Out West

Over the last year here in Western New York, my status as a single man caught the attention of more than a few persons. The majority of them, however, were female.

I find women attractive, and I find attractive the fact that I may be attractive to them, but I am not customarily attracted by or to them. In New York City, even though I’m sure that my orientation was given, from time to time I found myself on the receiving end of an admiring glance from a woman. I also have no problem stating that on several occasions I could have consciously crossed the line, if only temporarily. For the bulk of my life, however, the vast, vast, vast majority of the individuals I found attractive have been male (duh…). Over the last year here in Western New York, however, my status as a single, healthy man has from time to time caught the attention of a woman. I’ve noticed this several times, and I find it amusing.
The first time it happened was in the office of a local newspaper. The receptionist seemed friendlier than necessary. Then the account manager I was there to see made quite the coquettish fuss coming out to speak with me in the reception area. Earlier this year, another of our advertising account managers acted noticeably girlish when we had lunch to discuss our account. Finally, some of the mothers of students at the ballet school where I work have made remarks that assume a heterosexual orientation. In fact, during the recent planning for my brother’s company’s benefit, the idea of auctioning off a date with me was briefly floated. (Thank God that idea didn’t go any further…)
This has happened to me before. When I left NYC in 2001 for the Adirondacks, I was still wearing a small wedding ring. I had purchased that wedding ring for myself because I believed myself wedded to something nobler and finer than a spouse; I believed myself wedded to an ideal—the creative ideal. I haven’t worn the wedding ring for many years, and in fact am regretting that I wore it as long as I did. I now admit both the early-twenties arrogance of that and the possibility that it might have deterred rather than attracted the right person.
I don’t find any reason to publicly set the record un-straight. These are very nice people, and I figure that it’s frankly no one’s business but mine and those who I wish to make it so. Nor do I want to put them off. I do sometimes wonder if I’m reverted to a place where I haven’t lived in a while, a place where I’m not always as open as I’d like to be. But how and where would I be open here? And with whom? Occasionally I go to the coffeeshop down on Elmwood, and notice that there are other gay men coming in and out (ha!). But I’m not gonna do the bar scene. So I’ve been trying the online dating thing, because the car culture here prevents the wonderfully-random and frequent casual encounters possible in a city of nine million, with crowded sidewalks and public transportation. And tonight at the gay center downtown, there’s a movie club that meets every other week. It might be worth a look, and if not, at least I’d get to see a movie...

365

It’s been a year here in Western New York. That’s a benchmark that might have passed unnoticed had there not been a recent flurry of the kind of activity that one has to stand back from once it’s completed in order to assess the results. The activity included the Spring Benefit that I’ve been working on. The event was an enormous success, and it gives me deep and very personal pleasure to know that it was in service (and gratitude) to my brother and his wife and their vision. For a lapsed egotist like me, it was somewhat confounding to know both once and at the same time that it actually and genuinely was in service to them: all I kept thinking was that I wanted it to be as if I wasn’t there. In fact, the morning of the event I found myself wishing there was some way to turn the reins of the entire crazy thing over to someone's else. But I also knew that I was bringing to the table a sense of social life that took root in me a long, long time ago. It’s deeply part of me, and part of my identity as a member of my immediate family. Maybe it's even older than that, a sense of tribe around the campfire, of chant, and dance, and firelight under starlight. At times ours was the sort of household of which my friends later said, Can I come over to your house for Christmas? It wasn’t always thus; it didn’t easily remain thus, but my parents have always been social people. My brother and sister-in-law seldom have the chance to shine in that sort of setting, and really, when it comes right down to it, that’s what I wanted the evening to be: a chance for them and what they are, what they do, to shine. I wanted my role to be that of the arranger of the black velvet background. That my parents ended up RSVPing to the benefit invitation I sent them (somewhat as a lark) only added to the magic of the evening. They were a big hit, and their new grandson was a big hit to them, and they were a big hit to the kids. I was a little bereft when they left so quickly. Rarely have I enjoyed their company so much and in such depth. It seems a gift of age and time, one that took a long time to reveal itself, yet has done so with undeniable actuality.

Perhaps I naturally find myself wondering, Now what? There are valid reasons for me to remain here in Western New York, and certainly for the time being I have a lot I can keep doing. For one thing, I still want to help around the house, in the yard. I want to put the finishing touches (if you can call a railing a touch!) on the deck my brother and I started last year. I want to get the front door painted; want to fix up the breezeway. I want to see the idea of the production of Midsummer Night’s Dream become a reality. I want to be here when Ian starts talking, and walking. I want to finish the draft of my family memoir—it’s never gone so well, and I know that having been here, with family, living ordinarily and closely and messily despite all the (trivial, trivial) snags, has made the difference. But I’ve felt in recent days and weeks that what might come to be revealed has manifested itself somehow: that for all its depth and surface pleasure, pleasure of a very real kind that I have not really known before, Western New York may not be where I’m really supposed to be. It’s where I’ve been for twelve months now, and where I’ve flourished, but perhaps a healthy plant can take root anywhere, and maybe this may not be where I’ll land for myself. Much of what I’ve done in the last year has been for my brother and his family; it’s been, as I’ve said, a hugely satisfying experience. But now I am a little more than curious to know what my life will feel like once I’ve begun to channel more of those capabilities in the service of a life that will be and remain more entirely my own.