i)qggi- Out in the Mountains

 
Being single is a viable choice

by Terje Anderson

One of the major joys of being a
gay man is, for me, the freedom to
explore and define new ways of loving,
unfettered by social conventions and
expectations. Freed from the model of
the nuclear family, freed from the
demand to marry, reproduce and settle
down into a conformist life, we face
the unexplored territory of structuring
our relationships and our lives without
rules and, frequently, without models.

That freedom, that trip into
uncharted waters, is exhilarating and
challenging. Coming out is only the
first of a long series of steps in the
liberating business of defining ourselves
as "gay." Faced with seemingly endless
possibilities, gay men and lesbians are
given something which is all too
frequently denied people in our society:
choices.

That is why, when a recent "Out
in the Mountains" staff meeting
discussed the possibility of developing a
"couple of the month" feature, I was
less than_comforgbl_e_.V______A  V

Don't get me wrong, I have
nothing against lesbian and gay couples.
In a heterosexual world, where same
sex couples receive little of the support
(both emotional and material) which
our society gives to married
heterosexuals, maintaining a relationship
is both a challenge and a testament to
the power of lesbian and gay love.

What does bother me is a
tendency to hold coupling up as an
ideal to which we should all aspire or,
worse yet, as proof to the heterosexual
world that we are just as "normal" as
they are. Our dignity as gay men and
lesbians comes from our individual
strengths and weaknesses,,not our desire
to attach ourselves to another or our
ability to mimic straight society’s
institutions.

The couple feature may or may

not materialize (I hope it does), but we ,

need to affirm and support the full
range of lesbian and gay lifestyles and
choices (at least those which are
non-coercive and non—damaging).

I can hear voices out there now
saying "Sounds like just some sour
grapes from someone who can't find a
lover.‘ The fact is that I am single by
choice, and intend to remain that way.
I've been in several serious
relationships, and the lesson I've
learned repeatedly is that I am happier
outside of them.

My last relationship, which ended
over two years ago, lasted through
three years, two countries and three
cities. It contained many moments of
great joy, many of great pain, and
taught me an incredible amount about
myself and how I feel being part of a
couple.

What made the most lasting
impression on me was how much
individuality I lost to the relationship.
From the outside, friends (gay and

straight) treated us as though we were
joined at the hip permanently.
Invitations were never extended
individually, but only to us both.
"TerjeandMichael" became a single
word, not the names of two separate
and distinct individuals. The thought
that we could enjoy different things,

have different interests, and at times
go separate ways seemed lost on even
those friends we tried to convince of
the fact

That loss of individuality became
acute as we began to get to know each
other's friends: All too often, I was
known as "Michael's lover," devoid of
any identifying marks other than our
relationship. He experienced the same
phenomenon with many of my friends.
It began to grow dangerously close to
the possessive nature of "man and
wife,” denying the equal relationship we
were trying so hard to build. '

But not all of the loss of
individuality can be blamed on our
friends. Frequently, I found myself
giving up things which were dear to me
for the sake of the relationship. In the
process, I became not the person that
Michael had fallen in love with, but
rather a homogenized version of my old
self. We both, and our relationship,
suffered from the transformation.

There is a fine line between the
compromises one makes to live with
another person (as a lover or roommate)
and giving up important pieces of one’s
identity. While I might be able to
adjust to changes in sleeping habits
(night people vs. day people), eating
patterns, and the choice of movies, the
demands couples tacitly make upon
each other usually go beyond such
superficial things.

My time and my energy were no
longer my own, but rather a joint
possession. Yet, for example, going to
political meetings is not just a hobby
for me, politics is an inherent part of
my self-identity. Likewise, being asked
to sacrifice late night coffee with
friends, Saturdays spent exploring
ethnic neighborhoods, or hours browsing
in bookstores became much more than
just a set of compromises and
adjustments, it started to infringe upon
my my nature. (Michael doubtless has a
similar list of his own.)

Maintaining the relationship
became an end in itself. It wasn't even
as if I was making concessions for
another person whom I loved, we were

both offering vital pieces of ourselves
for the sake of a third entity, for the

relationship. The relationship itself, not
the things which emerged from it, not
the love we gave each other, became of
paramount importance.

Our friends seemed co-conspirators
in the process. Even at the end, when
it was clear it had become destructive
and draining, when we told people that
a break-up seemed close, we were
counselled to "give it one more try,
don't give up on it." No one_ offered

the obvious and sound advice that it
was "time to cut your losses and move
on." For those, including Michael and I,
who had once believed that we would
always be together, breaking up seemed
an act of betrayal.

It took a great deal of strength to

end the relationship, and even more
effort to rebuild my self-worth after it
had ended.
It seemed as if my self-esteem had
become attached to being part of a
couple. What terrible flaw was in me
that I was unable to maintain a
relationship?

I was reminded of a
pop-psychology book I had read earlier
with the catchy and appropriate title
of "Why Do I Think I am Nothing
Without a Man?” It was a long time
before I recognized that my talents,
interests, abilities and other endearing
traits weren't left behind in the
apartment Michael and I had shared.

I started finding out something
which surprised me. I liked being by
myself, I enjoyed having the freedom
to structure my day, my friendships,
my life without having to worry about
how they fit into how someone else
was structuring mine for me. The
creativity and innovativencss which had
disappeared during the relationship
made a welcome reappearance. I began,
once more, to nurture those things
which were important to me.

In the midst of taking care of my
own needs, the compulsion to mate
disappeared. I had learned to appreciate
my own accomplishments (and failures)
for what they are. The realization that
I don't need another person's undying
affection has freed me from the search
for love. In the long run, that has
allowed love to develop in ways I never
imagined possible.

Only when I stopped thinking of
every gay man I meet as ‘husband
material" did I learn to really open
myself up for loving them. In the
process, I have developed some
wonderful, meaningful and satisfying
relationships with other gay men. Some
of those relationships are sexual, some
are not, but they all have one thing in
common: they allow us to care for and
interact with each other without
endangering those parts of us which
are most vibrant and alive. We love
each other for what we are, without a
need to mold that into what we would
like another to be.

Lovers can change, lovers can
leave, lovers can die. But being able to
make and keep very dear gay men as
friends and brothers, I know that I
will never find myself isolated and
lonely, but always a connected part of
a warm and loving community.

Coupledom is not right for
everyone, including me. Some may
adjust better than I do to its demands,
may find it fulfilling where I find it
stifling. To those who do, my
congratulations and support. To those
who, like myself, exist better on their
own, don't cheat yourself by living
your life for others‘ expectations or
standards.