I failed again to have a quiet weekend after the turpitude of November.
I went out for dinner at a Peruvian restaurant with two friends on Friday night. It was meant to be casual. I had fever and I was dressed like shit under my new leopard print faux fur coat that makes me roar instead of saying “Yes” or “No”. We are all three cheeky and sexually exploring girls. We meet up regularly to give each other update on our relationships and dates, a typical Sex & the City rendez-vous. We refer to 🍌 for boys and 🍎🍏 for girls and we laugh. It had been a very eventful week at each end of our triangle.
The Peruvian food was greasy. We went for one last drink at the flat of one of us. We had hot whisky and honey lying down on the bed. We naturally started mingling and cuddling, stroking each other like baby cats. We still naturally ended up making out in bed till dawn was breaking. It was super sweet, full of love and care and tenderness, like an energetic recharge. Beautiful.
We now refer to our Peruvian night as a secret code.
I went straight from the Peruvian night to the therapist surrounded by the erotic mist of the morning after. As I was walking, I started preparing in my head the summary of the last couple of weeks. My therapists are very fond of my stories, but they struggle to follow all the characters.
I love my messy life as it is. Yet, I can’t help feeling the injunction to justify it or “fix” it. Where are my impromptu nights leading to? What will I do when I am older? Should I get a ring around my finger while I am still fuckable? How long more will that be?
On my birthday this year, I told someone I was meeting for the first time that I had an awesome yet meaningless life. I said it was all rich and hilarious and populated by colourful people, but I have zero sense of utility or belonging beyond the temporary attractiveness of my anecdotes.
The guy replied: “You should have a kid.”
It took me by surprise.
I’m at the age where, if I was straight and I was on a “meaningless life” crisis, I suppose I could fix it with a man and a baby. What’s the antidote to a meaningless life feeling when you have unusual love paths?
(Don’t get me wrong. I totally believe in gay parenthood. But the road to get there is so unbeaten that you can’t take it to sort yourself out. It is the other way around. You need to be sorted out to get on it.)
How do you project yourself in a peaceful and meaningful future when you’re gay/polyamourous/trans/single and getting older/anyone who doesn’t fit the narrowness of the norm?
There is still no positive role model out there for the love weirdos of my generation. Period. We are in charge of inventing everything from scratch with no instructions whilst still being judged by society. (Yes. Society still judges really hard. Especially girls who mess up with their womb.)
I have no representation in mind of a successful lesbian parenting story where they lived happily ever after. In lesbian movies, one of them always dies in the end or ends up with a man. I have no representation in mind of a woman who aged alone but would arouse admiration from others because she was creative, accomplished and fulfilled. (Maybe Alexandra David-Néel?) When you age alone, people feel sorry for you: you’re a failure at some extents. It is the supreme threat for most human beings. But for me, the supreme threat is boredom.
There is still no positive representations out there for a life style outside the straight nuclear family. Everyone knows that other stuff exists, but it is not as valued and is always perceived like a second best wobbly model. Mentalities are evolving quickly and family schemas are less rigid than they used to be. But I still don’t know how to foresee my future whilst cherishing the craziness of my life which I don’t want to trade.
I work in the world of the American corporate (or shall I say Massachusetts corporate – even more conservative), where the important people always incidentally refer to their spouse and kids when introducing themselves in front of an audience. It seems like they need to plug anecdotes about their hubby and children as a subliminal guarantee that they are respectable, trustworthy and reliable people and won’t screw the business. Why can I not introduce myself in a business context making incidental jokes about my Peruvian nights? That could be a guarantee that I am cheeky, brave, that I live to the fullest and that I am in agreement with my own desires. These can be great business qualities as well.
Why isn’t queer and sexually exploring a recognised social value?
Why is my life style not valued?