expressions of love for them include praying for them (something I obviously do for my kids and partner, too), spending time together, calling, sending texts when things remind me of them, calling or texting when I am wondering how they are doing, and picking up any sweet little things that make me think of them. I don't do their laundry or housekeeping, even though that's one of the ways I express love to my partner, and although I run in a circle of (potentially awkwardly-) long huggers who are touchy-feeling in our shows of friendship, I don't typically make out with my friends.
- I love people I don't even know well. I am usually not attracted to them in my normal ways, even if I find them to be physically gorgeous. I find that the most attractive quality for me in those I am just getting to know is a view of vulnerability as normal and human-- not as something to be feared or hidden. Usual everyday expression of this love might include learning their names, remembering things they like if they've mentioned them to me, following up about things they've mentioned are on their minds or schedules, and sharing pieces of myself as relevant. Sometimes, though, I go much farther for those I don't know well, depending on the situation. If it is in one of my volunteer capacities, in which I do crisis intervention, I step out in the way that I've been trained. If it is simply an acquaintance or coworker, I assess two main areas: First, are there other people, friends, family, or resources stepping in to help the person crawl out, and second, do I feel personally equipped (skills, emotional balance, energy) to extend myself, step out, and help? I never help if I feel like doing so hurts me or damages my family. If it seems like a need, and I feel equipped to step in, I go for it, not out of a sense of hierarchy or better-than-you-ness, but out of a deep awareness of our sameness as humans. You and me-- we're the same substance. Why should I not help you, particularly if doing so grows me in the process?
Behavior is the part where relational love is assessed for all it's complexities and facets, and a reasonable course of action is logically determined.
.....
So, for me:
- LOVE is involuntary as a feeling, and beautiful and natural as an intention and action. It happens in the divine part of me. I don't do a great job of keeping it a secret, and regularly tell people I love them, particularly if they seem comfortable with the idea of being loved.
- ATTRACTION is complex, and while it can sometimes lead to more, it doesn't always. It happens in the feeling part of me. Attraction can be a completely inner process for me, and I can choose whether or not I let you know about it. The inner-ness of this process provides both a degree of emotional safety for me, as well as a frustration when circumstances seem to conspire against me (which is rarely, if ever).
- BEHAVIOR is a decision for the right things to do based on love, attraction (or lack thereof), and social awareness. It happens in the thinking part of me, although my intellectual process relies heavily on the strength of my intuition, which I trust almost completely. Behavior is the outer expression of how I feel about you, combined with what I know about you and how you react in relationships, expressed into our worlds.
And I love you. And depending on who you are, how you found this blog, and how we know each other, I might even be a little attracted to you. But none of that has full decision-making over my behaviors with you, which I choose based on a variety of factors.
But I do love you. What do you say about that?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Actively Open vs. Actively Seeking
Recently, some friends discussed the difference between actively open and actively seeking with regard to poly relationships. It got to the point where it felt like we were splitting hairs.
Someone pointed out that going to poly meetups to meet potential partners without being upfront about that intention is not healthy, and I have to agree. I do think, however, that there is a difference between going to a poly meetup to meet partners and going to meet potential partners. I do not want to go to a poly meetup and walk away with a phone number for a date. I would, however, like to get more involved in the local poly community and nurture more friendships with other poly people so that eventually, perhaps, a friendship would have the potential to develop into something more. But I'm not actively seeking a partner. I'm actively open to the possibility that a friendship could develop into something more, and actively seeking new friendships in the poly community. Some of them will be clear early on that they are not a possible match for a romantic relationship for me or my partner. Some of them might seem like possible dating material, but I'm in no hurry to figure that out. I'm weird enough, and like my emotional security blankets enough, that I'd rather take my time in friendships and see where it goes.
Maybe I am just making up a distinction that doesn't exist, but it feels different. Going on a "date" with someone I barely know does not sound exciting or fun to me. It sounds difficult and terrifying for this socially awkward nerd. Going on a "date" with someone I already know and trust and love as a friend sounds lovely, heart-opening, and special. That's what I'd prefer. Knowing my partner was going on a date with someone I don't know well would not be a comfortable situation for me. Knowing my partner was going on a date with someone I know already know well and love and trust as a friend fills my heart with love, warmth, joy, and compersion. I don't want to meet a new person to date; I want to meet new people with whom we can become friends. At that point, it'll go one way or the other, and either way is okay.
I guess I'm in part influenced by the relationship I have with my husband, and how it evolved from a close friendship. The funny part is we never really did a lot of "dating." We were close friends and spent a lot of time together. Once we discussed the possibility of dating and decided to give it a go, it was almost instant that we knew we were going to be together long-term. This being the first relationship I've had that was completely and truly healthy, it placed me firmly in the camp that good friends make the best lovers and partners.
Someone pointed out that going to poly meetups to meet potential partners without being upfront about that intention is not healthy, and I have to agree. I do think, however, that there is a difference between going to a poly meetup to meet partners and going to meet potential partners. I do not want to go to a poly meetup and walk away with a phone number for a date. I would, however, like to get more involved in the local poly community and nurture more friendships with other poly people so that eventually, perhaps, a friendship would have the potential to develop into something more. But I'm not actively seeking a partner. I'm actively open to the possibility that a friendship could develop into something more, and actively seeking new friendships in the poly community. Some of them will be clear early on that they are not a possible match for a romantic relationship for me or my partner. Some of them might seem like possible dating material, but I'm in no hurry to figure that out. I'm weird enough, and like my emotional security blankets enough, that I'd rather take my time in friendships and see where it goes.
Maybe I am just making up a distinction that doesn't exist, but it feels different. Going on a "date" with someone I barely know does not sound exciting or fun to me. It sounds difficult and terrifying for this socially awkward nerd. Going on a "date" with someone I already know and trust and love as a friend sounds lovely, heart-opening, and special. That's what I'd prefer. Knowing my partner was going on a date with someone I don't know well would not be a comfortable situation for me. Knowing my partner was going on a date with someone I know already know well and love and trust as a friend fills my heart with love, warmth, joy, and compersion. I don't want to meet a new person to date; I want to meet new people with whom we can become friends. At that point, it'll go one way or the other, and either way is okay.
I guess I'm in part influenced by the relationship I have with my husband, and how it evolved from a close friendship. The funny part is we never really did a lot of "dating." We were close friends and spent a lot of time together. Once we discussed the possibility of dating and decided to give it a go, it was almost instant that we knew we were going to be together long-term. This being the first relationship I've had that was completely and truly healthy, it placed me firmly in the camp that good friends make the best lovers and partners.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)