Columns
Twenty Something
Twenty Something
This Little Light of Ours
by Thomas Henning
Pumpkins, I sometimes look at life and just have to throw up my hands and say, “All right, if that’s the way you want it, who am I to say differently?”
Now, for a diva with control issues, that isn’t always easy, but sometimes you just don’t have the option to do otherwise. It took me a long time to embrace that little ditty, and between us, I’m not sure I have a firm grip on it just yet.
Thinking about the adults from my childhood, I am often angered by the fact they never encouraged me to be me or to go after what life had to offer me. Don’t get me wrong, pumpkins, I have gone after what I wanted many a time; thrown caution to the wind and been thrown on my ass, and I don’t mean in the way that begs a thank you card after either.
But it is clear to me that my entire childhood and into my mid-twenties, I was surrounded with people who wanted to dim my “light,” people who were intimidated by that light. Do you know what I mean when I say “light?” Sit down sweetpeas, and let me explain.
It is my belief that we all have this light that shines from within us – a spiritual candle without the twelve steps and the need to hug – and people are drawn to that light. Now some people have a stronger flame than others; they have cultivated and fed it. Others· not so much.
Anyhoo, I have flame, baby, and it got me into a lot of trouble growing up. I was different. I didn’t fit into this easy, breezy, homogenized mold. That was a really difficult thing for people to accept, I think particularly difficult for my parents. Their intentions to shape me were probably good, but their methods a smidgen Machiavellian. That’s life, I can’t go back and change that. To be truthful, I don’t know that I’d want to.
My life is full of stories and adventures I would never want to trade. I am surrounded by interesting people who enrich my life daily. My life has been a patchwork of the human condition. I have ranged from angel to devil and hit every point in between. I have been the 7th grader who called his Spanish teacher a dildo for having the nerve to expect me to conjugate verbs when I was too preoccupied with socializing. Of course, I thought I was calling him a Dodo and had to be enlightened by my guidance counselor, who explained, in painful detail, what a dildo was – scarring but humorous incident all the same.
I was the 9-year-old whose father told him, “She is my wife, not yours.” I was the 16-year-old binging and purging. I was the 18-year-old with 14 pairs of the same exact jeans because I hated to do laundry, and my parents had the credit card bills to prove it. I was the 22-year-old who stood alone in a room with his brother’s corpse, to make sure it was “presentable,” sobbing in disbelief, repeating over and over, “No, it’s a lie, this is a mannequin. This isn’t my brother. Sammy, this isn’t you.” I had no family standing beside me to console me, to share in my grieving disbelief. I have been the pillar and I have been the wrecking ball.
I am beginning to like the person I am, and to that end, I would not want to go back and change anything that would ultimately change me. Don’t get me wrong; I would have preferred not to have lived a childhood in fear of when the next beating, yelling, or humiliating assaults would occur, or not having been painfully shy.
As I got older I started to resent, more and more, people telling me how I should live my life. Everyone had something to say about my life: how I should walk, talk, act, and smile. I mean, pumpkins, I started to feel like I was my town’s only hope for winning that year’s title of Ms. Tractor Pull.
I realized that I would never be the boy they all wanted me to be, so I set out to be the boy I wanted me to be. Sounds as simple as Keanu Reeves, but I was missing one crucial piece. I didn’t know who I wanted to be. I had spent so much of my life being what everyone else wanted me to be, I had no idea who the real me was.
Suddenly I found myself much like an out-of-work actor. It was second nature to just respond to the needs of others. When I challenged myself to just be myself, it was painful and liberating all at once. I have only been out for five years, and somehow I don’t remember much about me before that. One minute, I was watching the Superbowl and making out with women, the next I was quoting Bette Davis and giving men blow jobs. In life, I say, you have to travel light, because you’ll go crazy trying to figure out what to pack.
I look back at my life and I say “For the love of all that’s holy, I was all but auditioning for Fosse. What took me so long to embrace my gay identity?”
Then I look a little closer and I remember all those voices of people whose responsibility it was to shape me, encourage me, and cultivate the person inside me telling me to ignore the person I was and try to be something I wasn’t. Not for me, mind you, but because it was easier for them. It was easier for them to try to change me instead of just making room for me.
You have a light that you can shine onto the world. Maybe you haven’t always had the opportunity to let it shine. In our lives, there will be clear days and there will be windy and rainy ones. I only hope that you let your light shine as brightly as it possibly can and never let that light be snuffed out by those threatened or intimidated by your light. That light is one of your greatest gifts to not only the world but also yourself.
So often, lately, our light has been attacked, belittled, and questioned. It isn’t new, but that somehow doesn’t dull the pain. Use that adversity to feed the fire of your own flame.
As a wise person once said, “As we are liberated from our own fears, our presence automatically liberates others.” So go on and shine.
Wanted:Twenty SomethingColumnistColumnists… they grow up so fast.
Why, it seems like just yesterday that Thomas was bursting with the need to document the joy, the angst, the je ne sais quoi that is being 20something. (In actual fact, it was yesterday, and it’ll be a few more tomorrows, too.)
But he stands on the brink of 30somethinghood, ready to traverse new landscapes, and we find ourselves with a hole in our hearts, not to mention our pages.
Who can step into these shoes? Someone with a finger on the youthful pulse of the community; someone blessed with the gift of wordcraft; someone unafraid to commit to deadline. Someone with… did we mention je ne sais quoi?
If you think yours is the voice to fill the void, send an inquiry to |