God is Love, and Gay is Okay.

It happens.

You think you know someone, and then out of nowhere, you realize you’ve been very wrong. I can’t even complain really. All the signs were there, I just chose to ignore them. I feel like I do that a lot.

When I was a child I was raised Southern Baptist. I went to church every Sunday and Wednesday for half of my life. The church van would pick me up in front of my house, and my sister and I would climb aboard with all of the other less fortunate kids whose parents didn’t attend.

Don’t get me wrong. My mother is a very religious woman. She’s just very sick with a lot of responsibility, so she would wash our faces, comb our hair, have dinner ready by 5:30 and then we were out the door.

My first summer camp was a religious camp. I can remember being so inspired by the love that surrounded us. Everyone there loved God. This figure that they had never seen before, only heard about through pages of the Bible. We sang. We danced. We shared stories. And all of it came back to celebration of him.

I was no more than 12 years old. I can remember the transition at that time. I was growing up. Other girls my age were beginning to find interest in things like make-up, hair and boys. I didn’t understand this new process. I loved what I had always loved, which was science, poetry, basketball and around that time a newly developed interest in music.

I couldn’t relate to the increasingly longer conversations revolving around Justin Timberlake’s smooth voice or the obviously necessary rivalry between N’Sync and Backstreet Boys. I didn’t care “who was cuter.” However I did have a strange fascination with Sporty Spice…

I joined the Fellowship of Christian Athletes in Middle School, “dated” (sat next to) a few boys from church, and hung out with guys after school (they were the best companions to play Grand Theft Auto with). My daily attire of sneakers, ball shorts and t-shirts was common among all athletes, however my friends began straightening their hair, and buying each other body spray and panties for Christmas. Victoria’s Secret was a mystery to me, and I was dying for someone to let me in on it.

My world was changing, but I couldn’t keep up. I had no idea what to do with a flat iron, didn’t care if I wore black with navy blue and the thought of some guy’s tongue down my throat made me want to vomit. That’s when it happened. My freshman year I met a girl. She was a rebel from a Christian High School, and I knew the first time that we spoke that something about her felt familiar.

She was gay.

Obviously at a Christian School in the south, she was despised. It didn’t help that one of the girls she “Converted” was the principal’s youngest daughter. When we started dating I heard it from every direction. She got in trouble nearly every day at school for her attire or flirtatious behavior towards women. Her mother reprimanded her when she got home for her involvement at school. Even though I lived an hour and a half away, the new girl at my school knew my then girlfriend’s mother, so my secret leaked quickly.

The whispers leaked up and down the hallways, and pretty soon even though I still hadn’t kissed a girl everyone knew about my recent development in my sexuality. They took every approach. Some asked me to quit the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, others wanted to save me.

I went to a Christian Basketball camp in high school. The other girls from my high school were going, but it was an unspoken agreement to not discuss my sexuality. During my first year, I met a counselor who would change my life forever. She was just like me. She played basketball in college, always wore a pair of ball shorts, her hair was in a ponytail and her t-shirts were cut-offs. I knew she was gay. We never spoke of it, but I knew.

We stayed in touch. I went to that camp a total of three years, and seeing her every year just reminded me that one day I’d be older, and could be myself. Just like her. As I got older though, I began to notice that she wasn’t like me at all. She was very religious. Religious to the point that she devotes every action in her day to the lord and firmly believes that the Bible is her guide to life.

When I finally came out at home my mother clung to her bible for days, and my step father screamed to me that I was going to hell. I had received this reaction before at school. When I was around sixteen I gave up on religion, just as it had given up on me. A preacher commented on my sexuality and told me that it would be the death of me. He threw the bible at me, and I never went back. I dropped out of every religiously affiliated activity aside from Basketball camp. There I had a secret, and I could live normally in their eyes for one week.

I could see her. She wouldn’t judge me.

I almost went to her college (a Christian school) but instead chose Stephens. Thank God? I finally came out to her. Her reaction was completely unexpected. She was appalled. She told me repeatedly that it was a sin, and that God doesn’t condone that behavior. She reminded me that I wouldn’t be able to “join the Lord in heaven, unless I changed my sinful ways”. I was shocked.

Here is this college educated, strong and independent woman who doesn’t realize it, but is blatantly a lesbian yet she is telling me that I am going to hell because I love women. I ran even further from faith. Why would a god make me this way, and then condemn me for it? It’s like telling someone of a different race that they’re going to hell for their ethnicity. Whoops.

She admitted later that she had feelings for a woman, but it was just God’s test to her faith and strength so she withheld. I’m sorry. What? God isn’t sending love to your door step in the form of a same-sex relationship just so he can push you to hell’s fiery damnation. He’s sending you love because you’re obviously not interested in a relationship with Men and he wants you to be happy.

It’s scary how much of our lives are based on the impact of religion. Political Parties are basing their entire campaigns on what the bible says. If I do recall, Lot tried to prostitute his daughter to protect his guests (who were angels), Animal Sacrifices were a part of everyday life (PETA would be livid), and women were to carry two doves to the alter after the last day of her period to “cleanse her body and purity.”

The bible was written BY MAN. It has been translated so many times we can’t count (BY MEN) and along the way parts have gotten lost or been left out. King James had the bible translated in its most common version and had to approve it before it was released. What if Obama translated the bible? I bet a lot would change.

I’m not saying that I don’t believe in God, or that I disagree with all religions. I believe that it is important to maintain faith in something, because it’s that faith that allows us inner peace and comfort. What I don’t believe is that “God” hates gay people. I don’t believe he expects us to slaughter animals on his behalf, or avoid shellfish. I think that people who claim that they “Know God’s word”, are unbelievably proud and naive. Who are you to claim that you know and understand the inner thoughts of the most powerful being in the history of mankind? The capacity of mankind’s brain function cannot facilitate the thoughts of the “God” I believe in. I believe we are here to love and be loved, anyone and everyone. I have found spirituality over time. A belief in a higher power. I do not affiliate myself with any specific religion, but I have my own set of beliefs. I have based it solely off of what I know, what I feel and what I think.

That same woman who has mentored me for many years asked me a strange question the other night. She asked me if I founds her attractive. Apparently she thought that dating women might be easier. Here is my thought on this.

If you can’t handle being straight, you’re sure as hell not strong enough to be gay.

She became defensive when I shared my thoughts with her. I told her that I always thought that she might finally find contentment and happiness in her life if she went with her instincts and let herself experience the life and love that she so deeply craves. That I believed God did have a plan for her, but that due to her upbringing she turned her head at the opportunity presented to her.

She asked me if I was really prepared to go to hell for my lifestyle, and I told her that I am… If that’s what being gay means then yes. I never made a choice to be gay. I chose to be happy. I am who God made me. I’m a good person with solid morals and values. I love everyone and trust that he didn’t make a mistake when he gave me the fight and passion that he did.

I’m afraid that we will never speak again and it kills me inside…

I really hope that she finds herself, whatever self that may be. I hope she finds happiness and peace within her mind and heart. I will forever love this dear friend, but I simply cannot be reprimanded and brought down because of her beliefs. She in return cannot condone mine, so we are at a standstill… one that might destroy a friendship.

I believe that “God” has a special place in “Heaven” for all Gay people for the hatred and ignorance we have had to endure. I believe that when he sees the intolerance and the discrimination of this world  that he weeps. This is not the way that my God wants his children to behave.

God is Love….  And Gay is Okay.

 Remember me, I’m Tennessee.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I had an interview this week to continue the job I’m in right now. It’s interesting, because on the one hand, I like my job and want to stay. On the other, I really miss California. I miss my friends. I miss the waves. I miss walking down the street and just feeling small.

Keep that feeling in mind because I will address it later.

I really think I just miss the possibilities. After leaving my previous employers, I tucked my tail and got the hell out of Dodge. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I wasn’t sure how to continue. Instead, I followed safety back to Tennessee. That lead me safely to Missouri, where I remain.

Los Angeles, when you look at the big picture, is a big step. The city lights. Everyone is trying to make it. When you begin to break it down, it’s a series of communities pushed together, rows of apartments, and in each one is someone different with a story. When I think about my friends alone, I realize that 2 are on a reality tv show, one is working with Chelsea Handler, one is designing lingerie for an independent label, and then two couples are going through all the same arguing and petty bullshit that the rest of us face on a daily basis. It’s all pretty normal except that their careers are just a little more.. “unreal”. However they’re all amazing and absolutely normal. They’re great at what they do. They followed their passion and that’s where their passion took them. It makes me wonder where I would be right now if I just driven the two short hours to LA and couch crashed until I found a job.

What would I be doing? Would I be happy? I’m happy now, but about different things. It’s unreal how one decision can change our lives in such drastic ways. East or West. That’s all I asked myself, and here I am.

I met up with two of my good friends from College last night. Girls that I met Freshman year, and that I remained close with throughout. The one thing we talked about was the thing that’s been on all of our minds. Adulthood.

Lo is a television broadcast reporter in Texas. While she enjoys her job, she is missing something. Sam just got an amazing opportunity to move to L.A. She is going to work on a feature film and help edit another on the side to kick start her already existing career in film and television. However, she too is missing something. So am I. So is Rachel in the Ukraine, and so many other young women I went to school with.

We’re missing each other. In school we argued over who had to walk across the quad to the other one’s dorm. We complained about climbing three sets of stairs to hang out. I would climb a set of stairs all day to have us back together again. When we don’t know what we have, we take it for granted. That’s why I encourage each of you to assess what it is that you have in life, and everything that you want. Appreciate what you’ve been given and how many experiences you’ve been able to enjoy.

I mentioned on twitter “You spilled your coffee? Got Toothpaste on your pants? Your scarf got caught in the car door? Wow. You’re blessed. You can afford coffee, toothpaste, and a car.” We have to look past all of the disappointments in life and put a positive spin on them. Our attitudes are the attitudes that will be adapted by the next generation. We have the capability of making a difference in the future, with as little effort as a positive outlook. You have to experience life as long as you’re living, so why not enjoy it?

If we started that mindset early on then we would be much more productive. I truly believe that a person’s demeanor is a reflection on how successful they can become. (Not how successful they are, and not in every case.) Some people with terrible attitudes, get really lucky and become extremely wealthy, but it’s rarely an emotional success. Others become monetarily and emotionally successful, but are then jaded by the industry they perform in. Some people however, dream. They dream big. They smile, and they work hard, they love and they grow. These people are the ones that I suggest we emulate. What you’ll find, is that these are the happy people. Even if you’re never as wealthy as Oprah, what is wealth if you don’t enjoy it. I had rather be emotionally blessed than rich. I want to be happy.

Belief, understanding, and everything in between.

New York. 1970. Hippies. Peace. Love. Living life based on a dream, and a no bull shit. Don’t care. Live my life attitude. The thought of it literally takes my breath away. Can you imagine? It’s difficult for me sometimes to understand how I can miss something that I’ve never experienced. I yearn to be a part of history, and the shaping of our world. Technically I suppose I am, but who wants to be a part of their nation’s demise?

Families are starving, the cost of education has skyrocketed, the rich are richer and the poor… Well.. The poor are scrambling to survive. It reminds me in a way of the movie “In Time”. Will we reach a point where people just pass in their homes, dying of starvation? It’s happened before in this country. It’s interesting to me that we are supposed to be one of the most successful and influential countries in the world yet we are slowly digging our own graves. We have become greedy for wealth and power, and now both are slipping from our grasp.

 Wednesday night I sat with two lovely ladies over dinner and they rehashed for me their experiences in life. They WERE a part of the NYC movement. They lived out the 70’s in a time where camaraderie and happiness went hand in hand. A time where people were less afraid of each other, and more afraid of the authority. They told me tales of floating job to job, supporting themselves, but living to find or experience their passion. One was a musical theater dancer/ actress on Broadway, the other tried her hand at marketing before she ventured out to find herself in something new.

 When I asked the second if she ever really found herself out there she replied, “For a long time I was ashamed to tell people that I wstill hadn't settled into one position. I never reached that acceptable level of success determined by society. I didn’t have a high level corporate job on the “right track”. What I found eventually was that I could measure my own success in a different way. I started measuring it based on what type of person I was. Whether or not I had done any good in the world that day or that week.” How many people can say that they genuinely like the person that they are, or the way they portray themselves? I’m not saying that they must like the way that other people perceive them. That’s an opinion, and frankly in the words of my mother “Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one.” Not the most profound statement, but true none the less.

I think it’s important to have an opinion, because it means that you’re thinking. It means that you feel something. I don’t think however that you should base what you feel about yourself on what someone else thinks. Who cares if you don’t have a 6-figure corporate job in engineering or economics. You’re a pottery painter? Perfect do you love it? Great. Do you apply yourself to your craft and strive to develop it in an original way? If you can say yes, then isn’t that successful in it’s own right? You are making the most of life and THAT is what’s important.

 My mother became a nurse the year I was born. It was 1989 and our economy was picking up. She said that she could remember the first time she sat down in a nursing class. The professor told them that very few of them would have what it took to graduate. The number of hours they would have to apply to studying was minimal compared to the hours they would be putting in when they actually got into the field. The medical field is an industry that never slows down. You never have time to catch up. There is always an epidemic or tragedy. Someone is always sick or hurt. She had a career where people’s lives were literally in her hands and she loved it. She has always been a caretaker, and she was passionate about helping people.

She told me that at that time you found more often than not, most of the people in that field were there because they loved it. They wanted to be the best at it. There were a few who did it for the paycheck, but the work was so hard that they could find something easier for more money.

 My grandmother just moved into a nursing home. Her Alzheimer’s has become unmanageable. My mother has been retired for many years, but still does what she can for the family when needed. She went with my grandmother to move her in, and she was horrified at what she found. The young women filling the position that she once filled were astonishing. There was lack of friendliness, lack of protocol. Often they would be late on her pain medication, and never once offered to fluff her pillows. The common courtesy that one human being offers another when they are being paid to care was out the window. My mother sat and cried because she wanted so badly to shake them and tell them “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be done. How can you care so little and be so cruel?” Of course if my mother shook someone there would be a lawsuit to support that need for instant gratification and entitlement that I have spoken of before.

It’s fine for employees to mistreat those that they care for, but if a patient complains then they’re labeled as “problematic” and overlooked. It’s sad. How do we care so little? How is the best interest of EVERYONE not the common practice?

I'll never understand.

Remember me, I'm Tennnessee

Greater than existence.

As a child we are sheltered by our parents and/ or the government. Until the age of 18-21 we are directed by an existing plan devised to help us “succeed”. We are monitored in high school. Required to attend a number of days. Legal actions have to be taken to “opt out” of that pre-devised plan. Most parents encourage you to follow a series of rules to guide you from point A (kindergarten) to point B- graduation (high school and/ or college). During this time, most of us complain that we want more freedom. There is a steady uneasiness during that age to be out on our own. To grow up. The last few weeks before graduation a rumble settles in to your stomach. When you cross that stage to adult hood, reality settles in like a haze, lingering above our independent minds. Some of us at that point have used our scheduled lives to determine the future. We know, by our structured existence “this is what we want to do”. What most of us still don’t understand is how expensive rent is, what it’s like to fill out all of our own paperwork, how to adjust our time in a schedule that we have to come up with to accommodate our newly self-managed life. Long story short…

 Life is hard, and no one baby’s you in the real world. I think I first realized this when upon graduation I was swooped up and taken in by my previous internship employers. I lived in their home during my stay, and while they backed me financially, I was required to do all of the groundwork. Not long after, I began managing their lives as well. It quickly hit me that this was it. The end of my childhood. However I still wasn’t “in charge”. They told me where to go. What to do. How to act. How to speak. On one hand I know that they were simply giving me a crash course on how to pursue the career that at the time, I believed I wanted. I had this idea that I was going to live a fantastical life amongst celebrities and be envied by all, but when I achieved that, I realized all I really wanted was to figure it out on my own.

Now I’m about to contradict myself. Yes, I wanted to figure it out on my own, but as I sit here now I often wish that life were simple again. That somewhere out there, someone would look out for my best interest and tell me how to live my life in order to maximize on all it has to offer. I long for that imposed structure. I think we all feel that at some point or another. Many of my friends are going through the very same thing. Teetering on the edge of adulthood. What I’ve found is that the difference between childhood and adulthood (besides the obvious) is that with adulthood you can have mentors who offer guidance that you can still choose to ignore. More than not, I wind up following that guidance, yet it’s nice to have the option. The freedom…

I’ve been very lucky. I can easily count at least 5 successful women who to this day would set aside an hour or two to discuss with me the options of my future. One of which did just that yesterday at lunch. We sat down at my favorite restaurant here in Columbia. Bleu at the tavern. It became my favorite by default. My best friend is the daytime bartender, so on my bad days, off days, or just days when I don’t have anything else to do I will go there to sit and chat with her. Yesterday was all business however, so my mentor and I were guided to a table by the window and slowly, but surely devised a formula for my success. I’m not saying that after one conversation with her I am going to uproot my life and hang on her every word, but I must admit that with everything I gave her to work with she came up with a pretty good plan. All of my likes and dislikes were calculated alongside the facts. All of the factors of my life each played a small role in the abyss, until out of nowhere sprang a tangible plan.

“What is it?” you’re wondering. Well unfortunately I’m not quite prepared to divulge that information. I still have a few more meetings, a lot of research and deep contemplation before I decide to chase that dream. And it is just that. A dream. If I chose to follow this path it would be the hardest, yet most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. Which is the real point of this post.

What makes you tick. What is your passion? Are you settling for a life or career just because it is “realistic” or have you thrown common sense out the window and said to yourself “Why not?” Why can’t you be great? Why can’t you be the best? You can. Not everyone is big city bound. Not everyone wants to change the world. I get that. But even if you are sitting on a box stool day after day making soap, is it because you have to? Or because it pays the bills? Or do you REALLY just love making soap. The way that it smells. The looks on the faces of the consumers as they rummage bar after bar through your extensive selection.

 What makes you tick? Without passion there would be no rumble in your stomach. The good and the bad would blend recklessly together until you were void of emotion. To exist isn’t enough. The definition of existing is “To have life.” Do you want to just have it? Or do you want to LIVE it to the height of your ability. We’re all in this together, and that is something that is so untouchably incredible. We’re here. So let’s live.

Remember me. I’m Tennessee.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are...

I have known all week what this post would be about. I also knew that it might be my most difficult post thus far. As a lesbian (one who has a lot of Lesbian followers) I have decided to cover a very disturbing issue. It is something that most of us go through at some point or another. When I did it, it proved to be the most difficult time of my entire life: Coming Out. Specifically I want to cover coming out to family members. I know that I have skimmed over this issue in previous posts, but now I would like to go in depth, because recently a friend of mine has been going through the same thing and I am trying my best to help her through it.

We will call her Macy. Macy went to a concert with her father this past weekend. She is fairly close with her parents, so occasionally they will come into town for special events or activities. Usually, at some point her girlfriend tags along even though until this point they had been told that she was her “best friend”. Macy has been with said girlfriend for a little over a year now. They are undeniably the most stable relationship, gay or straight, I have ever seen. Their compatibility is incredible, communication skills admirable, and their overall outlook on life and love is astonishingly ideal. For this event however, the girlfriend stayed home. Macy went to the concert. Her ex boyfriend (this is her first “lesbian” relationship) was there. He called her several times, her father as well, and after a while her dad told her that he was really glad she was no longer with that guy. The next morning the two of them went to breakfast and he asked her that awfully dreaded question. “Are you dating a girl?” (Specifically her girlfriend.) Being the incredibly honest and exceptional person she is, she told the truth. “Yes.” Dad was silent for a moment, and then replied with the most well-put response I’ve ever heard. “I accept you. I don’t want you to think that means that I accept the wrong thing you’re doing because it isn’t wrong. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m glad that you are happy.” She was relieved.

 When she arrived home she told her girlfriend about her father’s response. The two of them embraced for what seemed like forever. I congratulated her on coming out. I have been there and I know how much courage it takes to even contemplate telling people, much less your parents. The source of your comfort and love. The ultimate expectations which people spend most of their lives trying to live up to. I was astonished. The next day I went over to check on the two of them. When I walked in, I immediately knew something was wrong. Her girlfriend sat at the kitchen table with a perplexed look on her face. Macy was outside on the sidewalk crying on the phone. Her girlfriend put her head in her hands. “It’s all my fault.” I could not imagine at this time what might be her fault. Did they wreck a vehicle? Spill something on the carpet, and wouldn’t get their housing deposit back? Maybe she deleted Macy’s undergraduate thesis by accident. “What is wrong?” She then told me that when the father got home, he shared his new found information with Macy’s mother who (nothing short of) went off the deep end.

 She couldn’t accept this type of “behavior” from her daughter. It must be in the water where we live. Better yet, it’s because they let Macy go to college. The type of liberal education she received OBVIOUSLY brainwashed her. That’s it. It’s a mental disorder. They would get her help. All of a sudden dad began to “see the light”. Mom was right. Their daughter was sick and they needed to help.

Take a minute to breathe. Not every case in coming out is this back and forth or extreme. Some are better, some unfortunately are worse. If you are reading this post, the last thing I want you to do is think that you can’t come out now for fear of rejection. I simply want to educate you on the possibilities and hopefully help you cope with the reactions that you might experience. Much like I am trying to do with Macy right now. She is a mess. She hates that she has disappointed her parents, and hates even more that they think she is sick.

 Her mother “outed” her to her 17 year old sister as well as her grandmother, both of whom are taking it surprisingly better than the parents. While Macy is angry about this, I warn you that sometimes this is to be expected. When people have fear of something, they often counteract that fear by triggering what you fear most. You made them uncomfortable, so now they’ll do the same to you. By telling her family members, I believe her mother was trying to make Macy so uncomfortable that she would “take it back” or “change her mind” about what she was doing so no one else would find out.

When I came out at age 15, my mother and I were in a very similar situation. We had been driving to a tanning salon when I got that same dreaded question. (Yes I tan. Yes I know it causes skin cancer. Yes I know many people believe that allowing your underage child to tan should result in losing custody, however if that is something you want to discuss further, leave a comment and we will debate it at another time.) I, much like Macy, couldn’t stand the thought of lying to my mother. She was my closest friend. I knew without a doubt that she loved me and believed that our relationship could endure anything. “Yes. I have a girlfriend.” I even took it one step further. “I’m a lesbian.” She sat stunned for a moment, and unlike Macy’s father, burst into tears. Now immediately I went into hyper-panic mode. For a brief second I wanted to take it all back, however releasing those words from my lips was much like deflating a balloon. All of that built up pressure came bursting out of my heart and for a second I felt like I could breathe.

 I quickly snapped back into reality. “You’re not allowed to see her. Do you hear me?” Those were the first words to come from her mouth. Wait a minute. This isn’t right. I was honest. I told the truth. I trusted her. Isn’t that type of behavior supposed to strengthen a parent-child relationship? Isn’t there some unspoken parental guidance law that states if you have a good kid, you should treat them well in return? She cried for the next three days. I had trouble looking at her. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I had hurt for so long hiding who I was. I just wanted help understanding what I was going through, and all I received instead was hate and a lack of acceptance.  I didn’t even attempt at the time to tell my step-father. She told me that I wasn’t “allowed” to be a lesbian. I quietly stepped back into “the closest” and kept my pain and frustration to myself.

A few months later my friend Allison and I made a grave mistake. We had been keeping a journal that we exchanged back and forth between classes. She was older than me so we only saw each other in the halls, and while she was straight, she was also very open-minded. I had come out to most of my close friends, but for fear of the same rejection I experienced that day with my mother, chose not to tell everyone. After all, the last thing I wanted was for one of my cousins to find out, or for someone to tell my dad. Allison and I were on our way back from a field trip, and sat in separate seats. However half way during our trip, we put both of our bags in one seat and moved to the other so we could talk during our bus ride. High School is often a mean and unforgiving place for some people, so when  bags are left unattended, there seems to be no respect for one’s privacy.  A young man, (who ironically came out to me later) pulled my notebook from our belongings and hunkered down in the seat to read it aloud to his friends. That’s all it took. A few journal entries later, and I had been outed. They knew who, where, and for how long. The emotional roller coaster I had been shoved onto was teetering on the edge of disaster.

When I walked down the hallway that day I heard whispering from nearly everyone I passed. The stares and the giggles followed. Finally one kid yelled out “Hey Dyke. That’s what you are isn’t it? A big fucking Dyke?” I wanted to puke. The anxiety clumped in my chest like a lodged apple core. I was choking on fear and humiliation. This was it. This was the end of my life as I knew it. What I didn’t know at the time was it was also the beginning. Unfortunately in BFE Tennessee we didn’t have a queer straight alliance, there was no “It gets better” campaign for me to research. I had no one to turn to, and nowhere to go… except home.

When I walked in that day, I saw the look of recognition on my mother’s face. She knew I was hurting, and she had guessed why. Although she didn’t understand, the last thing she wanted was for me to hurt. I told her what happened and she sat there in tears again. I told her that it was time I told my father. She protested at first, but decided it was better he hear it from me than someone else. When he got home I asked him to sit down. When I told him I was gay he got a confused look on his face. He had joked that I was a lesbian since I was 9 years old and I yelled out gleefully from the back seat of the car “Chase ‘em down Dad!” about a car full of girls my brother had been gawking at. I hated how they had teased me, and even began to see being gay as a huge negative. I was raised to believe it was wrong.

When he spoke, I expected a similar reaction to my mothers. What I got was much worse… “I might be going to hell but at least it isn’t for sucking dick. No kid of mine’s gonna be a queer.” Had I heard him correctly? Yes. He stormed out of the house, and stood on our front porch. My mother followed him. By this point I knew that there was no turning back, and I’m really an all or nothing kind of gal. I was right on their heels. “One of your kids is a queer. That queer is me.” My mother asked me again to wait until I was 18 to make that decision. It wasn’t a decision. I didn’t wake up one day and say “I think today I’ll be a lesbian”, like some young women decide to change their hair color. The only decision I made was to be true to myself, and honest to my family.

It took my parents a while to come around. My mother started to understand that the only thing that had changed was her opinion. Not the person who I was. I had stayed the same sweet girl I had always been, I just loved differently than she did. Once she grasped that concept, it became easier for her to accept. She is now one of my biggest supporters and an advocate for LGBTQ equality. My father and I bonded over a Carrie Underwood music video. (We both have an appreciation for toned legs.) He too realized that who I loved didn’t change how he loved me. My life began to develop normalcy. I had contemplated changing schools, but decided not to. I wasn’t going to run. I had never ran from anything in my life and I wasn’t about to start then. I held my head up when I walked through the hallway, and whether they accepted me or not, people had to at least tolerate me. It was by no means easy, but as I got older I moved away and found peace and structure as well as love and acceptance. Columbia Missouri has been a great place to grow, which is why I wasn’t shocked that Macy’s parents blamed it for her liberal “condition”. The only thing she “caught” here was freedom and individuality.

Ultimately I believe myself to be lucky. Some people never find that acceptance. Others never learn to cope with the hate. We’re reminded of this every time another gay suicide occurs. All I can offer are my thoughts. All we can do is continue to educate. I was presented with a few articles by some friends of mine that I would like to share with you. Hopefully they will help you along your journey.

I’m Christian Unless You’re Gay- http://www.danoah.com/2011/11/im-christian-unless-youre-gay.html/3/

A Teen’s Brave Response to “I’m Christian, Unless You’re Gay”-

http://www.danoah.com/2012/04/a-teens-brave-response-to-im-christian-unless-youre-gay.html  

A special Thank You to Linda at PFLAG of Mid-Missouri for sharing the following information with me as well.  

PFLAG "Coming Out" PDF- https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.1&thid=137a9227b2de6ac4&mt=application/pdf&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3D5e5e03d601%26view%3Datt%26th%3D137a9227b2de6ac4%26attid%3D0.1%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&sig=AHIEtbRGd2jheKUIcKtivG6zLtOKHdHcOA&pli=1

PFLAG "Coming Out to Your Parents" PDF-
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.2&thid=137a9227b2de6ac4&mt=application/pdf&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3D5e5e03d601%26view%3Datt%26th%3D137a9227b2de6ac4%26attid%3D0.2%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&sig=AHIEtbSn98ggDvIob2nLm4qQF16L2xYE0w

Sexual Orientation Is Not A Choice-
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.3&thid=137a9227b2de6ac4&mt=application/pdf&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3D5e5e03d601%26view%3Datt%26th%3D137a9227b2de6ac4%26attid%3D0.3%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&sig=AHIEtbR-4r2YLUOYtwP5TJOOk-plOKwHYw

Our Sons and Daughters-
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.4&thid=137a9227b2de6ac4&mt=application/pdf&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3D5e5e03d601%26view%3Datt%26th%3D137a9227b2de6ac4%26attid%3D0.4%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&sig=AHIEtbShS5_buDdUDCsxXy2hwxZw9ZlL5A

I wish you all the best of luck. If you aren’t going through this, but know someone who is feel free to pass along my blog and/or these articles. Finally, I am also willing to back it up. If you have any other questions or comments, or just need someone to talk to who understands what you’re going through, feel free to email me at caseyriannamartin@gmail.com.  

Remember me, I’m Tennessee.

Land of the Free and Home of the Brave

Something is missing.. As I sit here quietly preparing to spill the words of wisdom I hope to procure, I ask myself. Why? Why do I write? Why do I continue to apply attention that may or may not ever develop into anything? The answer is simple. I love it, and life is about love.  So then I ask my next question. What is the point? Well when I first opened up to the thought of writing a blog I wondered what to call it. I reflected on my own life and wondered what I would want to read. The biggest thing that came to mind was that I wanted advice. Maybe not even advice necessarily, but I wanted perceptions. I wanted to process thoughts of other people and compare them to my own beliefs. I wanted to grow in my own opinion. Listen to each belief and relate that to my own. Figure out who I am.

The hardest thing since graduation for me has been realizing that I'm no longer a child. I have real responsibilities. Not only does society expect me to develop and mature, but there is a constant yearning inside of me to BE. It's difficult to explain. I am becoming. Becoming.... Becoming what, I don't know. I just know that I appreciate the constant change and accept it as a natural part of life. Better yet, I welcome it. Who am I to think that right now I'm at my prime. How selfish would it be to believe that I am the best now that I'll ever be? I know without a doubt that the ampleness of the worlds wisdom will occupy me for a very, very long time. 

I was talking with my best friend... Beau. That's what I'll call her. She's been one of my closest confidantes over the last 3 years. We met my freshman year, and naturally I hated her. She was talented in every way, great looking, and as we would eventually find out... Gay. When I was young I hated a challenge. Anyway, Beau and I hung out last night. We try to have nights occasionally where we just sit. Reflect in each others company. A few years older than me, she is also much wiser. She brought up a very valid point that I've often felt, but never verbalized. She asked me a very serious and haunting question. She asked me, "Does it ever feel like you were born into the wrong time? Like maybe you were supposed to be born into a different era?" After I listened to her realization, I realized I felt the exact same way.

She pointed out that she felt as if she was to simple. She was content with love and happiness. She was also deprived of the passion found particularly in the seventies. I completely understand. I have always felt a little to deep, a little to overwhelmed with the sense of urgency behind life. To stand for something. The need to be a part of something much bigger than myself. I've always wondered how it would have felt to be a part of a time where love and peace were the ultimate ideas. Where kindness was not only understood, but still expected. A time where honesty and trustworthiness weren't foreign. Everyone was an activist and an optimist, and disbelief was abnormal. I long for a time where selflessness was offered without reward. Then I remind myself that there were exceptional people who started that movement. People just like me, and just like you who put faith into their hearts and lept into their own dreams hoping to create a wave of familiar passion around them. That faith rippled, and before we knew it there was a movement. A need to be better. That movement is slowly becoming extinct.      

We all know someone in their forties or fifties who has been doing this for a while, but it just didn't go the way they had hoped. Someone who when they look back, realizes that they wish they would have done more... Do you want to be that person? Are you going to settle for mediocre, or are you going to capitalize on your youth. Take into consideration that maybe its possible that you're supposed to be incredible and just go for it. After all... What do you have to lose? Just the other day I was watching an interview of Michael J. Fox and he said something that really intrigued me. He said "You don't always have to say yes, but say yes more than no because no doesn't get you anywhere." He's right. You can settle for mediocrity and allow yourself to dissolve into the routine monotony society has accepted as the norm, or you can take a chance. Chase a dream. Reach for a star. I suggest that you make life a little challenging. Don't pick the easy way out.

 Right now gays and lesbians are suffering from hate. We have advanced far enough that we can walk down the street holding hands without being beaten or stoned (sometimes) but we haven't gotten far enough that we're considered equals and enjoy all of the same rights the every other American has. We're not asking for anything extra. Nothing special. Just the ability to live, and die free. Now I have to ask. Did you vote in the last election? Have you ever protested something or volunteered for a cause? Are you a part of the movement in our generation doing what you can to help the freedom of yourself and others or are you someone who claims that you're "not into politics" and just waits for change to take place? You my not be interested, but politics are certainly interested in you.

Could you imagine what life would be like right now without the generations before us who fought in the streets, picketed with signs, sacrificed their reputations to stand up for what they believed in which was the right to freely love whoever they wanted. The Matthew Shepards and the Teena Brandon's who were caught in the crossfire. I have already had 2 encounters with Westboro Baptist Church, multiple encounters with discrimination and hate, and live everyday as a second class citizen because "I'm not normal".

Which side are you on. Are you going to float through life riding on the success of your predecessors or are you going to stand up and help set the example for the generation who follows. As few people that care in this generation, the next generation scares me. We've become so selfish, believing that we're entitled to everything, when we've done none of the ground work. What if we had to start over each generation to fight for our rights. What if we as women couldn't vote now until we fought for it. Couldn't wear pants. Couldn't go out in public with our girlfriends. (some of you might still be going through that.) so what do we do about it?

We fight. We love. We search for peace , happiness, equality and all of the other beautiful things that make this world an amazing place. We're in America. Land of the free and home of the brave. Isn't it time we reflect that?

Remember me... I'm Tennessee.

Twin Time

My family came in for the weekend. Well I say family, but it was really only like a fourth of them. My mother, step-father and adopted twin brothers got into town Friday and met me at my house with half of my co-workers to move my furniture in to my new apartment. I have amazing people in my life, because that could have been an awful experience without a little help. Basically I revolved the weekend around the little guys.

Friday after move-in, Lo and I took them to Shakespeare’s for pizza. It’s this Columbia specific pizza spot that lets the kids watch them make pizza through the glass. They also throw a ball of dough out for each of them to play with during their wait. The boys loved it. After that Lo and I played Frisbee with them on Campus. We waited for the Student run Summer Theatre Children’s production that our Theatre majors were hosting. They got to do all things that little kids love including run around the room, draw on the walls and sit in my lap. We went to the hotel after to meet back up with my parents, and took the boys swimming. My mom said when we left, they fell right to sleep. The next day I picked them up around noon. It was like heaven for them. We got happy meals, then relocated to “Bonkers” which is this Chuck E Cheese on crack children’s play place. They wanted us to climb through the obstacle course with them, so an hour of my time was spent angling my body to fit through nooks and crannies that the National Guard couldn’t have achieved. After that we went to the upper level and played video games. I’m always amazed at how smart they’ve become. Six years old, and they’re reading words that my step-father still struggles with. They picked out a toy from the counter with their tickets (of course they didn’t have enough for the toy they wanted, so I bribed the manager to let me purchase them.) Then we went to Toys R’ Us and they got to pick out $20 worth of toys each. By the end of the day as they carried their very full bags up to the hotel room, I realized how well I had been played. J I’m a sucker. I can’t help it. Finally we ended the evening with a movie at the theater. Avengers. Now you can look at this experience in one or two ways. It either went really well, or really poorly. They fell asleep 45 minutes into the movie and slept through the whole thing. Again, it’s not so great that they found no interest in the film, however Lo and I really enjoyed it and the peace and quiet on their end was fantastic. My parents caught up with us after for dinner. Every family vacation deserves a fine dining experience, so where did my father choose? Golden Corral…

The weekend went by way too quickly. They left before I ever woke up Sunday morning and were back home not long before I started my day. As I’ve gotten older a few things have become apparent. I will never live at home again. I will never wake up every day and see them. Hug them. Wrestle with them in the yard. I will never get to see the seconds tick by in their lives as they age before me. I will only be graced with these incredible glimpses in time to cherish the memories we produce. They mean the world to me. I think I’ve become so close to them because they remind me a lot of myself.

At age 7 I had my IQ tested for the first time. I was very far advanced intellectually. I read and comprehended at the level of a student in the 8^th grade, and the only subject I wasn’t excelling above and beyond in was math. I spent every free hour with a book in my hand, and my Christmas wish list to Santa usually consisted of a list of books, and microscopes/ chemicals for experiments. Had I been given the education that would have challenged me I might have been exceptional. I can see that in the two of them. Except my mother didn’t get sick until I was 12 which meant for the most important part of my childhood she had a strong mind that could push me. Now she does well to stay awake during day light. My step father never even graduated high school, so he isn’t much help academically. I sometimes wish that they could live with me, and then I have to remind myself that I’m simply not ready for that type of responsibility. After my two day weekend with them, instead of finishing my laundry and taking the trash out, I rented a movie and melted into my best friends couch before going home and falling into bed.

I think one day I would like to be a mother, but for now I’ll just figure out adulthood.

Remember me. I’m Tennessee.

North Vs. South

It's terrifying how you can be in a heavily populated area one minute with diversity, some equality and intellectual human interaction and then you take a wrong turn, drive fifty miles and you find yourself on a gravel road approaching what could be the inspiration for the film Deliverance. That doesn't happen in real life you say? Well I suppose it depends on your definition of real, because it was certainly real to me. That's where I grew up. I was born in Corinth Mississippi about 5 miles from the rail road tracks. Corinth played a huge role in the civil war. The Union won nearly every battle there and some say that Corinth was one of the primary reasons that the Confederate lost the war. Thank God. (For all you bible belt, bible thumpers out there you can relax. I'm not taking his name in vain... I'm genuinely thanking him. Then again, if you've read any of my last 6 or 7 posts you've now realized I'm a liberal lesbian and how i take his name is the least of your concern.) Back to my point. Why is Corinth so important you ask? Well, it's known as the Crossroads of the South because the Memphis and Charleston Railroad, running east and west, and the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, running north and south, crossed in its downtown. Whoever had access to that point had access to travel and supplies from every direction. History lesson is almost over I assure you... It's my personal belief that the most vile of Confederate Rednecks fled the Union controlled Corinth and headed for the rolling hills of Tennessee.  Particularly Olivehill, which is where my mother moved me to at age 5. Now before I get into that please understand that I don't think everyone in Tennessee is an ignorant hick, nor is there proof to  back up my theory (historically), however life experience and generations of inbreeding tell me I am correct. See where I'm going with this? My area was known for two things... The best catfish you've ever tasted, and the most meth ever produced. I find it unbelievable that African Americans are stereotyped as drug dealers and dangerous thugs. I assure you nothing is scarier than a family of 4 generation inbred, uneducated meth making rednecks with shot guns and bear traps who've spent their lives casing the 10 miles of woods they grew up in and still sign their name with an X.. Even gang members have to be able to spell blood or crypt. These people, many supported by their drug production and welfare are not the type of people you want to mess with. Now my family never produced any drug of any kind. Just hay, and purple hull peas. However the extended family that my mother married into was often related to each other in more than one way. And the drugs weren't far away. My mother raised me to know that college wasn't an option for me. It was a requirement, which was a good thing. My high school didn't really encourage college attendance although some of the teachers tried their best. I remember one instance where my graduating class (there were 27 of us seniors total) went to the local community college to a "college fair". There were 3 representatives present and they spoke for 10 minutes each. That was the extent of our college preparation as I remember. Maybe 25 of us graduated high school. Nine of us went on to some sort of higher education (tech school and 2 yr university included) and the last I heard 6 of us didn't drop out. Only 3 of us graduated college on time. I haven't started Grad School yet, but when I do I will be the first and only one to do it. I was the only student to go out of state, the only one to play two Sports on scholarship and the only one to not have any of my accomplishments announced at Graduation. (Let's just say they weren't so fond of my sexuality.)  I went home this weekend. I surprised my mother and step-mother both for Mothers day. They were both in shock. They laughed, they cried. We talked. We reminisced. I enjoyed it, but at the same time it was really sad and hard for me. As I get older and look back on the way I was raised I understand how poor we were. I understand why I never had the nicest clothes and family vacations were a fantasy. Our closest thing to a vacation was my parents renting a local hotel room for the 4th of July so us kids could swim in a pool instead of the creek for a change.  Two months ago my step-father took a trip with his son to New York City. My step brother delivers materials to different companies in an 18-wheeler (a job that didn't require a degree of any kind). It was both of their first trips up north, and my step-dads furthest trip away from home. He didn't want his son to make it alone. When the got to NYC the were early (it was 2 am and they couldn't unload until 6) so they parked on the side of the street in the middle of downtown to wait until morning. Dad wanted a coke (I'm southern. We call every carbonated beverages coke. He saw a man standing outside of a bar so he got out and asked him where he could find a drink. Fortunately the man wasn't a drunken psycho and politely directed my father down the street. He told him there would be a convenience store on the left past the subway. Of course the man was talking about the underground form of transportation however my father walked five blocks looking for the yellow and green sign of the sandwich shop. He never found a subway but he found the convenience store, got a drink and returned to the truck only after passing three hookers standing at the top of the subway staircase. It was his first and only big-city experience. He is 49. That is the reason why I can't seem to remain in one place, the reason I won't settle for anything less than the best. Life is meant for living. We only get one chance to do every thing we've ever wanted. At our college graduation the president said something to us that I will never forget. She said "Say yes first and then back track to no." You have to take chances and risks. You have to step outside of your comfort zone.  No one ever achieved greatness by sitting back and waiting on it.  People tell me all the time "I'm not like you. I can't do the things that you've done." That's simply not true. If I can achieve my dreams, then anyone can. I'm not even there yet. I have a really long way to go in life, but I think I'm off to a good start. Think about what you want in life. Don't think is it realistic or not. Everything in life is possible you just have to determine what is important to you. If you want to earn six figures then you have to go to school. You're probably not going to win the lottery. People say that they can't afford an education, but will you really be able to afford the life you want  without one? There is an avenue to take to get to every possible scenario in life. Two wise women once taught me you don't have to reinvent the wheel. someone somewhere has done it before you. Figure out how they did it and run with it. Life happens exactly how it is supposed to and just the way that it should, but if you don't put any effort into it then it is supposed to be mediocre.  If you want it to be incredible then do the things to make it that way. Ultimately I want to change lives. I want to inspire people. I have no idea how I will do that, but in the meantime I'll gain as much experience as possible in every situation that I can. By doing so I'll be able to relate to more people in different predicaments. I believe somewhere along the way I will find my purpose. Either that or my purpose will find me. I am as average as possible.  It is my strong will and love for my fellow man that makes me exceptional. If I can be great anyone can. Thank you for hanging out with me on this Sunday afternoon. I'm looking forward to making this a Sunday tradition. I enjoy writing but I've enjoyed comments even more. I love connecting with my readers. You're the reason that I write. If you have any questions or suggestions on topics I should cover please feel free to leave them in the box below. I would love to see what you all come up with.  Until then... remember me. I'm Tennessee...

Little thing called life...

In this moment, while listening to “Fine By Me” by Andy Grammar, I lay in bed smiling. How cute would that be? To have someone permanent…

Ironically “Build Me a Girl” followed it. Now this guy has the right idea. He knows what’s important. What are we here for if it isn’t to love and be loved? Take a step back for one minute and take a look at the overall picture. We as children in the ideal life are free to read books all day during the summer, and spend our afternoons talking on the phone or playing outdoors. Life is so simple. We never think twice about the troubles we cause our elders. I for one know that although I was a pretty good kid, I’ve been a pain in the ass a time or twelve. Not to mention as I got older, I became hell on wheels…

It’s amazing how angry a 22 year old can get. You spend so much time thinking about the decisions your parents made, and how you’ll never be that way. I know that I thought that I was better than where I came from. Who I was. I was going to change it. I moved to California, bought some skinny jeans, and stopped wearing a bra. All of a sudden I became this entirely different person. I was better than Tennessee. Better than my past.  

I took on the position of Executive Assistant at a Non-Profit production company, and next thing I knew I was hanging out with celebrities, attending Hollywood events and for some reason more and more people knew my name. I developed an attitude and stopped calling home. I was grown.

What I found was I lost myself out there. I wasn’t mature enough to be on my own yet. I still felt like the world revolved around me, but the truth is it’s much bigger than you and I. A million miles away there is a little boy in Africa crying because he can’t count how long it’s been since he ate a meal. Not to mention the little girl who just can’t count because education isn’t that important. In many countries women are still considered property, and people have to hide in their homes for fear of being a victim of war. First World Problems has been trending on twitter, and I’ll admit that I’ve used it myself but the thing is it’s real. I recently spent two weeks without a cell phone. For the first two days I was nothing short of going through withdrawals. By the end of the two weeks I hardly thought about it. Mind you I had my work phone, but only my mom and best friend used it to reach me. No games or apps, no texting. A lot of people have never seen a cell phone, much less owned one. For a quick moment it was just me and life. One on one. I found that I’m not so bad at it… This life thing. I love life. I love everyone in it. I want to help everyone. I want to love. Bringing me back to my first point. What is life about? It’s not to see who can earn the most money, just to die and give it to someone else. It’s not about how many people realized how awesome you were or who wanted to be you. It’s about loving someone. Anyone. Everyone. It’s about taking responsibility for our actions and helping our fellow man/woman. It’s about accepting each other’s differences and hating only hate itself. (Kudos to Obama's public announcement.)

It’s about each and every one of us putting our hearts out there with the trust that no one will break it. If everyone was vulnerable then it’s no longer vulnerability. So live, love, prosper and find happiness within your hearts. If you can’t find your own, I have plenty to share.

Remember me... I'm Tennessee.

Around the World

I talked to my best friend today. I know that usually might not sound like a big deal, but my best friend is a Peace Corps member and currently the hottest English teacher in the Ukraine. We met our freshman year of college. She was a Bob Marley listening, Aretha Franklin sounding, urban hippie from Chicago. And she was intoxicating to me. I of course was a small town redneck in a 4 inch wide belt buckle and Ariat boots. My “Good Jacket” was a carhartt.

We we’re opposite in everyway. She was cool. She smoked hookah. She drank alcohol from Mini bottles and sang the most beautifully of any voice I have ever heard. I used to sit outside her door our freshman year and listened to her when she cleaned her dorm room to Karaoke tracks.

 I of course was obnoxious. I was loud and proud. When I started college I went from my small town home in Tennessee to “Collegetown USA.” There were 35,000 college kids in one town and I was determined to be myself…. My overly exaggerated oober-gay self. I was actually known on campus for turning straight girls. They called me “The Metric System” because I convert.

My best friend was the “Ultimate Straight Girl” for me. I was in love with her. We stayed best friends all four years of college. (She’s actually in the wallpaper of my twitter background.) That was about how long I spent hitting on her... every day. Now it’s usually just once every week or two. I still love her. I even drove to Chicago one summer to see her. We both grew up, and I’ll give credit to her. Her passion, and innate greatness was a huge inspiration to me as I got older. The summer after our Junior years we had to do our College Internships. She ran off to Atlanta to work for CNN and I headed out to LA to become the assistant for a nonprofit LGBTQ company in L.A. She graduated that next December and I had been much to caught up in my own life since I’d been back. We hardly saw each other that semester, and now I regret that more than anything.

She is flying in from the Ukraine to see me! We haven’t seen each other since last February, and in July we will be reunited for a total of 4-6 days. Pre-planned events include  a 6 restaurant tour, an either great or terrible decision to get matching tattoo’s (I have 6 and she has more) and a case of beer for her brother who determines if I can keep her that last two days. (I’ll even go imported. This post is supposed to be worldly right?)

I can’t wait. I’ll be in my own place by then. My best friends here in Columbia are the greatest. They’ve been letting me couch crash for 2 months. 5 people in one apartment, plus who they’re dating and pets. Needless to say I am very grateful, but I’m sure we’ll all be happy when I relocate.

It’s funny. We talked today about how since she has been overseas, she’s decided she wants to go to Med school. (I told you. This girl is incredible, and never ceases to amaze me.) We joked that we could share an apartment in Nashville. She wants to attend Vanderbilt. The thing is it may not be a joke. I’m so uncertain about my life right now. Who am I? Where am I going? Thus far I’ve been a wanderer. School in Missouri, summer in Maine, Executive in Los Angeles, passing through Mississippi, back to Columbia and still moving. My life in Columbia is temporary as of now. I wonder when I look across the Map where I’ll be next. The truth is I have no idea. Should I try my hand at LA again? Or maybe Nashville. It would be nice to be near my mom. Especially with the changes back home. I’ve not done New York yet and always thought Atlanta was an option. Maybe something bigger? Maybe I’ll venture to a foreign country for the first time.

I wish there was a logical equation that I could just plug the values of my life into and it produce the best answer. Like 23 year old graduate+ film major+ medium to large city+ job required= Casey’s Life Plan. I think my biggest problem is I don’t really know my options. I guess I keep sitting back waiting for an answer, but it’s not going to just come. I’ve always considered myself a fairly lucky person, but the truth is so far I’ve played a large part in making my own luck. I’ve just got to get back to it. Instead of relying on my best friend to inspire me, I’ll just have to find that fire within myself.

What do I like? And how am I connected?

Animals- I have a friend who knows someone at Animal Planet.

Music- My school has a connection to MTV

Decorating and Design-  HGTV.  A Stephens Alum works there. (Located in Tennessee)

Atlanta- I know someone who used to work at Tyler Perry Studios. I had a meeting on the studio lot last May, but lost that connection. It would take a little work and digging.

Being a College Admissions Ambassador- I’ve really learned to like this new job, but since my spot at Stephens is temporary, I don’t know if I could ever be this passionate doing my job somewhere else. I think the only reason I like it this much is because it’s Stephens. I was a part of that.

British Accents- If you know me, you know I would love to meet a girl like Adele. Mmmm. (Now to find that job that’s required.)

Sales- I hear there is a really nice Real Estate Company in Dallas that sales A-list apartments with my name on it.

L.A- I’ve already got a job offer from BET but it was for July and I can’t leave that soon.

Basically I have NO DAMN CLUE. All I know is that life is too short to just spend every day in boring repetition doing something you hate watching the days pass by, but without making a significant contribution to the history of our world. I’m not saying you have to be a Martin Luther King, a Whitney Houston or Steve Jobs. I’m just saying that even if you just touch those around you, you’re being productive right? I want each person who meets me to feel like the five minutes they spent in my presence was a contribution to their lives and mine. I want to make a difference. I want to live.

I think what I’m going to do, is a month or two before the end of my job I’ll put my name into as many pots as possible, stir it and see who pulls my name out. Someone somewhere wants me. I’m certain of that. Everything in life happens for a reason and exactly the way it should. You'll hear me say it more than once because I believe it.  I’m lucky in the sense that my entire life I’ve had this deep seeded confidence in myself… Maybe it’s because so many people had so little expectations of me that I never felt pressured. I could shoot for the moon because no one would be disappointed if I let them down. I could always go further than they expected. I believe in fate. We are provided with options, and based on our decisions, life ticks along as intended. Sometimes wrinkles and wrencehes are thrown in to make sure were paying attention. I think that they're there so we get practice facing difficulty, for those really tough times in life.

Basically what i'm getting to, is we are all capable of greatness. Never limit yourself. I'm just 1 in a billion of us who have many days left to live....

How will you live yours?

Remember me,

I'm Tennessee <3

Never let go.... Or if you do, let go of yourself.

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. I think it comes in spurts. Much like the day I first created my blog, I’ve sat down many times staring at this blank sheet and the words just wouldn’t come. Today, I sat down, and I’m not sure if they’re actually coming to me, or if I’m just so tired of being sick/asleep in bed that I’m forcing myself to do something. I have no voice, my lymph nodes are terribly swollen. I look like a train wreck, but I have Disney Princess shaped chicken noodle soup and I’ve been watching Titanic so it’s difficult to complain. I try to look on the bright side. Unlike Jack, I will survive. I’ve always wondered though. We literally see almost every part of Rose. We know that she’s not a big girl, however that door she’s floating on is pretty large. Why in the world didn’t she move over? I mean for real though? They both could have went to America, lived happily ever after and had sickening cute little Jack Rose babies. Instead however she just sat there on a board by herself and watched Jack (being stabbed by a thousand knives “cold water”) sink to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s crazy to think that something so terrible really did happen. Obviously not that particular story, but the story of the Titanic and the many unsuspecting people on it. No one ever thinks anything like that could ever happen… Which is why we have to live each day to the fullest…

I want to find her. My Rose. Celine Dion will forever be the sound of love for me. The two of them combined make Heaven on film for me…

Okay so maybe I want more than a few hours. Maybe I want more than a Rose. I want a girl who is in love with me. One who looks at me the same every day, and that’s just as in love as she was the first time she said it. Someone who wants to hold my hand as much as I want to hold hers. I want a girl who calls me beautiful and does cute things for me too. I’ve been in the one sided relationships. Is it to hard to ask for something more?

A girl who lays her head on my shoulder, but is also ok with me laying my head on hers. A girl who realizes that we’re both girls. I’m not the man in the relationship. Or the only woman. We’re just in love. A couple. Two people who fit perfectly together regardless of gender.

I want a girl who spends each and every day unfolding life with me. I don’t know what’s in store, and neither does she.. But why not watch it play out together? A girl who has great taste in music. That doesn’t necessarily mean my taste. What if it’s a taste that I haven’t heard of? It could still be great. Which brings me to my next point. I want a girl who can introduce me to new things. A girl who is confident in her own opinion. I’m starting to see the pattern here.....

I want a woman…

I know we all have those days where we think to ourselves, I need to grow up. But what if we really do? What if it really is time. I’ll be the first to admit. I’ve been that girl. The “stays out all night girl” who shows up to class still drunk. The girl who bartended just so she could drink for free. I’ve been the girl who didn’t care who I was dating.. I had someone else lined up. Now was it always the right girl? My record shows…… Never.

So maybe it's time. I'm 23. I'm right on the cusp of college kid, and grown-up. It's weird you know? I remember the days of how I felt in under-grad. Some days it doesn't feel that different... Some days it feels like i'm in a whole new life. So why not start over with someone who wants the same things?

I know she is out there.

I’m not giving up. You couldn’t show me a thousand failed relationships and see my opinion change. I believe. I'll find her.

Can You Hear The Ocean?

My mother called me tonight. I had just gotten back to the hotel room, and selfishly as soon as I answered the phone I took over the conversation. I told her stories of business dinners and awkward admissions experiences… When she didn’t laugh I became offended. And like most self-involved people my age, I became defensive.

“What’s your problem?”

She began to choke up. I immediately broke into a sweat. I might be sensitive, but my mother is the strongest woman I have ever known. She was the head nurse for a hospital 6 months after graduating nursing school. She went through labor with me alone because my father walked out of the delivery room and didn’t come back (for two years). Literally he stood up, walked to the elevator, passed my grandmother on the way down and never looked back. Did it phase her? No. She raised me by herself. Last year, even after being out of the unit for 12 years, mom pulled over on the side of the highway, and was a first responder to a terrible car accident. She literally had to search for a man’s arm on the ground while holding pressure to the remaining limb to stop the bleeding. One of the paramedics told me later that she was the reason that man is still alove today. I’m telling you. If the woman in V for Vendetta hadn’t have been a pansy ass whiner in the beginning of the movie, that would have been my mom. She was an Idgie Threadgoode if I’ve ever seen one. (Fried Green Tomatoes.)

Yet, here she is crying muffled tears on the phone with me tonight.

“It’s your grandmother.”

Now I referenced this woman a few seconds ago, but here’s the truth. My mother’s real mother died right before mom turned two years old of cancer. My mother was raised by her aunts and grandmother, along with her father occasionally. She had two older brothers, one of whom married pretty early on. His bride was the most beautiful real life Barbie doll my mother had ever seen. Her name was Glenda. You know, like the good witch on the Wizard of Oz. And good she was. She bought my mother (who grew up in rags picking cotton) beautiful dresses and toys. Not often, but when she could afford it. Before she and my mom’s brother, Robert Grant we’re engaged, Glenda was pursued quite often. When she finally agreed to the engagement she had to give back 2 class rings and one bracelet to her other suitors. R.G knew how lucky he was. They’ve been together now for 47 years… That’s more than most people can say in a lifetime.

Fast forward back to my mom’s pregnancy. She knew I wasn’t going to have a grandmother, so Glenda offered to be that for me. From that point forward they were Granny Glenda and Papaw Robert Grant, and god did they love me. I was their Grandbaby. The light of their life. Neither of their sons had children so I was it. She made sure to tell me every time she saw me that I was her favorite and how special I was.

I remember as a kid going to stay with them during spring breaks and things. She would take me to dinner, then to the Y. We would walk for a while then she would go swim while I’d go shoot around. She made sure to stop everyone to point out her precious grandchild. They never knew that I wasn't really hers.

As I got older, she did too.

When I came out as a Lesbian, they we’re the only two people I wasn’t allowed to tell. My mother was certain they would both have a heart attack. I used to get so frustrated.

“This is stupid. If they love me they won’t care.” I would say.

“Casey, they just grew up in a different time.” Mom would reply.

When I began driving I went all over the place. When I went near my grandparent's house, mom would suggest I drop by. I was actually a pretty good grandkid so I went fairly regularly when I was home from school. At least once every visit I would pick her up at home and take her to dinner.

“Helllloooooo Da-hling.” Granny would answer the door. “Where are we going today?” She would ask in her sweet southern drawl. She always knew the answer. She had a favorite Mexican restaurant where the waiters knew her order and would playfully tease her when she would ask them to teach her Spanish. I used to laugh so hard at her.

“Let me get those Fajita’s. And honey, bring me some Peek-o Day Gal-Oh. (Pico De Gallo). The men would roll laughing.

I loved her, but I hated how stubborn she was in her beliefs. No tattoos, No piercings, No drinking, No Gays. If you broke one of these rules "God was frowning." It was how she was raised. My Junior year she finally noticed my tongue ring. She nearly flipped out of her chair. Slowly, one by one my tattoo’s showed themselves and before long she was asking my mother if I was on drugs. Have no fear though. I was still the favorite. I wondered what would happen if the gay thing just happened to fall out as well.

I think I had rather have faced that phone call than the one I received tonight.

“Casey, it’s Granny Glenda. She’s sick.” Mom wheezed through ragged breaths.

I knew this. She has been having dizzy spells lately so she hasn’t been able to walk on her own. She gets a little confused and flustered, but it was because of her blood pressure. So we thought. Last week my mother was giving her a bath and she began screaming at her all of a sudden.

“Get out of here! Only my sister in law June gives me baths! You have no business seeing me like this! Leave!” (June is my mother.)

Then when she couldn’t close her lipstick mom tried to help her. Granny threw a handheld mirror at her and it shattered across the wall.

My mom thought maybe she was just under a lot of stress until my grandfather called her crying. This man never cries. I was pretty sure if he ever did the tears would be made of melted iron. He took a ragged breath and began....

“We were standing in the bathroom. I was helping her brush her teeth and she looked me dead in the eyes. She was so sad and lost. She asked me longingly, ‘Have you seen my husband?’” He whimpered.

He has been fighting emphysema for two years now and spends most of his days in a wheel chair. Slowly, day by day they are withering away. I hate to say it, but in a way I guess they’re doing it together.

She has Alzheimer’s. You hear about the disease. How it ruins lives and breaks apart families. How the gentlest soul becomes a terrified monster overnight. You never think it could happen to someone you love, until it does and then you never think you’ll survive.

My mother told me that by the time I got home she probably won’t recognize me. It just increased this badly over the last three weeks, and I’m stuck at work for the next two. The tears are rolling off my cheeks as I think about it. They’re not made of iron. Nothing about me is. I’ve cried over every episode of Undercover Boss and Extreme Home Makeover, so how in the hell am I supposed to withstand this? I’m angry. Why her? I need her. PaPaw needs her… And my Mama. How am I going to walk into a bleached cold nursing home and feel normal? I won’t. Things will never be the same again. I’ll never be the same again. A little part of me died tonight. A bigger part of me is still dying. We still have her, yet she’s not herself. I don’t know who this woman is. I want so badly to climb up in her lap, my hands on her beautiful porcelain cheeks and beg her….

“Please Granny. Come back. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten the tattoo’s. I’ve pulled out all my piercings. I’ll be better. Just come back.”

I can see myself 3 years old sitting on top of the tractor in her back yard. Papaw is holding me up as Granny is clapping alongside us.

“See that pretty baby? That’s my baby Casey.”

Yes. I’m your baby Casey. I’ll always be your baby Casey… And you will always be my sweet, sweet Granny Glenda. As I lay my head down tonight I can feel the grass between my toes. I hear her laughter in the distance as she calls me inside for a snack. My pink and white sippy cup on the kitchen table next to her can of 7UP. On my way through, she scoops up the seashell on the counter and puts it to my ear.

“Do you hear that? That’s the ocean. Isn't it beautiful?” I wanted to tell her that’s silly. The ocean can’t be trapped in a seashell. It makes no sense. But here I am, my grandmother trapped in a withering mind, which makes no sense either. I want so badly to go back. I want to stop everything for one moment and hold her here. Just to tell her I love her and it make sense one last time. To tell her I hear the ocean. I hear it loud and clear.

I want to see her eyes and not her confusion. Her smile and not her tears. I want to see my past…. Yet the past is passed, and now here I am. Crying in a hotel room like a little child, Little Baby Casey longing for her Grandmother. Alone.

"If It's The Beaches"- Avett Brothers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVtkOUJhpcA&fb_source=message