Going In Or Coming Out
Dahlias, with their distinctive and splendid appearance, aptly represents the notion of distinguishing oneself and pursuing one's unique journey. These flowers also convey the idea of maintaining elegance and kindness, even when faced with stressful or difficult circumstances. During the Victorian Era, dahlias were exchanged as tokens of commitment, affection, allure, and respect.
I've been asked, 'What was it like to fall in love with a woman?' At my age, or after having loved men, I realized two things: first, this question isn’t really about me, and second, it may be worth answering. I really believed that lovers possess the ability to see the spiritual in the ordinary. It is a better life. So, the best way I can respond is to say that my life felt as though I was living inside a beautiful bouquet of flowers. There was an amazing lightness to the days, filled with joy in making cups of coffee for two and engaging in leisurely, dreamy conversations over breakfast. Arranging the flowers I grew or foraged, dancing in the kitchen, and sharing our passion for the arts all brought a sense of freedom. I found myself wanting to surprise her. In these moments, I was reminded that I had lost some of the abandon with which she approached life, and I greatly admired her for it. I had lived harder and longer, and the luster had faded. She brought the magic back.
Falling in love with a woman in my 50s came at a rocky time in my life and career. I was surrounded by loss and upheaval. Somewhere in there, I stopped caring about what lived between someone's legs and started caring about who showed up, who lingered, and who invested themselves in me. The kisses are softer, not prickly, and 'no' was heard for what it was: 'I love you, but I am not feeling well.' Men often seem to misinterpret this as an invitation to try a different position. Any man who realizes that accepting a 'no' with grace is smart is a total keeper, not merely because he heard you, but because he lived up to his word. That’s what she did; she lived up to it.
So, why was I bothering to conceal my love for this woman when it was readily discoverable online? I bothered because I believed that, like everyone else, we deserved our private life. I maintained this veil to protect her, others, and myself. However, this approach hasn't been effective in a culture dominated by keyboard warriors who use public figures as scapegoats for their own insecurities and shortcomings.
Loving someone for the depth of who they are, separate from their worldly identity, means that making love or walking down a road hand in hand feels the same. The difference exists only to those looking on. And that’s where the road gets rocky, because people have been conditioned to believe they have a right to an opinion once you have entered the public eye. Yet, it wasn’t the art or public work they were criticizing; it was our private life.
We were torn to shreds on platforms like The L Chat, where dozens of strangers vomited vile commentaries about the intimacy I shared with a younger woman of a different skin tone. Meanwhile, all I wanted was to wake up and make coffee for us, to dance as if no one was watching. I wanted to bring her flowers from the garden and celebrate her—not for me, but for her. It was all for her, as far as I could hold it. But holding onto a shooting star is the great impossible. I knew that, too.
Of course, I wrestled with myself, I had never loved a woman before. I asked myself obvious questions like, “Who Am I?” But the biggest question I found was - am I the woman my mother raised me to be? My mother Florence, saw success as finding a “fella” and settling down. I was taught a woman’s purpose was to “Have children, help the community, and teach Sunday school….That’s what you are here for.”
I did some of that - no, I did ALL of that and I still didn’t meet the right fella. And it’s not that I haven't known some great men, I have known and loved some amazing men, but timing or demons always seemed to get in the way. I see now that her version of being a successful woman and fulfilling my purpose, inadvertently, did not account for all the machinations love offered.
I guess I wrestled most with Florence, not Florence in real life because Florence in real life, was already ill, and was never really homophobic. She did, however, believe one could become gay from watching too much Will and Grace…..Amazing really if you think about it. Mom embraced many same-sex couples in the way one would coming from an era where such topics were not discussed. I came to see that this conflict was both imaginary and deeply internal and slightly absurd….. Then I just got over it.
My mother’s best friend of 40 years, a woman called Claire, phoned me yesterday to share the news of her husband’s passing. She spoke of my mother’s exceptional character, her passionate commitment to community service, and her dedication to her work. (Are you asleep yet? I am) Mom worked for Claire and her husband for many years. She recalled their times together delivering Meals On Wheels as couples, and how these acts of service brought them closer. Instead of dwelling on her loss, (and here is the kicker and where I woke back up) Claire wanted to ensure my mother understood the depth of their love for her and chose to emphasize the value they placed on my mother’s devotion.
Isn’t this the essence of our existence? To love and support one another, to be devoted to the care and nurturing of each other?
I raised my children as a single mother with the singular intent of nurturing adults into the world who were passionate and knew how to help. Our family includes a special needs child, so we were all deeply committed to loving him and helping him find his relationship to this earth. There is nothing I will ever do that will surpass the victory of watching them in service to others now. Nothing.
Their gift back to me was to say, 'Be free, be happy.' I guess I did achieve some of what my mother believed it meant to be a woman: I raised good humans. What we hadn't anticipated was my entire family embarking not just on this journey, but facing a path of destructive emotional harassment that left them feeling powerless. Their generosity of spirit led to their jobs being threatened, their workplaces harassed, their appearances ridiculed, and their sexuality questioned—all because they supported my happiness by saying, 'Yes, Mom, love someone who makes you happy.’……………..
"My grandmother said it best: 'I guess you are just a different kind of chicken farmer, huh?' This was her realization when she could no longer ignore that the fella she loved defied her vision of a grand life in Los Angeles. So, she changed her course and traveled the 2,438 miles to be in his arms. His character revealed something she could no longer ignore, shining brighter in its simplicity than all the grand nights out in LA. And they lived happily ever after, finding joy in having chosen each other.
For my “Grand night out in LA” my family, friends, and colleagues have had a fire rain down on them that belongs to none of us. It belongs to the burning heart of one or two who took to a platform meant, I believe for inclusion, and instead of support, the hate and vitriol was so real it spread like wildfire. So now I wonder about the freedom of loving. If you can not be welcomed by another asking for the same right how do we love at all?
So what was it like to love a woman? Love is really just that—love. For now, though, it's safer to stay in my corner. God forbid the cannibals come out and eat me alive. But for a minute, a beautiful minute... it was a bouquet of flowers."