Trans-ition

Sometimes it takes overwhelming strength just to get up.

The vortex of bed and sleep pull harder than the things you need to do.

Maybe because at 4:00am there was a tussle outside your window and 11 cop cars sped to the scene from all directions.

Maybe because some new things are on your mind. Things that, once you are woken up, keep you awake. Things you want to change, that a week ago were fine.

And good things keep you awake, too, like stories coming together in your head. Stories about people changing.

Last night I was reading about trans men. Especially about mothers who transition into being men. I am not thinking about doing this myself, FYI. I did think about it once, for about a week in 2000, after my therapist at the time told me she was "making the transition." For one week I considered what it would mean to pass as a man and assume male gender roles. Maybe it was some kind of mellenial fever. It was fun to think about for a little while. It helped me realize how much I do like being a 6'1" woman, and that no matter how cool I think it might be to be a man, I can never, in this life, have my own real penis.

I know one or two people who have made the change from female to male. It's a big decision. There is so much information about making a change like that on the internet now that it's probably not as scary as it used to be. But it's huge. I woke up thinking about the steps outlined on a really helpful website, starting with "being real with yourself" and ending with sexual reassignment surgery. It encouraged people to only go as far as they need in order to feel comfortable with themselves.

How intense would that be to sit with your kids and tell them you were assigned the wrong sex at birth, and that you need them to start calling you Dad instead of Mom? People do it. It's so courageous. Let's face it: people only do that if they absolutely have to do it. It's not a whim. It's about survival.

Knowing there are people who find the courage to tell their own kids that they are the wrong gender and need to make a profound change, and even ask for their support in doing it, puts some of the changes I want to make in my life into perspective.

Above Ground

There are times when dreams wake you up with a theme or a phrase. The words "Above Ground" were in my head when I woke up today.

It's like you keep uncovering things that need change in your life. You finally tackle some big ones, maybe it take years or even decades. And you want to feel that feeling of accomplishment. And you do.

Then you take a big sigh and realize that the next thing, like a plate in an old cafeteria line, pops up underneath, all fresh and ready to be handled. Sigh.

I was feeling for a minute like my life was more or less in order. Like I had my shit together. Like I could say proudly that I am Walking the Walk.

Then a big elephant steps into my dream. It doesn't even have to name itself, because it's just there, taking up a bunch of room. Apparently it wants to go "above ground." I couldn't even see it before because I was to busy cleaning up all the shit on the floor. Maybe you can only deal with so much at any given time.

Joe and I are watching Upstairs Downstairs on Netflix. I never saw a single episode before. It makes Downtown Abby, on which it was clearly based, look like a soft-focus rip-off. Upstairs Downstairs hits class issues head-on. Made from 1971 to 1975. Still so relevant.

I wonder if I'll ever have the guts to write something meaningful. Above ground.

It's Friday night am I am NOT getting stoned.

Nope.

I'm in bed nursing a cocktail and waiting for dinner to be served. It's been a hard week.

Obamacare: Yes. All three of my kids would have NO health, dental or vision care if not for Obamacare. And I would be fucked.

Trayvon Martin: WTF? Prosecute that motherfuckin "Neighborhood Watch" maniac. I keep thinking of that poor young man walking home from the store with Skittles and ice tea. Chased down, scared for his life, shot dead by that racist freak. Poor family. Poor America.

"Stand your ground?"

Fuck.

My man JB makin red curry tofu and veggies.

Yeah.

I was going to go see a performance called Indifference, but...

I could not imagine sitting in a chair after sitting in one all day.

Fuck chairs.

Fuck sitting.

Yes to men who cook.

Are we The Richer Sex?

Enter this debate:

Do Women Now Have A Sexual Advantage?

Guess my response.

Sexual Addiction or Good Times?

I subscribe to women's issues on the Huffington Post and get links almost every day about sex, sex addiction, overcoming sex addiction. What is it?

I just found this definition in an article by John Kort, "certified sexual addiction specialist and sex therapist" entitled, Sex Addiction: Real or Myth?:

The model of sexual addiction and compulsivity disorder has generated controversy in and outside the gay community. Some say that using this model makes sexual behavior seem "bad" and denies enjoying positive sexual experiences with as many people as one likes, any way one wants. But it doesn't demonize sexual activities unless they involve adults being sexual with children, or ignoring someone's limits against their will, such as in the case of rape. Nor does it judge people who enjoy a variety of sexual desires, partners, and behavior. In fact, sexual addiction is not about sex at all -- it's about suffering and unhealed trauma that has become eroticized.

Okay, so I guess I can agree that there are some people who have really unhealthy sexual behaviors that qualify as "addiction."

Most people I know, however, do not fit this category. They just like sex. If they have a problem, it's that they can't get enough of it. Not because they are "addicts," but because they are normal and are not having enough sexual connection in their lives. Why? Because they have some hang-ups or are in a relationship that needs better communication or they can't find a good sexual partner. It could be that they are being too picky.

Most of these articles written by women have a tone of guilt and are overshadowed by the paradigm of monogamy in ways that I find unhealthy. There are endless articles and books by women that reminisce nostalgically about times when they were sexually free and had, say, dozens or even god forbid 80 or more sexual partners when they were in college. And now they see all of that behavior as deeply dysfunctional and symptomatic of their low self-esteem and that required decades of therapy enabling them now, from a second or third marriage, to say they are finally "healed."

I think it's such bullshit. Why do people, women in particular, have to revise their histories and say they were fucked up for wanting to have sex with a lot of people?  They were young and gorgeous and had the opportunity to explore their sexuality in what should have been a guilt-free way. So what? More power to them.

I think they write about their sexuality through the prism of guilt and reform because... it sells.

See Leah Odze Epstein's article today called Addiction Envy. She went to an addiction book panel where a literary agent said recently "he'd gotten a brilliant manuscript, a memoir by a young woman, full of glittering prose and crazy exploits. Such promise! But then, after page 100, he realized the story stayed the same. There was no transformation. No fall and redemption. Just freefall. He said there were many addiction memoirs he rejected."

Epstein left the panel with "addiction envy."

Women classify the fun times they had exploring multiple sexual partners in a free-wheeling period in their life as "sexual addiction" so they can talk about it from their reformed, monogamous, safe lives = Transformation. Otherwise, no book deal. No Huffington Post column.

I don't know about you, but I have NO regrets about that time in my life when I was single and exploring who knows how many partners, most of whose names I can't remember. I thank god for those people and experiences,  to which I'm still indebted because they helped me figure out early on what I liked and didn't, and what it meant to be and to be with a great lover.

I wouldn't be in what I consider an extremely healthy relationship with my husband of 25+ years if it hadn't been for those fabulous 70s and 80s free love times.

The next generation has its own challenges. Lets not pretend to them that we didn't have fun, if we did.

Joie de vivre

I am feeling really close to the important people in my life. I feel like I haven't fucked up in that regard: I tell people constantly how much I love them.

I'm kind of in love with you, Anonymous. Even though you hardly ever comment, I still know you are there. How? Google Analytics.

I'm not obsessed with stats (anymore) because you are a bit fickle and it can be really confusing. When I do check, like I did yesterday, my stats were pretty good. Good for me, anyway. Since I started this blog in November, you have consistently viewed three pages (on average) every time you visit. That makes me feel good. It's like, you may not be available for a date every time I randomly post, but when you come to my site, you like to stay a good 3:56 minutes. It's cool. In internet time, that's a real date. In three plus minutes, we can get down to business.

Did you like the part about my son trying to make out with my friend? Every time I think about it I chuckle. My friend said, "He clearly has more than a little Joe Bender in him." True that. How does that work? I guess one gets one's balls from one's parents. Makes sense, right? And one's curiosity and joie de vivre.

Joie de vivre: "joy of life; an exultation of spirit. Can be a joy of conversation, joy of  eating, joy of anything one might do… And joie de vivre may be seen as a joy of everything, a comprehensive joy, a philosophy of life, a Weltanschauung. Robert's Dictionnaire says joie is sentiment exaltant ressenti par toute la conscience, that is, involves one's whole being."

I'm guessing there was a little carpe diem in there, too, and perhaps, a bit of laissez les bons temps rouler. 

I love you, Anonymous.

Carpe diem.

Woah!

Last night Joe was out and I stayed home alone. The lover in my head was quiet, feeling home-bodyish.

I thought about going to a poly dance at a nightclub in the mission, or to see some famous dj with Jim and Anne. Because, you know, I like to do research.

But instead after Tantelewald at Cutting Ball and drinks at the Show Down, I just wanted to talk on the phone with my friend D. about writing and marriage. She's in L.A.

We decided that characters are "likable" if they work through a problem and come out on the other side of it. It's not a moral tone or pre-ordained set of characteristics that determine "likability."

Maybe what makes characters "unlikable" is when they stay stuck... or don't even realize they have a big problem.

We then talked about how many of our friends are taking care of parents with dementia. There's some real comedy potential there.

And how you have to give up the whole notion of "fairness." It's not fair.

How recently D.'s ex yelled "I'm sorry!!!" I thought it was pretty evolved of him.

How one of my sons tried to make out with a friend of mine recently. She was not offended, just a little surprised.

Woah! No ageism I guess.

I'm not sure if I'm horrified or impressed.

D. was impressed.

Benderama

I love the tone of Portlandia and Modern Family. I am seeing my life through the comedy lens this morning and laughing at myself and my life. I make things so serious, but really they aren't. My comedy is called Benderama. (Thanks Cathy!)

In Benderama, I think I'm an empty-nester, with all this free time and doing all these grown up things I never got to do before. But really I'm a harried full-time worker and a hovering helicopter mom with three grown up kids whom I still sometimes treat like babies.

Example: I say my kids are grown up and out of the house, but two of them live in the studio next door. I sometimes sneak in and pick up their dirty dishes, and when no one is looking, make Ian's bed. I still want to cradle my gigantic son in my arms and play with his hair. Sometimes he lets me.

In Benderama, Joe and I are super liberated and independent and think of each other as lovers and have our separate lives. But we are also a married couple who have been together for 26 years and can interpret the tiniest thing about each other without words.

Example: We can be in bed together in the middle of the night and I hear a change in his breathing. It's subtle, but I can tell he's awake and I know exactly what he's thinking. We can go from being relaxed asleep into a full blown co-counseling session crying about childhood traumas, then go right back to sleep again, all cozy and shit.

In Benderama, we think of ourselves as, like, in our thirties, still kind of young and cool and sexy. But really, we are in our fifties. We are not really cool anymore. We are the old people.

Example: We live on a floor with mostly 20 somethings. We say we do not want to be the parents. We say "You all are in charge!" But I will get up like I did last night at 1:30am and walk out to the common kitchen in my nightgown, with my eyeshade pushed up onto my forehead and one earplug in my hand and just stare at them. They know what that means.

The truth is that I am an fifty-something empty-nester helicopter mom in an alternative long-term marriage who often acts like I'm in my thirties but does not hesitate to pull the age card when I need to. That's the gist of Benderama.

Am I a good mom?

I don't know how I survived raising three kids. And almost had four.

I wonder if I was a good mom. I realize I tried to make up for the feeling of not having enough attention as a child by giving my kids more of what I thought they needed. Sometimes that was and still is too much. Fortunately they tell me. It's worse when they don't tell me. I'm also sure I neglected my kids at times. I'm sure they will tell me all about that, too, as they become adults and can afford therapy.

But you never do everything right. The only judge of how well you parented is how your kids turn out, and even then, you don't have total control. You can only provide the foundation. Just like your own parents had very little control over what you decided to do with your life. Or didn't decide, and what just happened.  But they did provide the feeling base. The invisible world of feeling that was your house. The place your emotional life grew up...Or didn't grow up.

I think my kids are turning out pretty okay. I'm getting past the judgment based upon whether they are "successful" as measured by our society's usual standards: whether they go to college, which college they go to, whether they have high paying jobs.

My kids are not going that route. Or at least not the straight route from high school to college to full-time jobs to marriage to home-ownership. It's scary sometimes,even though it's like, what did I expect coming from me and Joe as their parents? We didn't live that trajectory. Our kids want to take the off-beat to a higher level. But it's ironic for me that I'm out there telling the world as part of my job how important it is for youth to be "college ready." I believe that. And yet two of my own college age kids are not, thus far, choosing college.

You have to admit, it kind of sucks out there for young people these days. So many of my kids' friends who went to college are coming out with massive debt and can't find an entry level job. My boys think that is absurd. But I still hope they someday decide on their own to pursue higher education. I am adamant, however, that they not take on huge student loans. Now I'm happy when I see them reading and pursuing serious intellectual thought on their own.

Being a boy and becoming a man seems to be extra hard these days. Being the mom of boys becoming men, I can tell you, is really challenging. Where are the really great role models? How many women do you know that are single and yet you cannot recommend one single man as a possible partner? I mean really recommend?

I hope my boys become men who can be really great partners and be happy in life. Honestly, I don't care what they do, as long as it's not harmful to others or themselves. Be good people. Be happy. Be someone I want to spend time with. Be giving, be sensitive and emotionally intelligent, but be strong.

My sons may not go to college, and while that will be extra challenging for me and probably for them in the long run, they have their own lives now. They will make mistakes. I cannot prevent them from making some whoppers. I will want to prevent them from making bad decisions. But they will.

Notice I am not talking about my daughter. She is 25 and shows all signs of being a very happy person who is capable of having a great deal of love in her life. So I can stop worrying about her, I think.

For now.

Inner Beach

To calm my nerves this weekend, I spent time at the beach. Early yesterday morning I walked alone from my studio through Golden Gate Park all the way to Ocean Beach. The whole walk was sparkling with sunlight, green and magical from the recent rains. Finally reaching the wide expanse of ocean was a reward. The clean horizon line against sky levels my brain. The waves, not big or dramatic, peeled gently in the soft warm breeze.

I could see Bolinas across the Golden Gate and wondered what the beach was like there.

So we drove out to Bolinas where it was absolutely stunning. Joe went surfing and I sat in the spot where I've sat a thousand times and looked across to Ocean Beach where I'd been a few hours earlier. It gave me peace.

On a spectacular day like yesterday,  I would normally want to bump up the magic with a hit or two of pot. It's like I want to turbo charge the day, or get more for my money, or squeeze more beauty out of an afternoon than what the ticking clock and setting sun will provide.

But I didn't.

Instead I sat quietly, feeling connected to my little beach, watching families playing catch, older folks walking dogs and young couples taking photos of themselves. I thought, is it time to get a dog? Maybe not yet.

It's been many years since I've had a whole day at the beach my family. Living at the beach had the down side of eliminating what we did every weekend before we moved to the beach: whole days playing, swimming and being lazy together. When you live a short walk to the beach you go home to eat, and everyone has their own friends to play with, and maybe they don't want to go to the beach at all, so you end up going by your self most of the time, or with a friend. It's one thing that bummed me out when I lived in Bolinas: I could never get my whole family to go to the beach together. Except when I forced it, like on Mothers Day, and everyone was cranky about it.

I want to take the calm feeling from the beach inside me today as I enter the workplace. I must avoid entering a technology loop, like the one captured in this Portlandia sketch.

Mental Instability

Sometimes I am mentally unstable.

I am not schizophrenic, thank god. Nor am I bipolar. That usually shows up by the time you are in your 30's, so I'd know by now...Nor am I clinically depressed, though I guess there is still time for that!

Sometimes I feel all of those ways.

It's Saturday and I worked all day. As a result I feel like I deserve some kind of reward. And it's not clear what would make me feel better.

First choice: a love reward.

I want a lover to come out of the woodwork and ravage me.

But after some preliminary text messages, it appears that my desire shall remain unrequited.

As a back-up, I'd really like to alter my conciousness in some other way.

For example, there is some sticky skunk weed that my son's friend gave me the other day sitting in a jar on my shelf. Normally I would pack the glass pipe I stole from my kids room and take two or three hits by now. This would sufficiently alter my consciousness for the entire night. And I would be happy. I might not forget about my love needs, but I would feel temporarily euphoric.

Getting stoned is like a cheap vacation from my normal self. Unfortunately there are consequences. I hate to admit it, but the fragmented feeling from which I've been suffering the last few weeks may not be helped by my weekend pot smoking habit.

So I've decided not to smoke that incredibly tempting skunk weed sitting right over there on my shelf.

Instead I'm drinking. It's the house cocktail: ginger tea and vodka. And it's doing me fine.

Blasting Joe's 5-star, all-genres playlist while he prepares 6'x1' aluminum panels to paint for his next exhibition. Peace Frog by the Doors, now Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin.

Joe is my main squeeze. My man. He holds me through all my mental instability. When I have momentary breakdowns and near psychotic breaks. He deserves a lot of credit for being my safety net.

Ian left on his walkabout, somewhere in Big Sur area.

Joseph staying in our Bolinas house this weekend.

Zoe in London representing. Here with Arya.