Sexuality Happens

This is day 19 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. It is supposed to be written to someone who “pesters my mind,” either in a good way or a bad way. I assume they don’t mean music that gets stuck in it.

Dear Conservative Right Wing of America (and the Tea Party) -

I don’t understand how you can be filled with so much vile hatred. For as much as you rant against individuals like me (queer folk, Jewish people, agonostic people, people with disabilities, sex educators, pornographers), as well as other minorities (immigrants, people of color, those in lower socio economic classes, those with different religious beliefs, etc), I don’t hate you. You spend your days trying to convince the world that people like me and those I care about are less than, are unworthy, are below you, and yet I don’t hate you. I think about you often, how you try to control me, to ruin my life and the lives of others, and yet, I don’t hate you.

So how can you, those people that cause so much pain and anger, those that are on top of this political dog pile, on top of the economy here when my partner and I are living paycheck to paycheck (with two Master’s degrees), be filled with so much hate, when I am not? I fight every day of my life to be validate and recognized, and yet that hatred doesn’t come naturally to me, and yet it seems to come so easily to you.

It boggles my mind.

-Essin’ Em

This is day 18 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. It is supposed to be written to “The Person I Wish I Could Be.” This is a hard one, because I am who I am, and am pretty ok with that for the most part, and think it is futile to wish you were someone else. I’ll therefore write it to the person I hope to be in the future as I continue to grow.

Dear Self-

You’ve come so far, learning to deal with your depression, to function around your OCD and planner-y-ness. You’ve gone through your list of friends, finally realizing which ones are true friends, and have dedicated more time and energy to staying connected and being a part of their lives.

You’ve finally gotten back to the weight you are happy with (and had been happy with for so many years before the Neurontin had you gain 30+ pounds), and have no illusions about ever wanting to be a a size 6, because you’re happy with who you are physically, and realize that wanting to be something else isn’t worth it.

You’ve become successful, what ever that means. In the field of sex positivity and sex education, people know who you are, respect you, and enjoy having interesting discussions for you. Shockingly, you’re able to make your paycheck(s) based 100% on doing sex positive education and sharing with people, changing people’s lives and improving how people look at sex. You’ve paid off your loans, and your car, and your medical bills, and you and Q are living in a small house that you’ve worked together on fixing up.

You’ve found some good method for coping with stress; congrats. Goddess knows you’ve been looking for that one for a while. Thank the mooses you’ve found it, because stress should never be as big of a part of anyone’s life as it had been for you for so many years. Stress isn’t needed in order to accomplish things; I’m glad you’ve learned that.

Self, I can’t wait to be you in a year, in five years, in ten years. I’m proud of you now, and know I will continue to be.

-Essin’ Em

This is day 16 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. It is supposed to be written to someone from my childhood. Interestingly enough, I had a dream the other night about my elementary/middle school art teacher. My school was lucky enough to have an amazing art department with real chalk pastels, spinning wheels for ceramics, frame stretching for oil paintings, etc. I write this to her.

Michelle-

I’m not sure you know how much of an impact you had on my life. In fact, I’m sure you have no idea.

From the time I was 5 to 13, art didn’t mean cheap water colors gotten from the dollar store, it meant figure drawings in charcol, pieces created out of clay, paintings that still hang on the walls in my mothers house. It didn’t matter if I was any good at it; you were always so supportive, none the less. You had ideas to teach, techniques to show…and even though sometimes we were loud and obnoxious and ridiculous like children are wont to be, you had a smile on your face.

I connected with you more than with any of the other teachers I had. I still have the beautiful picture of a horse you created for me for my Bat Mitzvah. That’s right; I’ve carted it around with me for over 12 years, not only because it is beautiful, but because I like having that reminder of you in my life.

Art was my outlet, especially clay. Whenever I felt sad or lonely or frustrated or depressed, there was something amazing about smashing clay against the table, pounding it over and over again, only to then create something I saw as beautiful out of nothing. Talk about an amazing life lesson.

I’ve been inspired to start up with the creativity again. I honestly haven’t done anything artsy since I left that school, save designing some costumes for plays and doing theate make up. No painting, no drawing, no clay. I miss it. I still remember the first water color I did for you, when I learned that real water colors come in tubes, and that you can use salt as a technique, and how we put random items in a normal scene — I did fast food french fries in a park. I loved that picture, and kept it till our house burned down. Because of it, and my memories, and your inspiration, I want to start up art again.

Thank you for creating such a wonderful safe haven for a kid, and then for a teenager. You have no idea how much you’ve given me, and I hope you know I appreciate it.

-Essin’ Em

This is day 16 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. It’s supposed to be to someone not in my state or my country. Well, given how much I move around, there are lots of people I care about not in my state…however, I’m writing this to two rockstar people that live down under: Jey and Curvaceous Dee. 

Jey and Dee-

Never in my life have I wanted to visit the Outback and the land of the Kiwis so much as now. The two of you help represent the awesomeness that is sex positivity around the world. You make me smile, you make me think, you make me feel like what I have to say is being heard as far as where you are.

Thank you for speaking up, speaking out, for blogging, for forwarding me info, for chatting me up, for being so amazing. I have high hopes of finally getting to meet the two of you, whether it is here, or there.

Thank you for reading and writing and for being a part of my life, as far away as you are.

-Essin’ Em

This is day 15 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor.  Hurray! This means I’m half way through, even if it is taking me a few months to get there…This one is supposed to be to someone I miss the most. That is so hard for me–I miss lots of people, for various intervals. I miss Q when we’re apart, even though I know we’re coming back together. I miss seeing fellow educators in the gaps between seeing them. I miss my best friends E and A who don’t live in the same state as I do. I miss so many people. However, I’m trying not to duplicate who these letters are to, so I’m going to write it to L…a good friend in Denver who I dated for a month or two, but has morphed into an amazing friend and great person to have in my life.

L -

Thank you for being there for me. We both have crazy schedules (hello, you were on the fucking Warped Tour this year!), but regardless, you always do you best to make a little time for me, whether it’s coming to a class of mine, getting me free tickets to your show, driving me to the airport. I miss you, your smiling face, your constant optimism about life and the world around you. I miss how you always see the best in people. I miss how my crazy antics embarass you, but also amuse you to the point that you’re not going to stop me from doing them.

Who would have thought I’d have met such a great friend at the DMV, trying to pick her up with ridiculous lines about cute tattoos and being new (again) to the city? Not I. However, I’m glad I put myself out there.

While our relationship is not like some of my friends, who I talk to on a weekly (or more) basis, I miss you because you are always willing to help out…even if it takes a day or two to call me back. You’re up for fun and adventures and creating change and helping people, and personal growth.

I miss you, and I can’t wait to be back in the same city as you!

-Essin’ Em

Dear AJ–

You were one

This is day 14 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. This one is supposed to be to someone from whom I’ve drifted away. After some thought and also seeing her while I was in Denver…I think this goes to my HS friend AJ (short for Angello-Jello)

Dear AJ–

You were one of the only people who was a true friend in HS. Not a best friend, no…we weren’t quite similar enough for that. But I want you to know that I STILL have some of the letters and poems you wrote me while I was at Chatfield. I have them tucked away in a box in my childhood bedroom, because those were some of the nicest things that people have ever sent me/done for me. You made my stressful and sometimes incredibly depressed life worth living. Please never forget that.

I saw you last weekend, at a mutal former friend’s wedding…say that three times fast. Now, the time I had seen you before that, you were doing really good. Still a little self depreciating, but good. Not last weekend. Every sentence out of your mouth was about your weight, about how you didn’t deserve to eat, about how no one would ever want to touch you, etc. Not ok. You are one of the most self sufficient, intelligent, witty, sarcastic, and inwardly awesome people I know. Yes, you’re pretty too…but I love who you are, all of you. Period. I just wanted to take you in my arms, toss your coping mechanism (a beer) aside, and try to drum into you what an amazing person you are. Because you are. You are now, you were in HS, you just always have been. Humorus, talented, and a good friend.

I wish we had stayed in better touch. You’re busy, I’m busy, it happens, I know. However, I make this committment to you that when I move back to Denver, I will make a huge effort to make you a part of my life again. You’re too amazing (and I love your snark too much) for you not to be in. So whether you like it or not, prepared to be loved. By me, by our mutal friends, by my cats. I hope you’re ready for it, and I’m sorry we let us drift apart.

I love you. Period.

Essin’ Em

This is day 13 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. This one is supposed to be to someone I wish could forgive me. This is hard, as I don’t think I know of anyone who I’ve hurt who hasn’t forgiven me…so while I’m sure there most be someone out there, I’m not sure who it is, or what I have done. Ergo, I write it to a person I’m not aware of.

Dear Person I’m Unaware Of…

I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry for whatever I did, and I wish I knew, so I could apologize directly to you. I don’t try to hurt people, but I know that everyone messes up sometime.

So to you, I offer you my apologies, and an open invitation for dialogue.

-Essin’ Em

This is day 12 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. This one is supposed to be to someone I hate, or caused a lot of pain in my life. Now, Julius caused a lot of pain, but I don’t hate him. KW caused pain, but I don’t hate her. Lots of people in my life have caused I lot of pain, but I absolutely cannot think of anyone I personally know that I hate. Ergo, I’ll write to Fred Phelps and his like.

Dear Fred Phelps and your gang of hateful ruffians -

Love is a word with many meanings and levels. I can love my cats. I can love my family. I can love my partner. I can love my friends. I can love myself. I can love chocolate and my favorite sex toys. Love is so vast and varying, depending on who you talk to, and what/whom they are talking about.

Hate is different. I don’t see levels of hate. Hate is a black covering that just overwhelms and shuts down people. You, sir, are full of all consuming, soul sucking hate, and I hate that your hate creates hate in me.

I don’t hate individuals. I may dislike them distain them, just stay away from them, but I do not hate. However, your hate, your blackness, your darkness, covers all those in your path. Just by having been around your hate, by protecting people from your protests, by seeing how truly awful and evil you really are, your hate has rubbed off on me.

I hate you.

I hate you, Fred Phelps, the person. I hate your church. I hate what you stand for. I hate how you make people feel wrong, feel uncomfortable, feel unsafe, feel scared, feel angry, feel hurt, feel attacked, feel frustrated. No one has the right to purposely do that to other humans. I hate that you do this, that you clearly enjoy doing this, that you help convince others to do this, that you train small children to do this.

You have succeeded. You have planted the seed of hatred in me. However, instead of grown against the people you don’t like, it has turned against you. I hate you, although I’m not consumed with it. Why? You are not worth that waste of time, of energy, of what it would take to truly hate you.

I hate you like a fly in my soup, like the guy in the pick up who flipped me off today when I honked for swerving. I don’t really care enough about your measly life to be filled with it. I just hate that I have been driven to hate at all.

I hate you,

-Essin’ Em

This is day 11 in my “30 Days of Letters” endeavor. Today, I’m supposed to write to someone dead, that I wish I could talk to more/again. Choosing the person is easy — I choose my father. Writing the letter? That’s a bit more difficult.

Dear Daddy,

I miss you.

This whole letter could say nothing but that, and still be complete, but for the sake of writing things out, I will continue.

Sometimes, when I’m lonely, or tired, or driving on a long trip, I wonder what you’d think of who I’ve become. I like to think you’d be proud of me, but doesn’t everyone think that of their deceased family/lovers/friends?

I know you’d be proud of me for working the system, and graduating high school at 16 and college at 20 – you did your whole undergrad degree in 2.5 years. I know you’d be proud of me for living in Germany for 6 months, and I wish I could thank you for introducing me to that language and culture, and reminding me that just because I’m a Jew, it doesn’t mean I have to hate/distain modern day Germany.

I like to think you’d be proud of me for forging my own way. Mother is always reminding me that I chose this field, that when I’m broke or jobless, it’s my fault. I can hear you in my head telling me that it’s 100% worth doing what you’re passionate about, regardless of how important other people think it is, regardless of how much stress and controversy this is.

I still don’t ride roller coasters. I still am scared of heights. Spiders still make me scream. I tried to cure myself of these fears, because I knew you were virtually fearless, and didn’t understand where these fears came from. I’m sorry I failed…but I did kill a sewer roach last month when Q was away and it ran across the floor. I hope that counts for something.

I wish you were here to meet Q. She reminds me a lot of you, especially her silliness, and how she calms me down. I think you two would get along swimmingly. Don’t worry – we’ll break a glass at the wedding and do the hora for you.

I wish you could have seen me play hockey or roller derby. I know you were surprised when I chose dance, figure skating and horseback riding over archery and softball. I know you wanted me to be sportier, but I appreciate that you took up figure skating just so you could be with me, and learn along side me. Q and I played catch the other day, and I dedicated that silly little session of throwing a ball around to you.

I wish you would have known me when I grew up, as I continue to grow. I wonder how much I’ve changed in the 11 years since you died. How would you have reacted to me coming out? To being a sex educator? To my disablity? I don’t know. I like to think I do, but honestly, I don’t.

I’m almost to the point where you’ve been dead longer than you were in my life. That terrifies me. I hardly remember what you sounded like, although I will never ever be able to forget your smile, your face. Even your laugh still haunts my memory.

I love you Daddy, still and always. I miss you terribly, and I can only hope that what I am doing, that who I am would have made you proud.

Love,

Me

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters  endeavor. Today, I’m writing to someone I don’t get to talk to as much as I wish I did (it’s Day 10). Of course, I write this to my friend Annabelle. She’s one of my two best friends, and I miss her terribly. She moved to Seattle, WA after undergrad. I usually get to visit her there about once a year, and between our schedules, locations, and respective lives, we only talk maybe once or twice a month now.

Dear Annabelle -

I miss you. SO. FREAKING. MUCH. You helped me survive college. Whether it was helping me to figure out who I really was, or discussing how much I dislike wearing socks and sneakers, or making Kinsey do the cat “dance dance dance” or finding places to have a nice cuppa tea, or keeping me from going crazy when I was directing shows, you were my life force through that time. Not only that, but even when we were on opposite coasts as I attempted to survive graduate school, you always had interesting advice, and a way to cheer me up. Through out the past eight years, your smiles, tidbits, teas and care packages have helped me to keep my sanity.

I love that whenever we are in the same place, or finally are able to play phone tag long enough, that it seems like we begin where we left off, as if there weren’t heaps and ooodles of time between. I wish you lived near by, so that we could meet regularly for tea dates, and revolver belt sushi and book talk and cupcakes. You are one of the absolutely most wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I am honored to call you my friend, and to promote your first published novel. I am so ridiculously, incredibly proud of you.

For my part in the lack of chat, I apologize. My life has been a bit crazy as of late, but that is no excuse. I hereby state to you that starting now, I will do my best to do better…to call more, to email more, to facebook more, to snail mail more. You are far too precious to me to not get to be in contact with you more often.

You’re amazing. A rock star, one might say. I am so honored to be your friend, and I miss you like the buggering bloody dickens!

-Essin’ Em