Part I: Facebook friend or friend?

This past weekend I had the very good fortune to head to Washington D.C. to visit a friend I hadn’t seen in close to 25 years. After trading messages via Facebook I decided I didn’t want to be “Facebook friends,” I wanted to re-connect as friends. Add to this that I hate talking over the phone, mix in the tone of M.’s messages, and it became clear that there was no way we could have a soulful exchange via Facebook so I invited myself over to his place. I seem to have a tendency to do that lately -- but I’ll tell you the last couple of times I’ve had sleepovers with my male friends I’ve ended up having the best time. Not that I’m not looking to play house with the right woman but until she shows up what am I gonna do, sit around the house bored? Nah. A few drinks, a home cooked meal, combined with a little couch surfing and it’s all about fraternity until Miss Right makes her appearance.


Now when M. and I met waaaay back in 1984 he was a freshman at Harvard and I was a homeless gay teen. Over the past 25 years I’ve often wondered why M. was able to offer me his bed in the Freshman Quad without him in the bed. Where was he sleeping? Over the weekend I learned that he had slept with a grad student, was then stalked by said grad student, and spent the spring term hiding in another undergrad’s room, hence the vacant bed. I was quick to thank M. for giving me a place to stay and taking me to the student union for meals.

In our message exchange when M. revealed that he’d turned his entire life upside down and felt “lost” that I knew we faced a weekend of long talks. And I was proved correct on this.

M. walked away from a career and a husband and a cushy life. While M. was doing that I walked away from my job, my life in NYC of 20 years, and put 200 miles between me and my friends. I felt that I could relate to M.’s confused state but I’ve managed to get myself squared away a little sooner than M. because I ask myself a lot of questions (nightly, at 3 a.m., while I’m staring at the ceiling, wide awake) and I don’t rest until I get answers. That means I rarely rest which is not the healthiest choice but what am I gonna do? Get a lobotomy? Nah.

When I uprooted and transplanted myself it didn’t much matter to me what the naysayers were going on about. But I think M. took the criticisms aimed at him and let the barbs sink into his heart. His friends said, of his impending life changes: “You’re not getting any younger.” “You’re being self-destructive.” “You’re crazy.”

Poppycock! Is what I say. Let’s pretend that M. had forced himself to remain: in a job that he detested, a relationship that wasn’t meeting the needs of his soul, in a town where he didn’t want to live.
That trinity is the recipe for disaster.

Who in his or her right mind forces themselves to live a life they know they shouldn’t be living?
Is M. happy right now? Nope. But he’s an incredibly intelligent guy (the Harvard degree and the law degree speak to that) and I have faith in him.
We talked a lot about coming from overwhelming intellectuality (my phrase). I used to live in my head and had no idea that I would ever connect with my heart. And I can’t say that surviving a life threatening illness caused me to become more heart centered. I believe that when we explore the territory of other bodies that make up the self (the emotional body and the spirit body) it becomes impossible to avoid integrating at least some small aspect of these bodies into daily life. I have a tendency to delve a little deeper into these things that the average person but that’s because experience has shown me time and again that I will be rewarded for this sort of spelunking. I may wind up with a few bumps and bruises but I never regret shedding the intellect in favor of having a deeper emotional experience.
I wanted to say many things to M. but kept myself in check bc I haven’t seen in him in 20 years and didn’t want to come off as preachy or judgmental. But he eats way too much fruit (which is really sugar) which will make it harder for him to become grounded. I think he’s so angry about a couple of things which renders him unable to forgive and move on. He hasn’t cultivated a fine enough sense of gratitude.
Let me tell you: with gratitude you can face all of life’s challenges with a smile on your face and in your heart. Gratitude should be in your personal arsenal, along with the breath.