It was part of a work-related self-esteem workshop. We were asked to write down five things we are grateful for in life. I tend to resist being social-worked but once I wrote the first the others came swiftly.
our 30 something years of memories
Then we shared. Ah, coming out all over again. (Not sure everyone in our little group knew or wanted to know.)
Coming out again and again. Every mention is like a little bit of flaunting. So be it. It is a struggle to be unselfconscious. Sometimes delivery is smooth. Sometimes there’s an edge.
Regardless, I am brought to meditate upon questions of style and the accommodations of another generation.
W.H. Auden begins “Dichtung and Wahrheit (An Unwritten Poem) with the following observation and wish:
Expecting your arrival tomorrow, I find myself thinking I love You: then comes the thought: — I should like to write a poem which would express exactly what I mean when I think these words.
He continues with a self-directed demand:
of any poem written by myself, my first demand is that it be genuine, recognizable, like my handwriting, as having been written, for better or worse, by me.
For me pronouns matter. He-to-he. Or is it words like “lover”? Marking a relationship as sexual and passionate. Definitely claiming our own terms.
And so for day 378