tanker på en side

clean clothes

2012-02-26T12:35:00.000-08:00

So I was in the laundry room, folding my clothes, whistling to the sounds of Sara Bareilles emulating from my tiny phone speakers. Gravity was the song. I think it might be my favorite... that woman can sure sing. Plus, something just GETS to me when it's a piano voice duet. So good.

Anyways, there I am, just chilling, Folding, whistling, folding, whistling, when I hear the sound of keys rustling at the door. Then this big muscle-y guy walks in, and gives me a look. A "you're-really-listening-to-Sara-Bareilles" look. I suddenly felt super self conscious.

I wish I was listening to some death metal or something more manly right now.

I wonder if he knows I'm gay?

He probably thinks I'm girly for listening to this music.

All of those thoughts bounced around in my head. It was one of those moments where you both try to ignore each others' presence, but you're both keenly aware nonetheless. He finally slipped the quarters into the slots on the dryers, and slipped past me as quick as he could.

See, but then I started wondering if his suspicion was just rooted in my mind. The same thing happened earlier today when I bought sunglasses with my friend (who happens to be a girl). Right after the cashier rung them up, she turned to my friend and asked her if she wanted her glasses. My friend gracefully replied that they weren't hers, but in fact mine.

I really liked these sunglasses, and so did my friend. She said I could pull them off, and so I took that opinion and ran with it. But apparently they look like they're meant for a woman.

For someone who's reached such a level of comfort with myself, there's still a LOT of uncomfortableness. Those shifty looks that I imagine people giving me everywhere.

Why? Why am I ashamed of being gay sometimes, but so proud other times? I think it all comes down to fear. The fear that the guy in the laundry room is going to be the one that is so afraid of gays that he does something crazy. Or that the woman behind the cash register calls me a name or something.

You know, those people that I've never encountered (and probably never will.)

So where does it all come from?

So much of human nature (in my experience) comes down to a desire to be "normal", whatever that is. I don't want to be the guy that people look at funny, I want to be the guy that people don't even notice walking down the street (something that I'm never going to accomplish, solely due to my height... but that's another story.)

On top of that, I've realized that it's even more than that. Now that I'm out there, I don't know who knows anymore. In the earliest stages of my coming out, I knew who was aware. I had a mental list of who I'd told and who I hadn't. It's almost as if I had two simultaneous identities. But now I've combined them into a single self, which is both much more comfortably secure and frighteningly mysterious.

It all comes down to the fact that I'll never know if the laundry room guy knows I'm gay. In fact, I'm almost certain the cashier never will. Even more, that violent person that I've created in my mind indeed exists only in my mind.

So I need to stop worrying so much. I need to learn to just focus on folding my laundry with some awesome music playing on my phone.

And then maybe I'll notice the fact that just maybe, those muscle-y guys that do their laundry at the same time know the tune themselves, and just might whistle along.

church

2012-02-20T22:49:00.000-08:00

You know, I've been avoiding this one for a while now.

But I guess it all needs to be discussed sooner or later, right?

See, one of the greatest things about Point Loma is that it makes me think about myself. Not in the narcissistic way that implies, but in an introspective spiritual kind of way. Truthfully, it's something that most people here come across sooner or later. It could be the amazing faculty that I have the pleasure of learning from.

A friend of mine once told me (and here I paraphrase) that the other Nazarene colleges teach you how to be a good Christian. Point Loma teaches you what it means to be a good Christian. But even more it challenges what society defines a good Christian as.

And that's where this school has been a true blessing.

I've been a lifelong Nazarene. As I stated this past sunday to a group of very close friends, I will always retain a part of my Nazarene self.

But this is where I've expressed that challenging nature of this university. I think that I claim a connection to the Nazarene denomination loosely, in the sense that it's a part of my family. I think Christianity as a whole is something that has become incredibly convoluted by the consumerist, political human nature. Things are skewed to mean what we want them to and the pulpit becomes a place of propaganda more often than should be allowed.

I'll put it this way. Christianity has in so many ways become that driver on the freeway that has a cross hanging from the mirror, the fish on the back right under the logo and the bumper sticker proclaiming that "Jesus is the best". The same driver that tailgates, honks, flips the bird and swerves dangerously close in front of the other motorists.

A lot of show and not a lot of action.

It sounds harsh, but it's the conclusion that I've come to. And by no means am I a voice to end all, but I am the voice of my own mind, expressing my own thoughts.

I sat down to coffee the other week with another dear friend and we discussed her recent Study Abroad ventures. Two things struck me from that conversation. First off, she is a truly wonderful person. She has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know. On top of that, because we hadn't met in some time, I was able to see the growth that she had experienced while abroad. Which leads to my second epiphany; she told me that the biggest difference between church here and abroad is the community. The love.

Which, in many ways just solidified those ambiguous thoughts bouncing around in my cranium. The longer we talked, the more concrete they became.

See, my sexuality journey has played a substantial part in this process. In the sense that it's difficult for me to understand a religion that proclaims love above all else (I mean, my Christian Tradition professor told me to use the word "Love" on any question pertaining to John Wesley, with good odds of it being correct), yet pulling the whole "love the sinner hate the sin thing." You probably already know I don't think homosexuality is a sin (obviously) but that's another topic.

All this being said, I think that I'm a Nazarene because that's integral to my upbringing. But in modern terms I don't really agree with a lot of the Naz Church. I'll go because it feels right. It feels like home. People still smile and hug and wave, but I know that at least a good portion of them would judge me if they really knew me.

That doesn't sound like the community and fellowship that the Christian church should be. Paul loved everyone. Jesus loved everyone, perhaps more than anyone can understand.

So to sum it up, I think that I am a Christian by upbringing. But in terms of my faith, I'm a lot more ambiguous. I believe in a higher power, and I think I'd call him (or her) God. But I don't know how much unguarded faith I'd put into a book like the Bible. It gives wonderful insight into the creation of a mighty faith, and it has some truly profound insight into life. But it's so wrought with human error, and makes misinterpretation and easy endeavor. That being said, it's still a source of inspiration and encouragement into my life, as well as countless others.

My faith walk is always continuing. This is by no means a permanent completion of my religious perspective. It's merely a checkpoint along the way.

And hey, if it gets people thinking, that's perfect.

crusading (part II)

2012-02-11T20:35:00.000-08:00

You know, there are some days when I wake up and just don't feel like doing anything. Sometimes, my feelings beat me and I lay in bed through the first couple of my classes.

But something prevents me from laying in bed the whole day, as great as I think that would be.

I don't want people to ask what's wrong.

Those are the days I wake up, and put on my mask, and walk out the door smiling. Happy Zach!

And most of the time, it even fools me. I forget waking up and being in a funk, I forget that there was something bothering me only hours ago. I like to invest myself into things, and it's often pretty easy for me to latch onto something to distract me sufficiently.

Today didn't start out like that, though. Today was a good day. Despite waking up early to head to a work meeting, I wasn't really that upset. It was a gloomy kind of day, and those make me happy. Something about the imperfection of the weather resonates with the imperfection that is me, and I'm more at peace with that than I am when it's sunny and happy outside.

But then my mood started to decline. This afternoon, conversations were had that really put a lot of pressure on my emotional state. I long for things that I once had, and I'm determined to fight for them. So, essentially, I'm waging a war in my head, against myself. I'm still in love, as much as I don't want to be.

Even still, that's not the challenging part. That's just one layer of the mess.

Yeah, that's right. There's more. You see, I don't get to deal with heartbreak the same way a straight person might. Someone that society has an easier time accepting than my homosexual tendencies.

Washington recently lifted the ban on gay marriage. Success, right?! Even more close to home, California is reviewing Prop 8, and it's set to wind it's way to a national theater. Super exciting.

With these developments, it seems to always bring the debate to the surface of the confusing mixture that is politics. The good stuff is there, sure. We're one step closer to equality.

But at the same time, all that muck and sludge gets brought back up.

I read several articles today about homosexuality and how it's weaving its path through society. One pegged itself on my mind. At the epicenter of it all is a quaint town in Minnesota called Anoka. Some might recognize this as the hometown of Bachmann. And her beliefs on homosexuality mirror that of the town.

You see, what makes Anoka unique is the rampant bullying that occurs, particularly towards the LGBT community. In two years, NINE teens committed SUICIDE. Four were direct results of bullying caused by homosexuality or the perception of such.

THAT. IS. SO. WRONG.

But it gets worse. Here, read this sentence from the article:

"Yet when it came to Brittany's harassment, school officials usually told her to ignore it, always glossing over the sexually charged insults. Like the time Brittany had complained about being called a "fat dyke": The school's principal, looking pained, had suggested Brittany prepare herself for the next round of teasing with snappy comebacks – "I can lose the weight, but you're stuck with your ugly face" – never acknowledging she had been called a "dyke." As though that part was OK. As though the fact that Brittany was bisexual made her fair game."

NOT OK.

Alright, really? The administration just glosses over it. Like if they close their eyes long enough, it'll go away.

See, and what gets me is the fact that it isn't just in Anoka. Anoka may have a lot of it. But it happens everywhere.

It happens here, at Loma.

This is where I get really fired up.

Us gays, a label that is such a mixed bag nowadays, have a lot to deal with. Every single one of you has had a challenge in your life. A heartbreak, a death of a loved one, something big. How do you deal? It's hard to work through those things. But we have an extra layer added on top of that, and there are people in power that are closing their eyes and hoping it will go away.

Like, perhaps some of the higher-ups here at school. Yeah, I suppose I am pointing fingers a little bit.

It doesn't help things. You can close your eyes, but it isn't going away. Open your eyes. See that there are people around you hurting. Despite your beliefs, there are people hurting. Despite the fact that a lot of people still see homosexuality as a perversion, it doesn't make the other stuff we have to work through, the normal life growing pains go away. Some of us have to work twice as hard to get through emotional struggle.

And we're still being denied the support we look to a lot.

NOW. That being said, and I mentioned this in Part I. There are AMAZING faculty and staff here that go out of their way to help people like me work through things. But they have to do this at the risk of their job. How is that ok?

PLNU, Anoka, and the rest of society: When are you going to realize that this isn't two men wanting to marry each other, or two women wanting to marry each other? What is it going to take to show you that we're people too? We suffer heartbreak, we suffer the deaths of relatives, we can cut ourselves cutting carrots... We just have a different attraction complex. Like, that's literally it.

So I think I've found that fire I needed to start crusading. Now I know why I need to get out there and campaign.

Because it's time that people stopped adding pressures. When people were sick in the middle ages, physicians bled them. They inflicted additional wounds in the hopes it would cure things.

Hey guess what? THAT DIDN'T WORK.

Guess what else? THIS ISN'T MUCH DIFFERENT.

A young boy went to the GSA session at Anoka Middle School, and spoke about his best friend.

His best friend Sam, who had committed suicide because she couldn't handle the pressures of being bullied on top of the pressures that a 7th grade girl already faces.

This is what he said:

"I joined the GSA 'cause I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to be nice and – loved."

catastrophe

2012-02-08T23:28:00.000-08:00

[[WARNING: The following entry contains gross over-exaggerations and personal opinions. The words below are meant to discuss a real problem, of course. That's why the title is what it is.

No, actually, it's just to entertain.]]

Anyways.

Guys, I have a real problem here.

I've dealt with depression, coming out, and all that hard stuff. But now what I've come to realize is that I have a far bigger problem facing me.

I don't have enough ties.

Not like connections with people, no. Neck ties. I like wearing them, a lot. Sometimes I wear them with sweaters, for that nice academic look. Other times I'll wear them just free and swaying over a nice solid button down shirt. If I'm going for the trendy on-the-town look, I'll slap on my peacoat over it, and I'm good to go.

But this morning, it happened. I woke up, hopped in the shower, and started getting ready for my day. After I'd chosen the sweater and button down, I went to my tie hanger.

Now, brief shout out to Brianna here. She gave me the tie hanger. It's a nifty little thing with a ton of slots in it, perfect for holding ties. I've almost got it filled up... I'd guess I have close to thirty ties. Crazy, right?

I stood there, looking at it. My sweater this morning was a nice grey, and the button down was the classic white. Easy to pair a tie with, right? But see, here's where the predicament reared its ugly head.

I. COULDN'T. PICK. ONE.

I'd used most of them before. I needed to go with something fresh, or my identity would take a hit. I mean, what self-respecting gay man repeats his outfits! (Another slight caveat, I do it all the time. Also, that isn't to say you can't repeat your outfits and not be a self-respecting gay. Go ahead gays.)

Just as I started breaking out into a cold sweat, I spotted a modest maroon, blue, and gold striped tie. Perfect.

For now...

So here's where I get serious. My friends tell me all the time that I'm a terrible gay, and it's true. There's a lot of pressure when you're gay. You have to be the replacement boyfriend, when the real one is out of town (we can do that, because real boyfriend obviously feels no threat). Not to mention the fact that we're supposed to be enormously outspoken fans of Britney and Gaga, while vehemently opposing all other kinds of music.

There's a youtube trend going along, and it's a video about all the things gay guys are supposed to say. Now, I say a few of them, sure. But there's probably a million things in that video. A few out of a million... Well let's just say if that's a quiz score, I'd have to retake the class.

So let's evaluate me. I love classical music. While the occasional Gaga tune is catchy, Britney just bothers me. I have a CD (one lonely little CD) that is perfect for demonstrating the low end of my car speakers, but I usually forgo that one to use Mahler 2. Boo on me. Also, when it comes to colors, my favorite color is green. What a NOT fabulous choice that is.

Also, my sense of style is SOOOOO not RuPaul approved. Jeans close to every day. Layers, but mostly collared shirts. Hey, sometimes it's even baggy. Sorry, Neil Patrick Harris.

So, I guess that makes me a bad gay. I don't even have enough ties to cover the entire color spectrum.

Oh well.

It is who I am.

Anyone want to hit up Ross tomorrow with me to get some new ties?

Just kidding. (No, really.)

Oh, P.S. You definitely don't have to do the above things to be a fabulous gay. Pardon the word choice. This entry was just intended to highlight all of the awesome options we can choose from, but in an exaggerative way that also emphasizes the mainstream channels we're expected to fit into. Speaking with an enunciated s isn't something I'm ever going to do. Sure I can do it, but it's an effort. You could probably do it too.

So as much fun as it is to joke and prod about being a terrible gay, there's countless people out there just as "terrible" at fitting into the expectations society has.

Celebrate in the fact that gays are awesome people, so diverse and wonderfully different.

You rock, gays.

Smile today, everyone. It's a wonderful day to be alive.

:)

clouds

2012-02-06T01:08:00.000-08:00

When a new student, or a friend of mine, or a relative, or a random stranger comes onto campus here in San Diego, it's not uncommon to see a mouth open, eyes wide, this priceless expression of awe-inspired amazement gracing their faces. You may not understand what I mean when I say this, or you might. But I assure you, it would make a lot more sense if you could stand on this campus and see the ocean that I live by. The view is absolutely spectacular. Even on gloomy days, the panorama is still wonderfully picturesque. That wonderfully salty sea air, the glassy waters, the gentle breeze sifting through the buildings here.

This is where I would let out a heavy sigh, expelling the beautiful feelings the scene creates.

When you live this close, it's easy to take it for granted. It's the background of the painting... it takes a backseat to the friends and classes and life that swirls and twirls around my head.

But there comes a time when that ocean, the endless sky, they take command of your senses. The sunset is a gorgeous thing.

I like making analogies. I like to think I'm good at it, but who knows.

Either way, I was sitting and looking at the sunset this weekend when I noticed something. There are three types of sunsets. There are those clean, pure sunsets devoid completely of anything other than the sky, the sun, and the water. Then there's that sunset that is completely hidden by clouds and gloom, the kind where the light slowly fades away and you don't really notice it.

And then there's that magnificent skyline speckled with elegant wisps of cloud, bouncing and tossing the sunlight across the atmosphere until it reflects a kaleidoscope of warm, bewitching colors. If you look closely enough, all of the colors of the rainbow are there, in the clouds. And they change with each passing minute, reflecting a new masterpiece on the canvas of the sky.

Time for the analogy. I've confronted depression before, many of you know that now. I thought I had rid myself of the ugly brute until these past two weeks rolled along. Depression slithered back into my mind like a nasty snake. Although it didn't feel quite as crushingly despicable this time around, it took a different form. It mutated into a new creature, not unlike a virus changes to escape defeat inside the body. This time it was strange. Rather than smashing out my happiness, it intertwined into my happiness. They coincided, worked together. An odd duality resulted. I can look at things that remind me of lost happy moments, and be happy with the memories, but wickedly sad at the void that it symbolizes.

It was this week that I realized another thing. Perhaps the end goal isn't to defeat the depression. I think that it never really goes away, in the same way that the happiness you feel the first time you drive a car never leaves you. The depression has become a thread in the fabric of my being, and pulling it out would unweave it all.

I think there's a quirky exquisiteness in that fact. People say sometimes that without the sad things, joy would seem so much less meaningful.

They're right, you know. I think because I've experienced the depression in such an extreme way in my past, this time around, it serves as a reminder of how beautiful my life is, and how I forget it.

Remember how I said I love making analogies? I think that beautiful, cloud-spotted sky provides the perfect embodiment of depression. The depression that I wrote about before, the one that I share with the likes of Eeyore, that's the really-gloomy-day sunset, that one that you don't really notice happening until everything's gone dark. Then there are those people that have never experienced depression. They have a clean peacefulness in their sunsets, the kind where it's beautiful in a simple, sky-and-sun-and-water kind of way.

But I'm one of the lucky few that has travelled through darkness. Because I have experienced the cruelness of depression, my vision isn't pure and cloudless. Because I have moved on from depression, my vision isn't obscured completely by clouds. Because I now live in tandem with the sadness of my past, and the hopeful joyousness of my future, my sunset gets to have clouds in it, reminders of the darker moments. But those spectres reflect light, and bounce it around the heavenly prism.

My sunset reflects all the colors of the rainbow.

Beautiful, graceful, wispy remnants of those dismal and bleak memories.

My sunset has clouds.

coldness

2012-01-28T00:16:00.000-08:00

Remember those stars I wrote about a few weeks ago?

I'm currently sitting on a rock typing this.

It. Is. FREEZING.

But, those stars. They're SO hard to miss out here. Also, there's about a thousand new ones that I couldn't see on campus, or even in Redwood City.

There is something so serenely beautiful about sitting on a rock, with the only light coming from my computer screen and the tiny dots in the sky.

I guess I should fill you in. I'm at choir retreat. It's my first time here... I guess the concert choir does this every year. So a lot of this is new to me. I also experienced something new tonight.

Part of this retreat involves a spiritual component.

As many of you know, I've struggled with my faith. No, wait, that's wrong. I struggle with my faith.

There are days that I wake up in the morning, and decide that I want nothing to do with God, or the Bible, or Christianity. A lot of people know that I don't go to chapel anymore. I guess it bothers me that there are people so strong in faith around me, and they often feel the need to talk about it ALL. THE. TIME. I don't feel like I belong around those people.

But I sort of do. Because they're kind of the only people I've been around my entire life. I've always been a Nazarene. Sort of. On paper now, but I still go to the Nazarene church when I go to church. I remember reading about missionary experiences across the globe. How people have these experiences where they see religious people, and they look at them like they're strange. They notice a change in them. How they just seem happier, trustworthy, better... Well, I think that makes sense at least.

So tonight I was in rehearsal with the concert choir, and our chaplain got up to lead a devotional. I admit I kinda leaned back, physically and mentally, and just checked out. I played with my phone case for most of it. She read a verse from the book of Mark, played a song, and for the first half of the devotional, I don't remember much else.

But about halfway through the song, I noticed something. The room felt... different. Happy. Better...

And everyone looked at ease. Like something had just come in and calmed everyone. It was pretty awe inspiring.

I don't know what I believe. I think I've reached a point where I don't really believe in life after death. Well, not Hell at least. But I do believe that something was in action that night. Be it an omnipotent God, or simply the placebo effect, whatever it was, it was there in full force.

And maybe that's what faith is. Believing so strongly in something that it makes it seem real.

Or maybe it just is real.

Tonight I felt a spark of something. I wanted to be in that group. That group of eased hearts and calmed faces. I haven't felt that feeling in so many years.

I just noticed something else. I had to check my phone to be sure. It's 50 degrees here, but it probably feels like 45. To you midwest and east coast people, that seems like it's warm. But I'm not used to that temperature. It's cold for me. So very cold.

But despite that, here, surrounded by this spectacle of celestial glitter, the purity of the evening air, the richness of the landscape around me silhouetted by the stars...

I feel warm.

I feel calm.

I feel happy.

And I feel better.

crossroads

2012-01-24T23:58:00.000-08:00

I love Cooper Music Center at night time. The closing shift sure brings in an eclectic bunch of activity to the music building. I remember the very first night on the job, someone injured themselves. By stepping on a nail, of course, while rehearsing for Cendrillon. And since then, at least one exciting thing has happened each week in Cooper at night. Even if it's just the men's a capella rehearsals, that building is really very crazy.

But I love it, and I love it a lot. Cooper Music Center is always going to hold a special place in my heart, because a lot of who I am comes from within those walls.

The community that is the music department is truly a tight-knit one. I've had several discussions about it with people that aren't "insiders". They look at us funny and they don't quite understand us. We're just used to it. But perhaps our little family is built because we spend so much time together. I read somewhere that people that perform together feel closer. If that's true, music majors spend a LOT of time performing together. No wonder those Lit majors look at us funny.

But more on that closeness later.

Let's go back to last year. I had the honor, the privilege, to work the office for almost eight hours every Monday night. Sure, it brought in a nice paycheck, but Monday nights aren't quite the exciting nights like the ones I mentioned earlier. They're, well, Mondays.

The particular Monday shift was a little bit different. The discussion of homosexuality had just been sparked on campus, and the embers were still evident in conversations all over the place. That day, a newspaper article had been published discussing the on-campus support group for homosexual topics, a highly contested (no, really) bunch of people, and the role it played in the widespread discussion. I was messing around on my computer, only vaguely aware of the topic stirring around me. A professor had come into the office, and was engaged in chit-chat with one of my peers.

But I soon became keenly aware that the newspaper article had been brought up. You know when people start using a different voice when they start talking about deeper subjects? The two voices had definitely adopted that tone. I started listening in. My peer wasn't quite arguing against homosexuality, but it was evident that she was grappling with the topic. My professor was just listening, wisely acting as a sound post for ideas, posing the occasional though provoking question.

At this point in the discussion, my closest friends knew I was gay, but I had done a pretty good job of keeping it relatively under wraps. In these scenarios, I tried to stay out of the conversation as best as I could, and this was no exception. As much as I was listening in, I was still staring at my computer.

Two more friends came into the office, and they quickly understood the conversation that was in progress. They sat down in the corner, and sparsely entered into the conversation, choosing for the most part only to listen.

Soon, another professor had entered the fray, followed soon after by two more of my colleagues.

For those of you not counting along, I was now in the office with two of my professors and five fellow students, two of whom were among my closest friends (and also "in the know"). The conversation evolved into a full-fledged debate on the merits of homosexual marriage, and the role that gays play in the church. All parties presented their own ideals and observations regarding the topic.

All except for me.

I had long since shut down my computer, so as to avoid drawing attention to myself as the only one in the room not participating. Despite being a part of the conversation, never in my life had a carpet interested me as much as this one. I looked up only when remarks stung just enough to elicit a fleeting reaction, or when someone made eye contact with me.

Occasionally, my two friends would look at me, their eyes offering a quiet support, knowing that some of these words were hitting a lot closer to home than the speakers realized. At this point, my judgmental mind had divided the group into those who were ok with gays, and those who weren't.

The conversation continued. I glanced at the clock, and noticed it was nearing the time I needed to close the building. Rather than end the conversation, I had been immobilized by my own crippling thoughts, stirred by the deliberations around me.

"Zach, do you have anything you want to say?"

The words shook me to attention. I looked up, and realized that I had not stated a single word, but only listened as the words flew.

The tears in my eyes had betrayed me. I decided at that moment that I was tired of hiding things. I was done.

"Well, I guess all I can say is that, I'm gay."

I waited for the gasps of shock, or the reactions of distaste that the dialogue had conditioned me to expect.

But like the crack of a whip, the atmosphere snapped from being a debate into being an overwhelming outpouring of love.

I explained how going to school here had made me so fearful of coming out to anyone. Even my closest friends. Knowing how the church had raised me led me to believe that my friends at a Nazarene school would undoubtedly believe the same way. The tears flowed more freely now. I explained how I had experienced my crisis only weeks ago, and it had shaken me. To be forced into silence by my own fear only created a deeper struggle.

"Can we pray over you?"

Those words had been said before. I couldn't recall if they had ever been said in regards to me before. The realization touched me. It warmed my heart.

"Of course."

That night changed me. So many hugs. So much love, directed towards me. Even if I didn't tell anyone else again, I knew I had support now. I still talk to those people. Even those who were against homosexuality are now grappling with their beliefs, just because they care enough to.

Maybe those Lit majors look at us funny because we act goofy around each other.

But we act goofy around each other because we love each other.

And that night, at those crossroads, it was demonstrated to me in one of the most powerful ways.

To those of you there that night, know that you have forever affected my life. You will always and forever by a part of the catalyst that brought my from the abyss and back into a fellowship of love.

To those of you there that night,

I sincerely, and wholeheartedly thank you, and I love you all deeply.

condemnation (part II)

2012-01-22T11:46:00.000-08:00

I woke up the next morning.

I hadn't slept well. The girl's words were still burning in my ears.

"I'll be praying for your sins."

What was I supposed to do. I didn't recognize her, let alone know her well enough to invite her to chat sometime. I couldn't change her mind. I did my best to shrug it off, and got myself ready for the day.

To this day, I haven't seen her since.

Her words still echo on occasion. But they ring differently now.

So many members of the church have such strong convictions about their faith that they feel the need to evangelize everything. And I don't blame them. The Bible tells us to go out and make disciples. It's probably what that girl thought she was doing. She believed, maybe still does, that homosexuality is a sin. She did what she thought was right. That's fine.

Those words still sting though. I wonder if Jesus had been walking down that path instead of her. Would he have called me a sinner? The position of the church as it concerns homosexuality is still so hotly contested that I don't think anyone can answer that. But I don't think he would have been so abrasive about it.

So to the girl, I say this. I respect you for your faith. You said what you thought was right. I can appreciate that.

I'll be the first to admit that my faith has been challenged through this process. Well no, challenged isn't the right word. It's too light, nonchalant. My faith has been overturned, beaten around a bit, kicked, and then smashed back down in a ragged form. It's not too uncommon for gays in the church to experience this, I think. When half of the fellowship loves you unconditionally, and the other on the condition that you correct a part of yourself, it rips you in half just as it does the church body.

Look, I don't presume to be a church thinker or scholar or something like that. I'm a tuba player. We only have a certain degree of intellect before we need our three valves back.

But I do think that the church's stance on homosexuality needs reevaluation in the least. Accept us for what we are, and love us unconditionally. Or just flat out condemn us. This wishy-washiness is destructive though. It's limbo here. It's difficult to progress in your own personal faith walk when the church can't decide if you're allowed to participate in the faith walk.

Point Loma has been so incredibly gracious and welcoming. I've only had three negative experiences, including the one with mystery midnight girl. Everyone around me wants to accept me, and help me grow in the faith.

That's probably why Point Loma makes a lot of people upset. I've heard of many nasty letters from other pastors and church members in the area. I've heard of the scuffles between the headquarters and this campus. Even between the board and the faculty/student body.

I cracked open a Bible for the first time today in many months. I just opened it to a page. 1 John. I read a bit.

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. 1 John 3:1

That says to me that all are loved by God. I may have taken it out of context, I may have even missed the mark completely. But I opened it to that page for a reason.

Mystery midnight girl, and all else who have a difficult time coming to terms that I am gay, and I am repairing my faith, and that those can coincide, I say this:

I love you all the same, they way that I should. I don't know you well enough to make assumptions about you. It may be difficult for me, but I cannot deny you the love that so many have shown me.

So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. 1 John 4:16

condemnation (part I)

2012-01-21T18:42:00.000-08:00

The wind whipped through the trees above my head, drowning out all other sounds. The moon was a mere sliver of luminescence, only faintly casting it's light on the cold evening. I had just finished work, and was walking down the campus mall back to my apartment. Almost nobody was in sight, since it was midnight on a school night. Only a single woman was walking towards me on the other end of the path, carrying a side bag and looking towards the ground.

That same day, I had published an article in the school newspaper about living as a closeted gay in a denomination of the Christian church that condemns homosexuality. It was a strange day. Although I fully expected the freedom that comes with publicly admitting who you are, there was also a sneaky trepidation around me that day. Who had read it? What did they think? Is this going to affect my friendships? I continually reminded myself throughout the day what my roommate had told me the night before.

"Every time you talk about it, you expect people to react so negatively. You should try to give them the benefit of the doubt."

And he had been right the entire day. Lots of hugs. Some tears, but tears of happiness. So many congratulations. If you had seen me walking back to my dorm that night, there probably was a noticeable bounce in my step. It all just felt good.

I liked walking this way because if there were people out, I got to walk by them. That quick awkward glance and a smile is my opportunity to lift someone's spirits if only for a fleeting moment with a smile and a hello. Sometimes we even talk for a bit. But it beats walking the other road by myself. Plus, this way I got to see the ocean.

The girl drew closer and closer. She looked up, and I saw the epiphany strike her eyes.

"Are you Zach Christy?"

"Yeah, I am!"

"You wrote the article today, didn't you?"

"Yup, that was me."

"I don't know you, but I'll be praying for your sins."

WOW.

Like a dagger to the heart. I didn't even know how to respond. I waited a few seconds, and stuttered an alright before staggering forward, and past her. I suppose the euphoric reactions of everyone I encountered all day had erased the expectations I had the night before, the same expectations that had just played out in front of me. My sins? Hadn't I tried to explain that being gay isn't a choice in my article? Didn't she realize that I wasn't being gay to spite the church, to spite God? How could she say such a thing to me?

My mind was flashing as I continued walking. Short-lived moments of confusion, fugitive feelings of anger, even brief touches of sadness. They all melted into each other to create an awkward clumsiness. I fumbled to unlock the door to my apartment. I walked in, feigned a quick smile to my roommates still awake, and went into my room. I threw my bag on my bed, and went to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked different than I remembered myself looking before. I looked uncomfortable, shaken maybe.

Did I also look like a sinner?

Who knows. I switched on the shower, and stood there, only faintly feeling the water run down my head. I realized that it was only a matter of time before someone here reacted that way. I had experienced those reactions already, but they were always apologetic, saying that they couldn't understand the choices I was making and needed time to process. This girl was so upfront and bold with her condemnation.

"I don't know you, but I'll be praying for your sins."

cinders

2012-01-20T22:41:00.000-08:00

I pulled my car into the slender lines marking the space, and looked forward as I put Luther the Lexus into park. Spread out in front of me was a post card, or wall calendar, but in real life. There were about eight boats splayed out just on top of the gently oscillating waves, catching the last rays of sunlight and bouncing them off of their glistening hulls. The scene was absolutely gorgeous, and I stared for a few seconds before shutting of the engine and hopping out of the car. I could smell the sweet saltiness of the ocean water in the bay.

I truly live in a beautiful place. This landscape is only a few miles from where I live, and I see things like this every day. Sometimes I walk past, while other days I'll be forced to stop from the sheer overwhelming beauty. This particular evening I found myself gathered with some close friends for a bonfire, celebrating a birthday. Fun times were expected, and I sat down on some rocks to wait for the festivities. I shut my eyes and listened to the sounds of boats, seals, waves, distant cars. The cacophony blended together in a kind of hybrid natural and urban symphony.

The sun slowly slinked behind the peninsula in the distance, and the night settled over the beach. After a while, I looked up to see the stars, but nearby downtown flushed too many of them out. The group turned their attention to the bonfire. I had never participated in a bonfire, despite living in San Diego for nearly three years now. The wood was piled around a small collection of lighter fluid and it was ignited. The flames began as small unsubstantial curls of warmth kissing the corners of the planks. I stood transfixed as they grew, no, mutated into longer, sinister wisps of scorching spindles. I felt it creeping back into my mind, an all-too-familiar feeling of apprehension and discomfort.

Living in Southern California is great on so many levels. This is a truly remarkable place. But the wildfires everywhere, everywhere, become so commonplace that there's a fire season. They're expected. But to me, a Colorado native, they're not normal. Nothing is normal about a conflagration that spreads across cities wiping out everything in its path. The very first day I spent in California involved an epic traffic jam caused by a wildfire. They're so present in this culture, that perhaps everyone is so desensitized to them. Or I could just be odd.

The first time we had to evacuate from our house, it wasn't so bad. There was a strange fear that is inevitable when one has to leave their comfort zone, sure. But I couldn't see the danger. I could see the flames, but they seemed miles away on hills that it would take a half hour to walk to. The wind was blowing the other direction, so it seemed like a formality. But the second time, the fire was much closer. The packing to evacuate was so much more frantic. The first evacuation we had time to think about the things we would take, collect the papers, gather clothing. The second time, it was almost a free for all. Running outside to throw things into the three open car trunks, hoping we got everything. As we drove down the hill, I glanced back and saw the flames slinking down the hill just behind the street, blocks from my home. The helicopters fluttered above, dropping that ominous red substance on the wisps burning the familiar territory. As the sun set, the smoke choked out the moonlight and left room only for the evil illumination of the wicked inferno ringing around my neighborhood. That image is still scorched on my mind, just like the imprint of the flames on the drying vegetation that day. The smell was terrible. Sometimes I can smell it when I drive by a small fire on the freeway and I shiver. The final image seared into my memory consists of a fresh blaze creeping over the crest of the hill, like burning reinforcements to the endless army of fire.

I had to shake myself out of the memory and remind myself that this was only a bonfire. I looked around at my friends and realized they weren't affected. But they were almost all raised in California, maybe they were used to it. Who knows. All I know is that fire makes me terribly uncomfortable. Watching the flames eat away at the pallets makes me wonder what they would look like if they were eating away at the frames of my house, and what it would feel like to be trapped in there.

Only a bonfire, Zach. Not your house, just a few pieces of wood and a match.

I ate my food, and socialized. I had fun. But the smoke burned my eyes and the smell reminded me of those terrible days. I tried to stay away as best I could. The warmth of the fire was inviting against the cold. I confronted that irritating feeling in my mind and cooked a hotdog on the fire. It didn't consume me like it did those pallets, so I was put slightly more at ease.

The longer the night wore on, the more used to it I got. The fear slowly died away, just as did the flames. It's still there, of course. I'm still uncomfortable of fire. It's still wild and uncontrollable. But at the bonfire, it was reduced to cinders. Just tiny, glowing pieces of charred wood, losing their heat to the cool evening air.

As the light diminished, the surroundings came more and more into focus. The boats were still there, bobbing on the waves. The water reflected the few stars we could see, and the skyline in the distance shimmered with a lively vibrance. I walked back to my car, and got in.

I turned the key, and drove away, leaving the cinders behind.

christopher robin

2012-01-19T00:00:00.000-08:00

Everyone has seen Winnie the Pooh sometime in their life. I think it's sort of a requirement to be a real live human. Most people even have their favorite characters. Tigger is the bouncy, great guy that makes everyone smile. And who couldn't love Pooh. What's not to like about the bear? Just the right amount of happy and confusion to make an adorable little fuzzy thing. Then there's Rabbit. Sassy ol' Rabbit. Just right for those sassy people.

My sister's favorite was always Eeyore. She loved Eeyore because of a stuffed animal she had in his likeness. It was particularly great because Eeyore's tail came off, connected only by a small black rope to the rest of the doll. It was her favorite toy as a child, and it was always within arm's length when she would go to sleep.

I think if I had to pick a favorite character, mine would be Eeyore too. But not because I had a soft, squishable thing I could hold when I went to sleep. Not even because the donkey is comical in his emotional clumsiness. I think it's because I get Eeyore.

Eeyore is one depressed donkey. A seriously sad creature. But you can't create something for children and put such a dark thing in it without softening the edges a bit. Yet, it's still there. That poor animal still struggles with life. The effervescent vivacious Tigger overwhelms him. The befuddled bear Pooh is just too carefree to be around for long periods of time. Even the sassy Rabbit pushes Eeyore away with snide remarks. Sure, they all love Eeyore. That's why they keep him around.

But sometimes, just sometimes, he can't see that.

Depression is a struggle that a lot of people deal with. So much so that it's a certified diagnosable disease. I haven't ever been psychologically diagnosed. Well, maybe once. But it was a passing remark from a psychologist I had only spoken with once. So who knows. But the fact remains that my depression has been ever-present in my life for a very. long. time.

There are a lot of people that aren't ever grasped by the frigid hand of depression. And to those people, I say congratulations. You truly know how to milk life for all it's worth, and it's something I'm legitimately jealous of. Maybe because it's something I won't experience. Those ten years (yes, you read that, TEN years) aren't going to rewind themselves.

I read somewhere that eighty-percent of closeted gays experience some form of severe depression. Don't quote me on that, I don't know if it's actually true. But I think I could believe it. It's really hard to take a huge part of who you are and shove it like a pair of dirty socks into the corner of the hamper that is your mind. You become a shell. All that space has to fill up with something. And it isn't going to be the happiness all the time.

So mine filled up with depression. The cup that was my being was filled to the brim with cold, icy sadness. It drowns. It chokes. It stifles.

It overwhelms.

Some people know my darkest stories. Actually, many people do. That's because they say that acknowledgement is on the road to recovery. Perhaps I've found that road. But depression is still there. Always lingering. It's like a shadow. Depression really is a part of the shadows; dark, fleeting, and always there. It's so hard to shake.

I guess an analogy I could make would be like quicksand. You get yourself stuck in it. You realize that you're fighting this depression, and you engage it. The more you think about it, the deeper you get. The deeper you get, the more you notice it. The more you notice it, the more you fight.

And on and on it goes.

I've fought this battle for a long time. There were good moments. Marching band was a great drug against the chill. I loved it, my friends were there, it distracted me. It was beautiful. It was music.

But then there were the bad moments. Going to the college I hadn't chosen. That was like a dagger. It stung, and it made the depression worse. Coming out brought a lot of murkiness to the surface of my life. That made it a lot worse for a while, even if it eventually got better. The breakup with my ex boyfriend was probably the worst of it.

No, not probably. It definitely was. That was the darkest moment of my life. The recovery from that is almost at the year point now, and I know I won't change from that.

I was texting a new friend, Sean Lewis (hope it's ok that I named you, you deserve the credit.) We were talking about blog posts. It was he, after all, that convinced me to start blogging. Not the tumblr junk (sorry friends), but a real bonafide text-based blog.

Sure, what the heck. I'll start one, I thought to myself. It could be fun.

But it was so freeing.

As we texted back and forth, I realized a great fact. I have noticed amazing things around me since then. I've been able to finally publicly accept who I am. I've grown as a person, and hopefully as a friend. I've become closer to my family. I even saw the constellations for the first time in a new light.

But, maybe best of all, I noticed a great, joyous thing.

The depression hasn't touched me, not even brushed against me, for almost two months now.

TWO. FREAKING. MONTHS.

You know, after ten years of sinking into the depths of a severe depression, afraid to talk to anyone about it and becoming content with swallowing it and living off of the bitter evil of it all, two months is a heck of a long time. Like, majorly long.

So, I'll leave you with this, Eeyore. That moment is going to come along. You'll stop actively fighting it, and before you notice, it'll be gone.

You won't even notice that your tail doesn't stay on anymore. You'll just be able to appreciate the silly bears, sassy rabbits, and tiggers full of fun-fun-fun-fun-fun all around you.

And you'll smile.

constellations

2012-01-16T23:19:00.000-08:00

When I drive, I notice some things regularly. The leather binding my steering wheel feels smooth, but it has a texture to it. The screen on my radio has aged past the point of displaying digital characters anymore, but I remember which CD is in which location in my disc drive. The car drives slightly to the right when I let go of the wheel completely, so I notice that I have to hold it slightly left to keep the car straight. Sometimes, the rear tail light goes out if I close the trunk too hard.

Even on this trip I noticed more things. I noticed how my friend in the passenger seat was able to fall asleep by resting his sweatshirt on the seatbelt mechanism. I noticed that the third passenger in the back seat had enough leg room even though the passenger seat was pushed fully back. The goldfish crackers we were snacking on were still upright, so I didn't need to fret about them spilling across the floor.

All of these I noticed on my second trek to northern California. The route was familiar, the same excruciatingly dull stretch up the 5, the rugged worn roads of the north, the changing habits of the drivers as we entered different regions of the state.

Time wore on. We somehow managed to leave at the precise window of time that enabled our journey to coincide with every spot of despicable traffic that littered the state's freeways and thoroughfares. What should have taken seven hours took nine and a half. And I went nearly six of those in utter ignorance of my surroundings. Sure, I noticed many things. Some new, some old. But surely I knew what was going on. My car in one piece out in its parking space is a testament to that, right?

"Dude, look at the stars. There are so many of them!"

My friend was driving at this point, I had already done five hours. Someone else took over, so I was able to just sit in the passenger seat. I had been glancing at the harsh luminosity of my phone's screen, attentive once more to the cyber-lives my friends were living hundreds of miles away.

"They're beautiful."

I looked out the window. I noticed that the only thing I could see was the reflection of my phone's screen. I was drawn back to my phone. I ran my finger up the screen to scroll down the trifling updates, skimming unintelligible words habitually. I locked my phone, extinguishing the blazing light. I leaned my head over to the window to shut my eyes and rest. Just as my eyelids drooped, a speck of celestial glitter caught my eye.

They were scattered across the heavens as if they were tiny Cheerio crumbs trailing behind a toddler. Simply everywhere. Bright. Beaming.

Wonderfully brilliant.

I turned to open my moonroof like the same toddler would move on to a new toy. Excitedly, I stared at them for a fleeting moment longer, and smiled.

I had driven for so many hours without truly noticing the things around me. California is noted for its beauty, from the magnificent orchards to the shimmering oceanfronts to the mighty rolling hills and mountains running up the spine of the state into the north.

"You're right. There are so many of them."

He didn't quite comprehend what I had said, since we had moved on from the subject of the stars more than ten minutes ago. He was looking at his phone now. Ironic. I had to remind him.

"The stars."

We reached our destination, and I got out. The cold bitterness was a jarring incongruity with the tender mildness of San Diego. I noticed it. But I also noticed the undertones of pine sifting through the bitterness of the chill. I noticed the colossal redwoods stretching upwards all around. I laughed to myself. I drove to Redwood City and didn't even think about the trees that were undeniably the namesake for the town. They seemed so obvious to me now, supporting the expanse above us. That beautiful, deep and infinite blackness shimmering with starlight.

The voyage back to southern California was different. I noticed the same things I had before. The smooth-yet-textured sponginess of my steering wheel. The sleeping patterns of my passengers. The misalignment of my tired pushing my car to the right.

But I noticed the grass around me. The warm sunlight reaching across the flat expanses of the central valley. The thunderous mountains heralding the grapevine. The familiar but formerly unappreciated rumbling hills of my hometown. And finally the murkiness in the distance that I knew to be the endless Pacific stretching outwards towards the unknown. I got out of my car. Before, I used to look down towards the ground and walk briskly to my apartment. Now I stretched, and looked outward towards the choppy waves reflecting a craggy image of the moon. The salty, cool air filtered into my nostrils.

But more than anything, I looked up.

I saw them. I had to travel six hours to notice what has always been right above my head. The same, now familiar, dazzling display.

I saw the constellations.

crusading (part I)

2012-01-11T23:39:00.000-08:00

I am surrounded by some truly gifted people here at Point Loma Nazarene. Every day I go about my routine, and almost inevitably run into at least two of the multi-faceted individuals that I have come to know and respect. Some are amazing writers (and those blog authors should know who I'm talking about.) Others are brilliant professors in different disciplines. There are even a few outstanding orators. There's simply an inescapable level of talent in the group that surrounds me. More on them later.

I found myself reading CNN news articles this evening whilst at work. There's always a kaleidoscope of different stories scattered across that well-visited website, and I'm always able to find something interesting. Tonight, one such article caught my eye. It concerned a married couple that was facing a crisis. Despite the fact that they married in 2008, and they have four children, one parent is facing deportation to his native France. They have filled out all necessary paperwork, and are scheduled to make an appeal in the near future to prevent the separation of the family. A sad story indeed, but it is complicated by the fact that both of the parents are males. Yes, a gay family.

Wow. It hit me tonight, while I was reading it. Two things really stood out to me. First, now that I'm out there and open, I can talk about this freely without too much fear of repercussions. That step is accomplished. But even more than that was the mention of a very strong and respectable individual that leads an organization trying to prevent the deportation of gay and lesbian families, who has made his life a mission to further the rights that we have.

Back to the people around me. All of these special, amazing people are comfortable being advocates for gay rights. I know this because I've been asked to get involved on many, many occasions. And I want to, I think. Well, see, that's the thing... I don't really know what to do here.

In many ways, I feel expected to be an advocate because it directly concerns me. It's self-promoting to want to get married and have a life that's the same as if a man and a woman got married. Nobody can tell me that I don't want that, because I really do. But I struggle with the idea that I need to go and be a loud voice and champion these ideals. These folks around me are SO GOOD at it. And I'm SO QUIET.

Most of my other blog posts end pretty solidly. There's a definitive end to the thoughts I've written out. All of the other posts clarify and clear my mind for me. But in writing this one, I'm even more befuddled and confused. Am I wrong to focus on my music and networking and career before I focus on the fight for rights that I've left to others? Surely that's a selfish notion. But, I guess in so many ways, music is more important to me than creating a family. So the family thing is on the back burner.

I should thank those inspirational characters that are such grand defenders of these convictions. They've truly done remarkable work, and continue to do so. Props to you.

Maybe I'm just scared to have that title affixed to my own identity. To lose the specification as a music educator that I've created for myself, eclipsed by the lightning rod that is Gay Activism.

But I so often feel that it's my duty to do that for others as they have done for me.

There's just so much fear involved. But I don't know what it is exactly that I fear... just this mental bucket of water that instantly douses the campaigning fire any time the embers start to stir.

That's where my thoughts are right now. More convoluted and unsettling than they were twenty minutes ago.

cruise control

2012-01-07T23:47:00.000-08:00

Now let me tell you something. I love the Santa Clara Vanguard. A lot of you may not know what that is... I'll do my best to explain.

The Santa Clara Vanguard is, well, in layman's terms, a marching band. But it's a marching band on a different degree. First, we don't use any woodwinds, only brass wind instruments. In addition, there are percussion instruments and a highly talented set of performers called the guard (flags, rifles, sabres, and a ton of other stuff in there too.) If you know anything about me, you know that marching band is pretty much ME. I love it. Everything about it. But especially the Vanguard... that organization is what really shaped my love of music, marching arts, and myself as a being.

All this is to say, that I DESPISE the drive to get to rehearsals in Santa Clara.

There is a stretch of perhaps 220 miles straight up the 5 freeway through Central California that is

SO. FLIPPING. BORING.

Pretty much all you have to look at while driving is, well. Actually, no, there really is nothing to look at. You sure can smell the cows most of the way though.

I made that drive up and back in the past two days. Yeah, 5 hours each way isn't too horrible, but when all you have to entertain yourself is the patchy mariachi radio stations, whatever overplayed cd is in your disc drive, and the haze of cow gas clouding the sky, you get bored. Really fast.

I am grateful for the ability to set the cruise control on the way. It takes the task of adjusting speed all the time away and it gives my leg a rest, allowing me to just sit there and think about things. I sure got a lot of thinking done on the way up. I practiced my audition music, went through some of the things I needed to focus on to prepare for the rehearsal and got excited to see my friends.

I finally got there, visited with some amazing friends who introduced me to AMAZING pizza (Thanks Mike and Brenda, so delicious!) and socialized with people I haven't seen in a while. It sure felt great to be in that horn arc once again, creating the sounds I had so dearly missed (not a whole lot in the world gives you the same sensation that a full hornline of brass does... check it out sometime... don't worry, I can help you find some).

But the trip back is a different story. Something about night just kicks my brain into deep-thinking-mode. I set my cruise control, grabbed my almonds, and switched on the soundtrack to Tangled to keep my mind occupied. But somewhere around track 4, my thoughts drifted back to cruise control. I thought about how fantastic the invention is, enabling you to basically chill and worry about keeping your car straight with little else to do. The more I thought, the more I realized it related to my life.

I've sorta been in my own cruise control for the past couple years. I think something about the struggles I was facing made me go into the defensive and I chose to just ride it out, steer my life between the lane lines, instead of actively engaging and staying with the flow of things. My life's autopilot has really let a lot of the college experience slip. Here I am on the eve of moving back onto campus for my final semester and it's hitting me.

I'm not ready to leave.

I haven't been big on school spirit, but better late than never. I love my friends, I love the faculty, I love the campus (then again, few don't). Most of all, I love that I'm a Sea Lion. Sure, some people can be fancy Trojans, or Bruins, or Cornhuskers, or Tractors or whatever else the heck there is out there. I'm content with Roary the Sea Lion being my mascot.

A spin off on my New Year's Resolution takes being myself one step further. I'm going to flip off the cruise control and really put my foot down on the gas pedal of this semester. I'm going to juice the engine for everything its got... gonna hang out with friends, have those all night conversations, meet new people, and LOVE LIFE.

I smiled to myself, checked out the spiffy truck that was passing me in the other lane, then looked at the street sign up ahead.

Well, whadya know. I was only 18 miles from Santa Clarita, 18 miles from home. I guess my thoughts of changing my perspective on life works a ton better than cow gas haze.

Bring it, senior year.

cleansing

2012-01-04T01:58:00.000-08:00

There is little else in this world as captivating as a darkening sky, rich with deep colors of an impending rain. The bitterly sweet scent of the oncoming precipitation permeates the air and finds its way to my nose. The minute miracles of water slowly begin to fall from the sky, each landing and enriching a new spot. Wind sweeps across the land, bringing the storm closer and closer, intensifying the showers dripping from the pillows of grey littered across the heavens. The most beautiful music is that created by nature herself, in the rain. The deep swells of the distant thunder, the brassy flashes of lightning crackling across the sky. And the simple, delicate raindrops. One of the oldest, most complex, and yet simple symphonies that has ever been composed.

Music.

The cleansing of a rainstorm is unmatchable by anything in our world. The grand power of the forces in a tempest have the ability to both inspire and terrify, create and decimate. Without the water from the sky, much of our earth would wither to nothingness.

It's a powerful agency, the rain. The capability to reduce and cleanse is a decidedly magnificent ability. But there's another vehicle for the emotional purification, this time man-made.

Name any single emotion, and there is absolutely going to be a piece of music connected to it in some form. There is a tremendous faculty in music that pushes it beyond a source of entertainment or release. Music itself is a universal language that conjoins everything that lives. There is a reason music exists.

"If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music."
-Gustav Mahler

Truer words have scarcely been spoken. The chances are high that as you read this, music is playing. It may have been chosen by you, it may be playing from your computer speakers, your phone, a nearby stereo. Even if there is no external music, there is rarely silence. Music is being created in your mind. Purifying you. Keeping you human.

Music provides for the human experience that which the rain does for nature.

Cleansing.

conflict (a new year's resolution)

2012-01-01T02:22:00.000-08:00

This is going to be a tough one for me, so it's likely been through several revisions and drafts before you guys finally read it.

2011 has been a long, arduous year for me. I suppose it's these years that really shape a person and contribute to a more defined, mature individual. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am significantly different after this year. Like, seriously, drastically different.

For starters, my self esteem has taken a beating. Things that didn't used to bother me really get under my skin now. Little snarky comments that used to make me smile simply make me put up a front now. I wouldn't in a million years change what people perceive from my reactions, but inwardly there's a battle going on. My psyche is under siege from so many things that didn't use to phase me at all. Friendships have suffered, work has become harder, social life has become more of a task. Many days I've woken up feeling like I just don't want to face the world. But I get up and put up a facade, and fake it through the day. The darkest moment of my entire life even happened in March.

All this to say that despite the dark moments, there have been some outstandingly bright ones. I have made SO many new friends, built upon the wreckage of the beginning of the year, and restarted as something a lot stronger. Not to mention that in 2011, I became a lot closer with my five roommates, some of my best friends. They sure helped a lot. And those moments we've had can hardly be considered dark.

That being said, well...

Look, I'm just gonna cut to the chase. I guess this is the most public forum it'll ever be in, but it's about time. I can't lie to myself and tell myself that I'm being open and honest without truly being absolutely transparent. I'm still Zach Christy, I'm still a tuba player, and I still LOVE, LOVE, LOVE teaching kids.

But I'm gay.

Yikes. What a word that is. A massively loaded identity tag. A scarlet letter to some. A definition to many. It's a word that even I still cringe every now and then when I hear it. It's supercharged with titanic amounts of emotion, good and bad. I sat through chapels this year listening to the different ways in which it's a confession of sin and guilt to identify as such. That doesn't make it go away.

No matter what other people say, it's a part of who I am. It needs to be said. And it needs to be known.

It's a part of who I am.

Something my mom told me that will always stick with me is that it isn't the defining factor of who I am. By my own understanding, I would say that being a musician, or an educator, or someone that just loves teaching kids is the defining feature of my being. But just like a pie, there are many components that go into the final product. Being gay is one of them.

But it's also difficult to deal with that. And now you guys can probably begin to understand, if even a little bit, why this past year has been difficult. I've spoken to small groups of people. I submitted an article to the school newspaper telling pieces of my story. I've come out almost publicly; but in small, controllable groups.

This past year has been wrought with self acceptance and realizations on a weekly basis. Enormous struggles that would defeat me and push me deep into the ground; the kind of defeat that you don't want to fight any more. Like I said, these internal arguments were happening often, daily even. This inner turmoil permeated my being and prevented any substantial progress to a more collected self. To top things off, even though my friends loved me and wanted to help, there's no way they could understand the conflict I was experiencing. Someone that lives in accordance to societal norms cannot be expected to understand why I am attracted to my same gender. It's unfair of me to even ask that. So I didn't.

I fought myself. It's what I thought I could do. I thought that I could contain the volatility and prevent it from spreading farther than my own mind.

I couldn't.

I still can't.

As Leo Tolstoy wrote,
"The changes in our life must come from the impossibility to live otherwise than according to the demands of our conscience, not from our mental resolution to try a new form of life."

This, above all else, rang true throughout the entire year. Despite the back-and-forth I experienced inside my own head, I couldn't change who I was. I never have been able to. I never will. But, I think I'm ok with that.

No, I know I'm ok with that. Well, as confidently as I can say that right now. But beyond doubt, it's Zach Christy here, and I'm proud of who I am.

There are going to be people that don't understand, and can't resolve their own moral structures with their new understanding of me. All I have to say to those people is that I haven't changed. Even though you didn't necessarily know about this component of who I am, it still existed when you knew me before. I am the same person, you just know me better.

That's all.

I will still love you for who you've been to me, regardless of how you feel about me.

However, there will be those people that love me all the same. Nothing will change for them. And to those people, I say thank you. Even if you can't truly understand the experiences I have, I'm so grateful that you have extended your grace to me.

It's a path that I've only just started traveling, and there are surely many more difficulties to come. But it will be easier from here.

Thanks for the love, everyone.

The conflict probably won't go away. The friendships and relationships that have been affected probably won't ever be the same. The publishing of this blog by no means marks the end of this war that is raging all around and inside of me.

But.

It's a start.

A start to this new year. Everyone makes resolutions. I have in the past, but never anything too meaningful. I'm certain that I've never stayed committed to any of them. But this one is different. This year has taught me many things, and I intend to change something in the upcoming year.

I resolve to be transparent. Honest. Myself.

In 2012, I will begin by no longer compromising myself to anyone. This is who I am. I cannot hide behind a false front to some, and be honest to others. The dual personae can no longer exist. Starting this year, I will consolidate into a single person. I welcome the curiosity that people will experience. I'll answer any and all the questions that strike you. I'll help you understand if that's what you ask.

But most of all,

I. Will. Be. Me.

Happy 2012, everyone.

chess

2011-12-29T03:38:00.001-08:00

The stone feels cool in my hands. The round felt circle affixed to the bottom makes sliding the piece across the surface much easier. The pawn moves forward, in and out of black and white.

The tiny sculptures wage war against the opposite side; mirror images crafted out of the contrasting spectrum. Polar opposites.

White and black.

As I sat there plotting strategy against my brother's impending forces, I realized how much of the game revolves around a simple duality. For every one of my mineral assassins, he has one identically as lethal to my slender royalty.

Duality. So much of today's world is ripped down to duality and opposites. Only two options. You can agree with this political standpoint, or you're against it. You can enjoy doing math, or you hate it. Society avoids grey areas.

White and black.

My brother slides his bishop across the entire stretch of the board and takes my rook. That tiny castle was the backbone of my inevitable victory. My mind whizzes to recreate a new tactical advantage. I scour every inch of the warzone, searching for weaknesses in his plans. I recall a time when he couldn't beat me. There was always that one small crack that he didn't notice in the corner of his eye that unraveled his entire marble military. I can't find it.

That's because the weakness was in the corner of my own eye. His own rook slips behind my front lines, my knight becoming a casualty of this conflict.

There is so much going on in my brother's mind. I can see it in his eyes. He isn't thinking black and white, he's thinking entirely grey. Which of his pieces could he sacrifice to give him just the momentum he needs to reach victory? He's experienced a realization that my mind cannot. You can't fight this battle on the offensive. Nor can you be defensive only. There's one mindset he's avoided the entire game.

White and black.

Society thinks like me so often. There's opposites. Occasionally there's a middle ground, like those people that enjoy Harry Potter, but don't obsess over it. They are clearly in between those who don't care for the world of witchcraft and wizardry, and those unhealthy fans like myself. But when it comes to hot topic issues, people polarize. They can't seem to appreciate both sides. Recent political ads really demonstrate this splendidly. Those disagreeing voters tear the campaign message apart, searching for the tiny weakness in the corner of their eye they can exploit.

Abortion. The economy. Foreign policy. Homosexuality. All of these issues can't seem to find the middle ground that they need to move forward. They only have one way of thinking.

White and black.

It's a shame. The human mind is capable of so much more. Maybe it isn't that we can't find it, but rather we're afraid. I realize that this is how I'm playing as well. I'm afraid to lose to my younger brother. I'm in college, he's in junior high school. I'm supposed to be better at this game than he is. But my fear has put me just enough into the defensive to be antithetical, white and black. He's truly thinking. He's being smart. He's winning.

His other rook has evaded my attention the entire game. It scrapes along the lattice of squares, taking out my pompous bishop. My brother looks at me with a clever satisfaction. He has already worked out what he's done. He's trapped my queen. I move a pawn merely because it's all I can do. His rook slices across and dethrones the helpless queen.

This series of events has put me entirely in the defensive. Just like peoples' moral structures, when threatened, they go into emergency mode. They believe they are right and can't comprehend a compromise. But maybe, just maybe, that unfortunate fortification only complicates things. It makes others' lives different. Then they switch into defensive. The result is a large scale debate, back and forth, white and black. Progress evolves out of the combination of both ends.

Grey.

His queen stealthily swoops down on my other bishop, the last bastion of my defense. His grey mind has done the impossible. My victory has been shattered into pieces of desperation. I move my one wounded pawn forward in the minute hopes he won't see it. He does. His knight crushes it. The rooks have my king trapped, with nowhere to move. His queen descends upon the one black square I wished he hadn't spotted. My king's reign has ended.

Checkmate.

cheesecake

2011-12-28T23:50:00.000-08:00

My first two entries have discussed some deep, meaningful topics. This one is going to be different.

This one is an intervention.

Tonight, I went out to dinner with 4 of my friends from high school. Robyn, Meghan, Joy, and Rob joined me at a local Italian restaurant for some catching up and a general good time.

Meghan, Robyn and myself arrived at our destination before Joy and Rob did, and we waited for about fifteen minutes before we were seated at our table. We had some time to peruse the menus, and spent some time discussing some of Meghan's stories from college. Soon, Joy and Rob made it, and came to sit with us. They looked at the menus, picked what they wanted, and we ordered.

That's when it went south.

You see, the restaurant provided free sourdough bread and butter to keep our stomachs occupied while we waited for the main event. It was delicious, and subsequently didn't last very long. Normally, one piece of bread suffices for me (and from what I understand, many people don't require much more).

Not for Joy. She asked for more bread.

Alright, I admit, I didn't have a problem with more bread. Not at all, considering how fantastically prepared it was. The unsettling truth came when the bread was brought to the table.

and. Joy. stuck. it. in. her. purse.

Joy is just an unfortunate profile of countless collegiate students worldwide who suffer from a combination of hoarding and kleptomania. Joy didn't NEED the bread, she had a full course coming. But she had to take it, simply because it was free. She, like so many other college students, simply took the bread. It's probably going to wither away into breadcrumbs and dust before she even touches them. The poor table that sat down right after us was deprived of those five pieces of bread, and now nobody will ever enjoy them. Way to go Joy.

But in all seriousness, I really missed these guys. I missed the possibility of being so quirky around people that are just as quirky. Laughing about bread thieves, poking fun at each other, just being friends. Those guys are great, and it makes me miss my high school years.

It's great that I've been fortunate enough to keep in touch with these people. I thought about how fortunate I am that these people are still in my life while enjoying my incredibly delicious dessert, a honey cinnamon cheesecake.

That I didn't let Joy steal.

connections

2011-12-27T21:17:00.000-08:00

Let's see how many blog entries I can create whose titles begin with the letter 'c'. Challenge accepted.

Today I met one of my old friends from childhood. It was a fantastic day, including a fantastic lunch, coffee, and some serious catching up. It occurred to me many times during our six hours together how easy it was to hang out with her, despite the fact that we may have seen each other less than ten times since graduation. The ease with which we were still able to relate was remarkable; she's definitely one of those people that I can talk to after months as if we hadn't missed a day.

Since then, my best friend has come to spend some time at our house tonight. I'm actually sitting in the same room as her right now, watching her fish. Yes, fish. My brother got an xbox game for Christmas in which you can go fishing, complete with the plastic fishing rod controller and SPECTACULAR graphics (sarcasm). So here we are. I'm typing away, she's catching synthesized striped bass, and we're not even talking. But she's still my best friend. I don't have to tell her that for her to know that.

I fully anticipate spending the latest hours of my evening chatting it up with my newest friend. He's a great guy that I've seen around campus at Loma, but we've never really said anything to each other. Made possible through the modern medium that is Facebook, our friendship is budding rapidly without us even conversing face to face. Yet, at least. But that doesn't diminish the connection that's already taking hold.

My whole day has been spent with friends. Literally. One that I haven't seen in months, another that I've spent three-quarters of my break with and one that I'll spend time with only through cyberspace. But I love them, in different ways. I always will.

Friends and family are so important to me. In my lowest times, they're there to shine a flashlight into the impenetrable darkness that surrounds me. In the greatest times, they act like ladders; helping me to climb even higher to see spectacular things around me. If it wasn't for them, my life would be so different. So radically, dramatically life-altering different.

I also need to be sure to recognize my family for who they are. They are my lifeblood, both figuratively and literally. My goofy younger brother just brought me a box of 40 chocolate cherries that he found at Walmart, simply because he's a goober. The little dude is sitting in the room with us, making golf-tournament comments on Robyn's fishing performance. It's hilarious. My brother is turning out to be an amazing guy. He's getting super good at sports, even better on the french horn (a skill that I am SO jealous of) and he stands up for his friends at peers at school when they get bullied. That's respectable. Seriously respectable.

Then there's my sister. She's a firecracker. But she's also so FREAKING intelligent. Sometimes, I feel like she's on a completely different level than I am. And she loves to remind me, but it's ok. She's earned that right. Where I've excelled in music, she's excelled in everything else. She's an eloquent writer, math genius, sprouting scientist, editor, and all-around great sister. Even if she argues against my political stance. I may not have told her, but when she got me to edit her personal statement for college, and it had a blurb about my role in her life, I teared up. She's my younger sister. She can't say it to my face, but I know she loves me just as much as I love her.

My mom is the unsung hero of our family. She keeps us together, even when we're spread across the country. Tonight was one of the first evenings that we were all home at the same time for many years, and she stood firm in us having a family dinner. It was amazing. My mom can make a mean casserole. Everyone says it, but I know that my mom's cooking is the best. She does so much for our family without getting the recognition for it. But even more admirable is the passion she's given to her job. My mom is a teacher. Not the teaching that most educators even dream of tackling, though. She works with elementary students that require special education. These kids are going to have a harder time at life than most of us, that's just true. Regardless of this, she gives them the same respect and love that she gives us. My mom's heart is SO LARGE, I wonder how it fits in her chest.

And then there's my father. He knows everything. He can tell me when the traffic is the worst in a city two states over. He knows how to fix pretty much everything in a car, even when I didn't notice there was a problem. He's able to direct so many people across the west coast, and then come home and play quirky party games with his two sons and Robyn (and win). He's just as quirky as the games he plays, too. His hair is long, he's a vegetarian, and he often drives a red Volkswagen beetle to his job. One of the most famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) reputations my father has gained in the past year is his determination to mail me strange, odd gifts he finds on the internet. That zany behavior accounts for the four foot inflatable banana, toucan piñata, various sing-a-ma-jigs, and countless boxes of random cereals that I now own.

They all represent different parts of who I am. And so do my friends. These connections I've built throughout my life still stick to me, as if they're adhesive tape. Even if I try to take them off, the tape residue still sticks to me just like the lasting effects of friendship and family.

I love you guys (yes, even you Kirsten).

I'm looking forward to the friendships that I've had for many years, and I know will last for the rest of my life. I'm curious to see where the sprouting relationships will last. And I can't wait to see where the next connection will come from.

Even if I don't say anything to you in many years, know that I love you in some way or another. You guys are great. You're all a part of me. If you've said hi, you've contributed to forming me.

Also, Robyn just caught a 17 lb catfish. My brother cheered.

changes

2011-12-27T02:16:00.000-08:00

I've been pestered for months now to start a blog, and here I am, starting a blog. Here it is.

But where to start.

Thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for several hours now, as I contemplated which words would grace my first post. I'm not sure I've even decided yet what my blog will be. But the closer I came to creating it, the more I knew what this particular entry would consist of.

You see, I realized something. This blog is new, sure. But the blog that is my life is getting older each and every day. So while these words are new, they aren't really all that new.

changes.

It's a really powerful word, changes. The word itself implies different, new directions. Changes happen daily around all of us, and I'm increasingly more aware of these in my own life. I'm weeks away from beginning my last semester of my undergraduate degree. What happens after it finishes? I can only be absolutely certain of one thing- my life will change. Changes will occur. I might not live within eyeshot of the magnificent Pacific sunsets any longer. I probably won't spend most of my life walking to and from the music department building. Whether I want to admit it or not, even my friends will change.

It scares me. It scares me a lot. Yet as much as it scares me, I've done it before. I've changed.

Before I started sticking these words together, I read an autobiography I wrote at the beginning of college. My freshman year, to be exact. It's fourteen pages. Fourteen pages of my life, as I understood them but 4 semesters ago.

Two years. Two years ago. As I read through the pages I thought to myself how different I might write this passage, how that word choice feels awkward now, how this whole section doesn't really seem so relevant anymore.

Then it hit me. Those pages weren't me anymore. The Zach Christy that wrote those had long faded, not unlike the winter season's imminent passing. Like the wind, the story was and is exceedingly intricate, but always changing.

Since that time, I have changed how I view myself. I've changed how I view my faith. My friends have changed. My home has changed. Even my freaking choice of clothing has changed (for the better, I believe).

Change is good. Change is necessary to become a well-rounded, complete person. Changes don't alter who you are as a person, but rather add on layers.

If you know anything about me, you know that there are some things that don't change. The most integral of these is music. It would be shameful of me to create something without a connection to music, so here goes.

My favorite piece of music has been Appalachian Spring by Aaron Copland for many years now. It begins with a single, delicate unison note. Slowly, different layers are added, building the identity of the piece. Dissonance is not ignored, and there are those few sour, unexpected notes that are thrown into the mix. This isn't much unlike life. Tragedy happens. Horrible days occur. Even bad hairstyles can contribute to the dissonance of life. But so much of Copland's masterpiece relies on simplicity and deeply moving music. If we step back from our lives, we'll realize that SO much of the complexity comes from our own clouded lenses, and that there really isn't much more to it than the different notes adding into the strains of the orchestra of life. Appalachian Spring is what it is because it CHANGES. It changes keys, changes moods, tempos.

So does my life.

It changes.