So I don't write all that often, which means that a lot happens in between the times that I don't write. I've gotten a job that moves me 1,000 miles from my home (indeed, that is a great part of the reason I took it), and I met someone.
Last Friday night I was spent, and worse than that, bored. I chugged a few plastic bottles of wine and turned Supernatural on and off while reading progressive-to-a-fault articles on the interwebs. On a whim I checked okcupid, that night or maybe a few days before. My ex was going to a wedding for the weekend. We are still friends, and you can pretend it's the same, but if we had still been together I would be going to that wedding with him, celebrating as a member of his group of friends, so to me the difference was stark. I was quickly running out of time to say goodbye to people, moving plans were still frighteningly nebulous... it wasn't surprising that I was turning to a dating app for distraction.
I scrolled through the matches. Artist, artist... hmm, an engineer. Like a cold glass of water, a welcome relief from the parade of moths that flutter around Hollywood, waiting to get zapped. To keep things short and relatively private, for a blog, we talked for an hour or two on the phone while he drove to a hotel near my place. At 2am I excused myself from the household and went to meet this interesting man. He was a lot shorter than I expected. But handsome, in a willowy sort of way.
The rest is history and so, so none of your business. Skipping ahead, I passed as male with everyone we met for the rest of the weekend. I knew I had been passing more consistently, using the men's room at the university, but this was the first time that I was encountering people who were not in on the secret, one after the other for days straight, and getting tagged as "he" again and again. It was a little amazing.
So I have to realize that I have entered a new space. Racial minority in a community; been there. Fat kid; done. Conspicuously in transition and asking for support; still there, realistically. In some contexts (especially on the bus) I have had to manage my perceived privilege as a able-bodied, homed, young white American man. Here, for the first time, though, I have entered the space of a man in a relationship with another man. Whether this was obvious at every restaurant we visited, or if we seem like we could be dorm buddies or brothers, I can't say. But my relationship status is going to come up many times, and I have to be prepared for this.
While being a woman comes with a lot of degradation, being a woman in a relationship with a man was never a notable situation; if anything, it increased my status, by implying the approval of a man. I think that's a thing worthy of study but for another day. My point is, I have never occupied a space where my romantic relationship was of interest to strangers. The obvious concerns are moral outrage, disapproval, anger. But just as invasive of my space will be the thumbs up, nods of approval, declarations of support; as much as I am thankful for acceptance, I still don't want to be singled out based on my and my partner's gender/gender presentation.
But beyond how I am treated. Being a white man comes with new roles and privileges that I am still navigating. Being a white gay man, depending on where you are, can be much less, or much more privileged. That last one seems counter-intuitive but let me explain. In certain areas, support of gay rights has been so fierce that gay men actually carry a higher status in their communities, the martyrs of our modern civil rights movement. I do not believe that this status boost transfers to lesbians or homosexual persons of color. Transgender rights are only just getting there, and transgender people are only just becoming visible, so there isn't any status boost yet in the supportive communities, and in unsupportive communities, it is still very dangerous. Bisexuals are of course, still basically invisible, with their sexuality assigned based solely on the perceived gender of the person whose hand they are holding at the time.
That applies to me and my partner as well. Neither of us identify as gay. He is pan and, until I meet a non-cis person... well okay, I think I'm pan. There's a mid-blog revelation for ya. Anyways. Our acceptance of a broad combination of gender-sex combinations is not apparent when we are walking down the sidewalk holding hands. We become representatives of a sexuality that we do not have. I think that's a problem, but I'm not really sure that there's anything to be done about it. Heck, just being gay in a small town can be a step in the right direction. One step at time, exposure to the unknown will garner acceptance. I hope.
Here's the other thing that I really like about "us." We both tip well. He much more generously than I but that's because he has far greater means. I think his reasons are a little different, but they accomplish the same goal; we are representatives of our perceived sexuality, and when we tip well, we make a good impression. We solidify positive opinions about gay men in the minds of people who probably have not encountered very many. Those people will treat gay men (and hopefully other non-traditional persons) better in the future because of our behavior. And as a call girl once said, working people don't appreciate generous compliments; they appreciate generous tips. This is my hope, anyways.
So, I'm the representative of a whole new group, with a history much older than my own. I feel almost invasive, but I don't really have a choice. So I accept my responsibilities and my privileges, and will use them conscientiously and responsibly for the benefit of all under-represented people. If I can. Or I'm just going to live my life. Whichever works out.
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