It was 22 degrees outside this morning when Curly and I stepped out the front door for our morning run. Cold, but not too cold. I found myself having this conversation in my head:

I’m from Montana, dammit- I routinely walked to school in -40 degree weather, snow up to my eyelashes and I was a child. I can do this.

“You only lived a block from school, this is almost three miles. Fat chance.”

There was windchill and I was carrying a clarinet case for crying out loud. I am tough, I can do this. I’ve been out hunting in the mountains with guns and frikkin freezing feet and I didn’t cave in.

“You cried like a baby that time you were up in the mountains when you found out you were still an hour from the truck, remember?”

Oh. Well, yeah, but I was just a kid and I didn’t have enough socks to keep me warm. I’ve always had bad circulation, my feet were always cold, but I never complained. Boy, is my nose getting cold…

“Right, tough guy. You were sixteen, you embarrassed your father and scared the elk.”

Did I? I don’t remember that.

“Trust me, you were a mess.”

Ain’t that the truth, in more ways than one. But let me tell you something, Mr Killjoy: I’m gonna do this. Why do you always have to step in and try to convince me that I’m such a schmuck?

“‘Cause you let me.”

.

I couldn’t argue with that.

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(Also published on Bilerico.com)
In the 1980’s, when AIDS transfixed and terrified the entire nation, decimated a generation of gay men and brought the concept of guilt and shame to a whole new (mostly sexual) level, something remarkable happened.

In the cities, ACT UP raised awareness of our anger and sadness, gay men’s advocacy groups sprang from pain and suffering and LGBT social service agencies were born out of frustration and feelings of helplessness in the face of open discrimination by established services. Our Lesbian sisters became our mothers and nurses. Our mothers and sisters became our advocates and protectors. And those very brave souls who self-identified as positive became our pioneers.

In rural America, it was different.

In rural America, being gay was/is not so well supported and buttressed by community and numbers. In rural America, LGBT people were and mostly continue to be the victims of jokes, derision and violence.

It has always been a fine line to walk, that place between integrity and safety. In rural America, the stigma of HIV drove most gay men and even some women deeper and deeper into the closet. Fear and concern for their safety kept ACT UP at a distance, a Bozeman Gay Men’s Health Crisis a laughable impossibility.

But some people stepped up.

In Montana, it was our mothers and sisters and friends. These were mostly, with a few notable exceptions, straight, white women who were not a threat to anyone’s faith or social structure.

They stepped into the gap where compassion should have been and created organizations that doled it out. They cajoled governments and churches and people in power to allocate money and space and time. They quilted and baked and visited hospitals and went to funerals and spoke at Rotary. Their faces were the familiar faces of compassion and reason in the increasing climate of fear that gripped us here, and I suspect much of rural America- and it was none too soon.

I remember the fear. I also remember the love and the dedication of these women that inspired me to overcome my fear as a closeted gay priest and sponsor the World AIDS Day Prayer Vigil at the Cathedral in Helena. I also became (somewhat) of an activist- limited by my fear and my priesthood. I suspect it was a completely familiar feeling to many gay men growing up in the wilds of Montana, the prairies of the Dakotas or the backwoods of Idaho and Wyoming at the time.

Those feelings that kept me and others like me in the shadows still linger, but more importantly, they are less powerful because of the dedication, perseverance, stubbornness and downright balls of these women.

So: Straight, White Women- Thank You. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

There’s only one problem: you might have done your job too well.

To this day in Montana (and I suspect it’s true in other places as well), most gay men’s health organizations, HIV testing sites, and state-governed departments that have a direct impact on our lives are not led or even staffed by gay men- and gay men remain the most severely saturated population with HIV here.

Why?

Maybe because we didn’t have to.

So dear women, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say gay men need your help one more time. We need you to help us get back in the saddle, because it’s high time we quit hiding and start taking control of our issues instead of complaining about them. It’s time to face discrimination and homophobia instead of hiding behind your apron strings. I think we can do it because you’ve bravely shown us how. But now, it may be time to start stepping back just a bit.

I don’t mean to imply that we don’t need you. We do. Please continue to be our teachers and mentors and cheerleaders and supporters as well as being our mothers. We especially need good mothers.

Because a good mother teaches her children to tell the truth, to make a bed, to use good manners, to survive a fight, to love, to learn, to thrive. In short, a good mother not only teaches her children to grow up and leave her and to make the world their own, she knows when her kid needs a swift kick in the ass- and gives it to him.

And I’m thinkin’ that’s just what we need.

I love them, and I don’t often get to indulge, but today I do.
I woke up late, leisurely breakfast w/ Ken and the dogs (he cooked), soft jazzy music, catching up on email and facebook and here. No one to worry about. It’s all perfect.

Yesterday, I successfully defended our time together from intrusion, including begging the indulgence of some of my favorite people who don’t get to see me very often, either. I knew I just needed to spend time not working on anything, not worrying about the future of HIV Prevention in Montana, not worrying about my people, not thinking I had to find all the answers. I just needed to be.

We finally went to see a matinee of Where the Wild Things Are (fantastic), had a take and bake pizza and decided to watch the Maltese Falcon at home. So low-pressure and sweet- especially after a very busy last few days of meetings.

Simple pleasures.

I’ll take them, and am extremely grateful

Every once in a while, someone says something to me that is so simple and so profound that it stops me in my tracks. That happened yesterday when I was speaking to the class at UM.

I had told my story (small-town Montana boy, priest, ex-priest, counselor, addiction, MRSA, HIV, etc) and shared my counseling philosophy (primarily Gestalt) and my life philosophy (primarily Positive). I had a great time, but I could tell some people just didn’t know what to do with me.

Afterward, a student said, “How could you be so brutally honest like that in front of strangers? I’m so impressed, I could never talk about those things in front of people.”

I made some kind of “it’s no big deal” remark, thanked her and we all left. Later, as I was walking to my car, I thought, “It is kind of a big deal, I never could have done that four years ago, but today, I don’t think twice about it. Maybe that’s why some people don’t know what to do with me.”

I played my hunch and did what I usually do when I need a fresh perspective- I called Ken.

Ken and I have this psychic sort of symbiosis. When I’m crazed, he’s calm and vice versa. He can help me clarify my thinking like no one else I know. And when he makes me frustrated, I realize how silly it is to be frustrated. Hard to explain, it just works. We both hold the same values and share a similar vision of life. Our enjoyment in each others triumphs and foibles echoes something that I can only call shared respect. I look at him and I think “Wow- he’s been to hell and back and maybe not even back and is still so giving and generous and kind.”

I’m amazed. Really. And I think he feels the same about me, too. He tells me, and sometimes I even believe him. More importantly, because I work at being honest with him more than anyone else, I trust how he sees me. He reminds me of who I am when I forget.

Anyway, I called Ken and told him the story. And this is what I remember him saying: “Once you see the shit for what it is, you never want to go back- hiding is no longer an option.”

And that’s true. I’ve seen the pain and grief and sorrow that being ashamed and dishonest have brought to me, my family, my friends and even strangers. I’ve seen the joy and pleasure that my honesty and integrity have brought the same. Am I always completely honest? Sadly, no. Am I better at it? Definitely- but only because I was in too much pain to continue, and it also made complete sense for me to change. That pain and that sense keep me from going back to that place. That and honesty.

If I can let go of my attachment to my image or position or idea or anything- and just be real, as real as I can, as real as I felt in that classroom, life flows so easily for me. Flows so easily that sometimes I forget.

But it’s so nice to be reminded….

Today I go to Missoula to the University of Montana to speak to Annie Sondag’s class “Theories of Health Behavior and Counseling” about my personal experience with HIV, to share some stories, answer some questions (and do some big-city shopping!). It’s one of my favorite things to do and places to be.
I also have become (officially, yesterday) part of the team at The Bilerico Project, a unique blogging cooperative of diverse LGBTIQ leaders, writers and activists from across the US. I feel very honored and grateful to have a wider audience (and a little nervous, truth be told). I’ll have a post up today, so keep an eye out.

…as sleep was flitting about my head like some annoying summer insect, I quietly gave in, leaving the world of information and business for the infinitely more pleasant world of nonsense, terror and transience.