Who Am I (Part 1)?

          Who am I? Wow, that’s a loaded question! I’m…well, I’m me, just me. At this point on most days, that’s good enough and having it be good enough is such a relief. I spent a fairly significant portion of my life trying to be someone that other people, namely my significant others, would want. Of course, significant others often have a way of finding other people to be significant to them so I found myself 2 or 3 times adrift without any idea of who to be because my S.O.  “significated” somewhere else.

             No, “significated” is not a word but you get my drift. They “bounced,” “took a powder,” “made like a leaf,” etc. On one memorable occasion, my S.O. “significated” to be with someone else. In his case, with many someone elses of both genders. I have no problem with relationships between people of the same gender; I just think it is a foul to only admit your desire to explore other relationships once you are married. Doesn’t matter to me if you’re part of a gay, lesbian, or straight marriage. If you’ve known for some time that you are not going to be satisfied in life unless you explore your gender identity but you marry someone anyway, then AFTER your marriage decide to explore your gay-ness, lesbian-ness or straight-ness with someone other than your husband/wife; just my opinion but I call that a “foul.” Especially if your wife (in this case, me) discovers your desire to explore your gender identity by discovering you are a member of Bisexual Married Men of America and that the way you explore these parts of yourself is by meeting other bisexual married men in rest areas on the side of interstate highways for quickie sex. I’m just saying it is NOT cool to force your marriage partner into queuing up at the OB/GYN for a round of STD testing because of your little interstate liaisons. I’m just saying…

             Anyway, after that memorable little experience, which did not lead to an immediate divorce, I ended up not knowing who the hell I was or if I had ever known who the hell I was. So, I drifted…aimlessly, thoughtlessly, purposelessly for a long time, for a decade in fact. The divorce occured way b4 the decade was up but I was "at sea" for 10 yrs. I ended up in just one other relationship which eventually led to the loss of almost everything I ever was or thought I could ever be. Needless to say, that pairing did not last either.

             I spent some fairly significant time with my head not screwed on entirely straight. It was not until I was, as they say, "without relationship" for some time that I began to discover the woman I was. Recovering knowledge of my younger self led me to make changes, modifications if you will. Those changes led me to me; to the me I am now. I am who I am but not who I will be. I found that truth, too.

            So, I was born on the Summer Solstice in 1960. You can do the math. I am a 5’7” blue eyed blonde. The birthday makes me a Gemini. I am, if the astrologers are to be believed, a creature of dual nature, fickle, flighty, but fiercely creative especially in the communicative arts. I dunno what to make of the “fickle and flighty” part but I admit to the dual nature. I grew up and still live in the deep South of the United States. How far south, you ask? Think of the deepest South you can imagine. If you hit Louisiana, you’ve gone too far and Florida doesn’t count as the South. Any fool knows that. No real Southerners live in Florida anymore. It has become too cosmopolitan for most of us and has transformed into the place we go on vacations, to lie on the beach and soak up more UV than is good for anyone. I love Florida, don’t get me wrong. I go there at every opportunity but it isn’t really the South to me.

            The South is a place of enigma with a checkered past and an uncertain future—very much like me! Spanish moss is less in evidence in my South than Wisteria. Both kill the trees but Wisteria does it in purple. There is something of mystery in anything so beautiful and fragrant that kills while wearing purple. My ex-S.O. was fond of planting Wisteria on my farm, especially around the sweet gum trees that are in my yard. It wound itself around my trees like some flora-constrictor (ha, pun intended). It grew high into the trees and every spring bloomed in a reckless, beautiful, murderous, purple profusion. I walked by on my way to the barn every day and noticed but didn’t notice.

            Did you ever catch yourself doing that? Noticing but not noticing? Like you put a bottle of shampoo on the counter where it doesn’t belong. It sits there every day adding clutter and chaos to your life but after a few days, even though you see it, you don’t notice it. You might even need to find it and you might look on the counter but still you don’t notice that it’s there. That’s what it was like for me to see the Wisteria. When the ex was here there was no point in noticing. He planted it; he didn’t ask me about it, therefore there was nothing I could do about it one way or the other. He wanted it, he got it. Who was I to object or feel anything different about it? That’s just one example of how I lost myself trying to be in a relationship with him. And while I might call his Bisexual Married Men of America “foul” it was an equal “foul” on my part to disallow and sacrifice parts of myself to being in relationship to him. I was trying to be someone he could want, someone “worthy” of him.

            Well, I’m worthy now. I cut that fucking Wisteria this fall! I don’t have a lot of deep and abiding affection for sweet gum trees. Their seed pods which we call “sweet gum balls” are covered in a million sharp and spiny spikes. They roll underfoot and generally act like marbles rolled to trip up the cop chasing Moe in a Three Stooges cartoon. In short, they’ve knocked me on my ass more times than I care to remember. So why sever the Wisteria? It is beautiful. It smells good. It’s part of every spring. Because it was planted there without any thought given to that planting by me! It wasn’t my choice to put it there, how can I possibly know if I want to watch it kill the tree (however long it takes to do it) unless I spend some time thinking about it? How can I take possession of Elysian unless I spend time thinking about what I do with her? How to take care of her? How best to love her and “husband” her? (Now, my friends, the word “husband” is here used as a verb and it is a somewhat archaic use but nevertheless valid.)

            See what I mean about the South? Florida is easy. Florida is beaches and sun, surf and cocktails, seafood and sightseeing, mini-golf and swimming pools. The deep South is Wisteria and sweet gum trees, loss and discovery, uncertainty and action. There is nothing easy about the South. The deep South is a study in contradiction. It is beautiful and awful and I am its daughter.

Peace and Blessings,

An Uncommon Gemini