Jul 13, 2011
Already I’m getting tired of this anonymity thing. I keep wanting to post on facebook to all my friends, about how excited I am about the new blog, about how many good conversations are likely to come from this. Also about how little prepared I feel to be anything like an authority on the subject, and how much prayer I need, not only about the daily, normal things that everybody deals with, but about this new project.
The truth is that I don’t fully understand the Church’s teaching on homosexuality. I understand that biologically, homosexuality doesn’t make any sense. I understand that the Church wouldn’t prohibit something unless it was really and truly bad for us. What I’m still working on understanding is the emotional aspect.
I know that, every time I’ve been in love with a man, it’s been from a place of woundedness. During high school and early college, the guys I fell for all seemed to have something I didn’t, and something I wanted very badly. They were confident, or good looking, or athletic, or they had a tenderness about them that I had never gotten from a man.
I wonder to what extent this sort of love-from-woundedness is intrinsic to homosexual relationships. I say “I wonder” because I don’t know. I do know that, the more secure and at ease I feel in a friendship with another man, the less likely I am to be attracted to him sexually or even romantically. I have a friend Sam who I’m very close to, at least in the sense that I feel totally at ease in his presence, totally free from the need to pretend to be anything I’m not. But I’ve never felt the slightest stirring of anything sexual when I’m with him.1
On the other hand, the guys I am attracted to are the ones who make me feel insecure — the ones I envy. As I grow in gratitude for my own life and acceptance of the gifts I do have, I envy other men less, and am less prone to falling for a man in this way.
I do wish those guys in my apartment complex would quit sunbathing outside my window, though. Geez.