Comfort zone.
Two words that, on their own are benign, but when paired together create more negatives than positive.
Ok, here's the thing. Just recently I've discovered just how large the number of opportunities that I've passed up truly is. I declined offers, or didn't seize something when I saw it because it existed outside of my comfort zone. I don't mean to imply that you shouldn't have some metaphysical place to be to feel secure, but I finally came to terms with the fact that I was cheating myself out of life.
In my comfort zone, I used to have nothing but my quiet self. My self that relished fading into the background, and avoided attention at almost any cost. Then I was introduced to the Theatre. Despite what I tell people, I have a great hunger to act and sing on stage, because I feel that I would do well. The thought terrifies me, but still I want to do this.
Another aspect that I'm delving into is using piano to be the entertainment. As I mentioned a few blogs ago, piano is a hobby. I'm 98% self taught, and because of that I have a huge mental block that keeps telling me "You're not a real pianist, so you can't perform.' Long story short, I have been hired to play piano at a formal New Year's Eve dinner party at Charleys, the only gay bar in the region. When first offered the job, I panicked and tried to decline. Once I calmed down a bit I realized something. I am a good pianist. I'm a good performer. I can do this.
The owner of Charleys, David, and his partner Steve are some of the nicest men you will ever meet. I met them both at their house when I went to look at the Clav I would be playing it I accepted the job. On the car ride back to where I was parked, Steve told me one of the simplest, yet most profound things I've ever heard. "You're confidence is just that. Yours. Own it, and don't let anyone take that from you." Wow. Those words, offered in encouragement, brought about a change in how I see things. I accepted the job, and if I fail, I fail. If I succeed, I succeed. And I'm ok with that. Something I would never have been ok with a few years ago.
On a side note, David and Steve mentioned that they were looking for long-term pianists to play in the early evening before it gets crowded and crazy. Someone who interacts with the audience: sings, tell jokes, invites people to dance to this classic love song, things like that. And you know what? I think I can be that someone.
I doubt you read my blog James, but I read yours. I can honestly say thank you for inspiring me, both to create a blog, but more importantly, to be happy with myself, and the journey that I'm on. Both as an artist and life in general. Thank you for that.
I'm sorry I can't seem to write a short, light-hearted blog, but I only seem to write them when I'm having big thoughts and need to express them somehow. If you read these, I truly appreciate it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
My Addition to the "It Gets Better" Series
I'm in an introspective mood tonight due to several factors, so I thought I would finally share my coming out story with the internet world.
First off, I think we should start with a little family history. I am the oldest member of my generation on both sides of my family. On my mother's side, my sister and I are the only biological grand children. No biggie there, but just to fill you in. My dad's side, however is more crucial to the story. You see, I'm the only boy in my family with the last name Henson. My dad and step-mom have four daughters. My dad has three sisters, and thus is the only boy with the name Henson. To take it a step further, my dad's dad was the only boy, again with three sisters, ergo, the only Henson boy. For as long as I can remember, there has been an unspoken expectation of me to grow up, get married and have kids to carry on the family name. Not in an overbearing sort of way, but the common question at the annual family reunion was "Have you found a girlfriend yet?" Ok, you're now pretty much up to speed in regards to my family.
Growing up, I had almost known, almost instinctively that I was different from the other kids. Being a kid though, I didn't put any thought to it, it was just the way things were. You never really questioned why some people are blond, and others have brown hair-they just do. On the playground I of course heard the term "fag" and "gay," always said in a derogatory manner. I didn't fully comprehend though what those terms, and others like them, meant until the 7th grade. That was when my friends started noticing girls, and talking about them as more than "just friends." I had the same feelings for other boys. There was a subconscious fear that kept me from expressing them however, because I was afraid to be labeled as the word that haunted my grade school years-"faggot".
I have always been a shy, quiet person, and recently I realized it acts as a defense mechanism. I knew that if I didn't put myself out there, I had very little risk of a girl asking me out, and me having to concoct a reason as to why I couldn't. A small part of me thought that I was going through a phase, and if I ignored it long enough, it would go away and I could be "normal." I kept that mentality all the way through high school. I knew without a doubt that I was gay, but I didn't acknowledge it.
I also knew that if I did come out, it would have destroyed the small social life I had built for myself. In high school I was what I would call a "fringe student." Not in the sense that I did poorly in any classes, but in the sense that I existed on the periphery of the student body. I was not a jock, nor was I a cowboy, and the most prevalent, I wasn't Mormon. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing wrong with people having their own beliefs, as per my last entry, but I had an inkling that my peers didn't share my opinion on that matter.
Fast forward to my first year of college. I did very well in all my classes until the end of my first semester. I started to spiral downward into my first bout of depression. I didn't know what was going on, and I had become so good at ignoring the gay part of me I found out I could ignore anything. I tried to trudge along, and failed a few courses. The next semester, it was the same situation. However, my French professor took me aside one day and expressed his concern, suggesting I see a counselor on campus. That hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything that I had been neglecting my whole life came flooding in, and I burst into tears walking across the quad to my car. That, by the way, was the first time I allowed myself to cry in three years.
I had a room mate whom I suspected was gay, despite the fact he had never said so. One night while playing designated driver, he came out to me. That was a revelation, because I found out then that I wasn't alone in this. Within the next few days, we got to talking, and I spilled everything to him. I can't even begin to express how good that felt, both to get it off my chest, and to hear myself say it out loud. I felt validated. I felt empowered.
After I came out to him, I came out to the rest of my friends relatively quickly. My family however, took a few more weeks time. The first family member I told was my mom. I called her on a Wednesday and said I had something I needed to talk to her about, asking if we could have lunch soon. That Friday I met her at Buddy's and told her that I was gay. To my recollection, the first words out of her mouth were "You son of a bitch." Before you go feeling bad for me, she said that because I made her languish for three days worrying about me, when what I had to tell her was relatively small potatoes. She was overwhelmingly happy that I was finally being honest with myself, and was, and has been to this day, extremely supportive. Family member #1? Check.
The next people on my list were my dad and step-mom. This was going to be harder given the whole family name business. I didn't have a plan with this one, and one day after my sister's strings concert when we were all out to dinner, I told them spur of the moment. All of my sisters were young at this time, and I didn't know if they would understand or not, so I found a piece of paper, wrote the words "I'm gay" on it and passed it across the table.
Silence.
After several agonizing moments, my step-mom asked if this was because I was seeing someone. I told her no, this is just me being honest with myself, and I wanted to tell you guys. After the initial shock wore off, they both told me that they will always love me and just want me to be happy.
So here I am, four years out of the closet, and overall happy with the direction my life has taken. Sure there have been bumps along the way, but that is to be expected. So this brings me to the point of this blog. Hopefully me telling my story will help someone who is going through a hard time in their life. If there is anything I can do to help anyone, please contact me. Even if I can't offer an immediate solution, it is a wonderful feeling to confide in someone else. And trust me, if I'm told something confidential, it will go to the grave with me. So if ever you feel alone, due to your sexual orientation, how you talk, how you look, or anything else, know that there is someone out there who truly cares about you. There is someone who has gone through what you're going through. There is someone who can help you.
There is someone who loves you.
First off, I think we should start with a little family history. I am the oldest member of my generation on both sides of my family. On my mother's side, my sister and I are the only biological grand children. No biggie there, but just to fill you in. My dad's side, however is more crucial to the story. You see, I'm the only boy in my family with the last name Henson. My dad and step-mom have four daughters. My dad has three sisters, and thus is the only boy with the name Henson. To take it a step further, my dad's dad was the only boy, again with three sisters, ergo, the only Henson boy. For as long as I can remember, there has been an unspoken expectation of me to grow up, get married and have kids to carry on the family name. Not in an overbearing sort of way, but the common question at the annual family reunion was "Have you found a girlfriend yet?" Ok, you're now pretty much up to speed in regards to my family.
Growing up, I had almost known, almost instinctively that I was different from the other kids. Being a kid though, I didn't put any thought to it, it was just the way things were. You never really questioned why some people are blond, and others have brown hair-they just do. On the playground I of course heard the term "fag" and "gay," always said in a derogatory manner. I didn't fully comprehend though what those terms, and others like them, meant until the 7th grade. That was when my friends started noticing girls, and talking about them as more than "just friends." I had the same feelings for other boys. There was a subconscious fear that kept me from expressing them however, because I was afraid to be labeled as the word that haunted my grade school years-"faggot".
I have always been a shy, quiet person, and recently I realized it acts as a defense mechanism. I knew that if I didn't put myself out there, I had very little risk of a girl asking me out, and me having to concoct a reason as to why I couldn't. A small part of me thought that I was going through a phase, and if I ignored it long enough, it would go away and I could be "normal." I kept that mentality all the way through high school. I knew without a doubt that I was gay, but I didn't acknowledge it.
I also knew that if I did come out, it would have destroyed the small social life I had built for myself. In high school I was what I would call a "fringe student." Not in the sense that I did poorly in any classes, but in the sense that I existed on the periphery of the student body. I was not a jock, nor was I a cowboy, and the most prevalent, I wasn't Mormon. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing wrong with people having their own beliefs, as per my last entry, but I had an inkling that my peers didn't share my opinion on that matter.
Fast forward to my first year of college. I did very well in all my classes until the end of my first semester. I started to spiral downward into my first bout of depression. I didn't know what was going on, and I had become so good at ignoring the gay part of me I found out I could ignore anything. I tried to trudge along, and failed a few courses. The next semester, it was the same situation. However, my French professor took me aside one day and expressed his concern, suggesting I see a counselor on campus. That hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything that I had been neglecting my whole life came flooding in, and I burst into tears walking across the quad to my car. That, by the way, was the first time I allowed myself to cry in three years.
I had a room mate whom I suspected was gay, despite the fact he had never said so. One night while playing designated driver, he came out to me. That was a revelation, because I found out then that I wasn't alone in this. Within the next few days, we got to talking, and I spilled everything to him. I can't even begin to express how good that felt, both to get it off my chest, and to hear myself say it out loud. I felt validated. I felt empowered.
After I came out to him, I came out to the rest of my friends relatively quickly. My family however, took a few more weeks time. The first family member I told was my mom. I called her on a Wednesday and said I had something I needed to talk to her about, asking if we could have lunch soon. That Friday I met her at Buddy's and told her that I was gay. To my recollection, the first words out of her mouth were "You son of a bitch." Before you go feeling bad for me, she said that because I made her languish for three days worrying about me, when what I had to tell her was relatively small potatoes. She was overwhelmingly happy that I was finally being honest with myself, and was, and has been to this day, extremely supportive. Family member #1? Check.
The next people on my list were my dad and step-mom. This was going to be harder given the whole family name business. I didn't have a plan with this one, and one day after my sister's strings concert when we were all out to dinner, I told them spur of the moment. All of my sisters were young at this time, and I didn't know if they would understand or not, so I found a piece of paper, wrote the words "I'm gay" on it and passed it across the table.
Silence.
After several agonizing moments, my step-mom asked if this was because I was seeing someone. I told her no, this is just me being honest with myself, and I wanted to tell you guys. After the initial shock wore off, they both told me that they will always love me and just want me to be happy.
So here I am, four years out of the closet, and overall happy with the direction my life has taken. Sure there have been bumps along the way, but that is to be expected. So this brings me to the point of this blog. Hopefully me telling my story will help someone who is going through a hard time in their life. If there is anything I can do to help anyone, please contact me. Even if I can't offer an immediate solution, it is a wonderful feeling to confide in someone else. And trust me, if I'm told something confidential, it will go to the grave with me. So if ever you feel alone, due to your sexual orientation, how you talk, how you look, or anything else, know that there is someone out there who truly cares about you. There is someone who has gone through what you're going through. There is someone who can help you.
There is someone who loves you.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Love of Learning
Just as the title implies, I have a very deeply rooted love for learning new things. My first love will always be music, even though we disagree at times. I am choosing to pursue a career in Theatre, but nothing can calm my mind more than playing the piano for a short time. The reason piano is most emotionally soothing for me is because I feel zero obligations to be good at it. Bettering myself is something I want to do, instead of something I feel pressured to do by my teacher. Don't get me wrong, making progress with a teacher is an amazing feeling, but on piano, the only person I have to please is myself.
On a related note, one of the hardest things I've learned in the last few years was to be truly happy with who I am, both physically and emotionally. Growing up, and even into my first few years in college, I never once thought of myself as attractive. I was just that skinny quiet kid who never did much. Not trying to gain sympathy, just being honest. As I aged more went through my first relationship, I started to open my eyes to unique things about myself that I liked(If you read this, thank you for that). My long eyelashes. That weird thing that my chin does. But it wasn't until my first dance class that I really started to love my body for what it is and what it can do. That class was ballet, ironically. I say ironically, because so much of ballet is perfect technique, and precise movements. In watching professional dancers, I saw them do things that I couldn't dream of doing due to physical limitations like my bad shoulder. In class though, I realised that I was being unfair to myself, so I started to relax and appreciate the things I can do well. Even though I don't exercise, I have fairly strong legs. That led to me getting a good height (that's ballon for you other dance geeks).
As for the emotional aspect, it took me years to learn how to love myself. How to let myself fail. How to accept a compliment without second guessing the one who compliments. I think a part of that has to do with figuring out who I am. I am a complete man who has many wonderful things to bring into friendship, and especially relationships. I still have hang-ups here and there, but on the whole I'm now confident enough to think I would be a compliment rather than a detriment to someone else.
Now religion, that's a different matter altogether. Having grown up seeing the vicious behavior of so called "righteous" people, I didn't go to church growing up. No, it goes farther than that. I had zero spiritualism of any sort. These last few years, being so full of self discovery, had opened my eyes to the beauty of faith. Now before you jump to conclusions, I don't identify myself as a Christian, nor do I identify with any other single religion. This sounds sort of picky, but I've followed a more personal path, and in doing so have gathered bits and pieces from different religious belief systems that I try to implement in my own life. I believe in karma, an afterlife (though not really the idea of a Heaven and Hell), spirits, and really the list could go on. But I can sum all of that up in one phrase: "I am happy with what I believe." As simple as that is, it amazes me to see people from almost every faith who feel that their religion is better than my apparent lack of one. All I ask is that people live and let live. Everyone has there own journey, and who are you to say how they should undergo it?
I'm sorry this has gotten so lengthy, but these are just some of the thoughts that have been buzzing around my head lately. I just needed to write them down somewhere. Thanks to all of you for your support!
Love,
Joey
On a related note, one of the hardest things I've learned in the last few years was to be truly happy with who I am, both physically and emotionally. Growing up, and even into my first few years in college, I never once thought of myself as attractive. I was just that skinny quiet kid who never did much. Not trying to gain sympathy, just being honest. As I aged more went through my first relationship, I started to open my eyes to unique things about myself that I liked(If you read this, thank you for that). My long eyelashes. That weird thing that my chin does. But it wasn't until my first dance class that I really started to love my body for what it is and what it can do. That class was ballet, ironically. I say ironically, because so much of ballet is perfect technique, and precise movements. In watching professional dancers, I saw them do things that I couldn't dream of doing due to physical limitations like my bad shoulder. In class though, I realised that I was being unfair to myself, so I started to relax and appreciate the things I can do well. Even though I don't exercise, I have fairly strong legs. That led to me getting a good height (that's ballon for you other dance geeks).
As for the emotional aspect, it took me years to learn how to love myself. How to let myself fail. How to accept a compliment without second guessing the one who compliments. I think a part of that has to do with figuring out who I am. I am a complete man who has many wonderful things to bring into friendship, and especially relationships. I still have hang-ups here and there, but on the whole I'm now confident enough to think I would be a compliment rather than a detriment to someone else.
Now religion, that's a different matter altogether. Having grown up seeing the vicious behavior of so called "righteous" people, I didn't go to church growing up. No, it goes farther than that. I had zero spiritualism of any sort. These last few years, being so full of self discovery, had opened my eyes to the beauty of faith. Now before you jump to conclusions, I don't identify myself as a Christian, nor do I identify with any other single religion. This sounds sort of picky, but I've followed a more personal path, and in doing so have gathered bits and pieces from different religious belief systems that I try to implement in my own life. I believe in karma, an afterlife (though not really the idea of a Heaven and Hell), spirits, and really the list could go on. But I can sum all of that up in one phrase: "I am happy with what I believe." As simple as that is, it amazes me to see people from almost every faith who feel that their religion is better than my apparent lack of one. All I ask is that people live and let live. Everyone has there own journey, and who are you to say how they should undergo it?
I'm sorry this has gotten so lengthy, but these are just some of the thoughts that have been buzzing around my head lately. I just needed to write them down somewhere. Thanks to all of you for your support!
Love,
Joey
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
And I just realized that it's not a train! This week is Tech Week (aka HELL Week) for You Can't Take it With You, the opening show of our season this year. I was asked to be assistant costume designer, and after a brief period of self-doubt, jumped at the chance.
Here's a brief rundown of the week so far.
Monday: Shit I'm running out of time for my dress for the fashion show! Get distracted for a while, work on the dress, panic when I realize that today is the first day of class for the After School Strings Program and I actually have to teach. Crazy! Finish teaching and fly across town for first dress rehearsal. Get there late, but still earlier than expected. Teach the guys how to tie a real bowtie. Watch rehearsal, solve problems, fix the damn toga.
Tuesday: Makeup class, old age project. The first time doing old age was a complete accident and turned out beautifully, but when I do it on purpose in class, not so much. More panic about the dress. French club meeting that I had to leave early to get to rehearsal. Sad. Instead of watching the show again, Tara let's me work on my dress which is due tomorrow. Work a little, text. Work some more, text a lot more. Don't get finished. Bad way to end the day. Fix the toga, AGAIN.
Wednesday: Sleep through class, so I'm not there to turn in my unfinished dress. Work in the shop, carve a stamp to fix the damn toga for the final time. Turns out great. Thanks to Gwendolyn for actually stamping the design on the toga. Teach again, much more successful this go around. Run to rehearsal, and ask if I could possibly work on my dress again. Get a lecture about how to be more productive and efficient with my time. It boils down to avoiding hand sewing, and not texting cute boys while I work. Finish the dress! Go out for Ben's birthday. LASERBLASTER!!
Thursday: Sleep in, go to fashion show on the quad. Dress looks great, awesome model Sammee, still texting boy, dress rehearsal for symphony tonight.
Friday: Breakfast with the costume shop crew, concert in the evening. And then...FREEDOM!!!
Now to plan social interactions to happen on my free time...
Here's a brief rundown of the week so far.
Monday: Shit I'm running out of time for my dress for the fashion show! Get distracted for a while, work on the dress, panic when I realize that today is the first day of class for the After School Strings Program and I actually have to teach. Crazy! Finish teaching and fly across town for first dress rehearsal. Get there late, but still earlier than expected. Teach the guys how to tie a real bowtie. Watch rehearsal, solve problems, fix the damn toga.
Tuesday: Makeup class, old age project. The first time doing old age was a complete accident and turned out beautifully, but when I do it on purpose in class, not so much. More panic about the dress. French club meeting that I had to leave early to get to rehearsal. Sad. Instead of watching the show again, Tara let's me work on my dress which is due tomorrow. Work a little, text. Work some more, text a lot more. Don't get finished. Bad way to end the day. Fix the toga, AGAIN.
Wednesday: Sleep through class, so I'm not there to turn in my unfinished dress. Work in the shop, carve a stamp to fix the damn toga for the final time. Turns out great. Thanks to Gwendolyn for actually stamping the design on the toga. Teach again, much more successful this go around. Run to rehearsal, and ask if I could possibly work on my dress again. Get a lecture about how to be more productive and efficient with my time. It boils down to avoiding hand sewing, and not texting cute boys while I work. Finish the dress! Go out for Ben's birthday. LASERBLASTER!!
Thursday: Sleep in, go to fashion show on the quad. Dress looks great, awesome model Sammee, still texting boy, dress rehearsal for symphony tonight.
Friday: Breakfast with the costume shop crew, concert in the evening. And then...FREEDOM!!!
Now to plan social interactions to happen on my free time...
Friday, September 3, 2010
An order of happy with a side of giddiness? Yes please!
"On the whole, the happiest people seem to be those who have no particular cause for being happy except that they are so." William R. Inge
This quote was the Facebook status of a friend of mine earlier today, and it got me to thinking. The last few months have been a grand personal journey for me, and through it all I realized that somehow I had grown cynical. Looking back I can't say that I've always been the most positive person, but I remember being a child, and the only worry I had was what friend to play with that day. I remember finding joy in the simplest of things, and that is a quality that I had lost. In trying to regain, if only partially, that ability to be genuinely happy, I've learned to do things because I think they would be fun, and not let myself my hindered by how I thought others might view me. Things like, dressing up in funny clothes or jewelry while I'm working in the costume shop, or skipping down the road, should I feel so inclined.I feel that at this point I should let you know that I have bouts of depression from time to time, and recently went through one of my lowest points. That had a major impact on how I view the world and try to live my life. But as they say, without the dark, how can you know what light is? I feel that it is because of the low points in my life that I am able to enjoy the little things: A breeze through the leaves of a tree, or watching a flock of sparrows as they bob along the ground searching for seeds. Things that I enjoy, mostly because of their subtlety, in that I'm forced to take a step back and relax before I can even notice them.
I'd like to leave you with a list of things that make me happy, in hopes that you will take the time to realize that which makes you happy.
Children's laughter, sunsets, sunrises, learning new things, learning to be ok with the fact that I can't do something well, music, dancing, laughing at myself, making others happy, teaching, having a conversation, being surrounded by friends even if we're just hanging out, going for walks, being in nature, seeing students of mine have breakthroughs in their understanding of a concept, rainbows, rain, knowing that I have a supportive family, making new friends, helping others, being a shoulder to cry on or an ear to talk to, puzzles, solving those puzzles...
Really the list could go on ad nauseum, so I think I'll stop there, and leave you with this final question:
What makes you happy?
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Semester of big thoughts.
So here we are, one week into the semester and already I'm overwhelming myself. First off, my second project in my costume construction class is a project using 60% recycle materials. The good news? I can finally make beads out of paper for a reason, not just because I can. The bad news? I need to make thousands of them for my idea to work. Bead making party anyone?
In addition to the two classes I'm taking, I'm working 17 hours a week in the costume shop. Loving the experience and the money, and the best part is I'm done by five every night, so I almost have the chance for a social life.
Why almost, you ask? I'm still teaching with the After School Strings Program, even though it has been BUTCHERED by the powers that be. We have drastically reduced teaching time, but the upshot is I get to have control over how all of the low string students learn. Not to be trash talking anyone, but in the past there have been several differences of opinion in technique and teaching etiquette, so I'm sort of glad to have the confusion gone.
Along the same lines, I'm going to try to convince the high school age students that taking lessons is a beneficial experience, because I love teaching, and hopefully they like learning.
Also, apparently I'm a fashion designer of sorts, as well as a tailor of sorts. Weird.
All I can say to this semester is "Let's do this!"
In addition to the two classes I'm taking, I'm working 17 hours a week in the costume shop. Loving the experience and the money, and the best part is I'm done by five every night, so I almost have the chance for a social life.
Why almost, you ask? I'm still teaching with the After School Strings Program, even though it has been BUTCHERED by the powers that be. We have drastically reduced teaching time, but the upshot is I get to have control over how all of the low string students learn. Not to be trash talking anyone, but in the past there have been several differences of opinion in technique and teaching etiquette, so I'm sort of glad to have the confusion gone.
Along the same lines, I'm going to try to convince the high school age students that taking lessons is a beneficial experience, because I love teaching, and hopefully they like learning.
Also, apparently I'm a fashion designer of sorts, as well as a tailor of sorts. Weird.
All I can say to this semester is "Let's do this!"
Thursday, August 26, 2010
FIRST BLOG!!!
Ok, so maybe the title is a little melodramatic, but what can you expect from a Theatre major? Besides, I think life's much to short to be boring all the time, so why not spice it up a bit with silly clothes, or disproportionate reactions to the world around you.
I can't promise how often I'll be able to update this, but crazy things happen all the time in my life, so whenever I get the chance, I'll fill you in on the excitement.
What will the first taste of the crazy that is my life be? Well, here it is:
NEW BOWTIE!!!! (See what I mean about having disproportionate reactions? Fun, huh?)
I can't promise how often I'll be able to update this, but crazy things happen all the time in my life, so whenever I get the chance, I'll fill you in on the excitement.
What will the first taste of the crazy that is my life be? Well, here it is:
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