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.
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