Jogging Musing--ADULT ORIENTED--BE WARNED

I was jogging around Freeman Lake yesterday. This is something I started this past summer. Minus volleyball season, I have done it fairly regularly.  I always park at the main entrance by the geese beach off Ring Road, get my phone, and begin my lumbering few miles along the fairly serene path.

A few times early in the summer, I had parked and started my trek at the other entrance of the greenbelt, across the street from Grace Heartland. Both times there had been men there, backed into parking spots, sitting in their cars doing nothing. One day, I remembered reading an article in the BG Daily Times about gay men backing into parking spots at public parks as a sign to other closeted, married gay men that they were looking for oral satisfaction. Now, I am not a totally uncouth person. I didn't wave my finger at anyone, or run away like I was going to have my pants ripped off me; I am probably not any closeted gay man's type anyways. But, the situation did unnerve me. (Granted, I don't have any idea if these men were searching for this. I mean, it seems like they would be in the same car if they had been, and not in separate ones, but I digress).

(Sidebar--And also, isn't this what Craig's List is for. I mean you spend hours in this parking spot waiting for a possible chance of fillatio.  Craig's List will send notices to your phone. You could be at home putting new wax paper in your shelves, or building a model ship or something while you wait. Anyways...)

Usually, when I figure out why something unnerves me, the unnerving ends, but as I gulped for air ascending what felt like sand dune Giza, I still felt unnerved, because it wasn't the homosexuality of the men that caused it.  I hate when I can't figure my feelings out. I like to wrap things up in tiny little boxes and place them away as solved...over with in my mind. But as I drove home, I couldn't help thinking about those men, or any person who did this. I express myself well. I brag to my wife about always knowing how I feel about anything in any situation at any time. (She hates this, because I don't understand why sometimes she doesn't know how she feels about everything all the time.) I believe in this trusty technique (the few times I do struggle for words to describe how/what I feel) where I take a deep long breath in, breathe it out quickly and just say what I feel, as if my diaphragm  forces the secret emotions out.

So, driving in my car on I-65 South listening to Taylor Swift swear to never get back with Jake Gyllenhaal (I promise I am not one of those reverse parkers), I took my breath, blew it out and thought quietly to myself "They are me." I threw my head back, rolled my eyes, and slouched a little. A sigh came out of me like I an emotional vomit. "They are me", I am them. I hated this realization, who likes seeing themselves like this? Yes, I have never parked backwards at a park in search for head or a handy; however, I have been very desperate; I have been very lost emotionally and spiritually; I have felt utterly directionless; I have wanted to die; I have filled the void with empty, trivial things.

How can I judge these men? How can I sympathize for them, when in reality I am empathizing. I have waited outside a dorm for a girl for hours because she wouldn't return my 14 phone calls. I have viewed pornography when lonely or sad. I have drank too much. I have written the heartbroken letter. I have lied the pitiful lies to myself, "I have no friends," "no one cares."

They are me.

Having confessed those things, I must say, that most of those were born from a previous version of me-- a pre--wonderful wife, emotionally stabilized, depression recovered, grace understanding, version of me. But, they are me. I have been that man. I think most of us have been or still are. We could all probably tell a litany of embarrassing mistakes and judgements that would shade us red.

Desperation is a killer--emotional voids can destroy us/those, who can't find guidance and love to get them through it. At my worst, when I hated pretty much everything about myself, and everything around me, and I was believing those lies that I didn't matter, and that I couldn't feel better, and that I probably should just hope to not wake up-- I believe I heard God talk to me. It was simple, quiet. I was lying in my dorm room bed, on that little prison like mattress. I was sad. Had been sad. I was skinny, had lost more weight than ever thought possible. I had sullen eyes, deep purple rings surrounding them. And in that moment, through the smacks of deep sighs lapping at my heart, I heard God say,  You have to get over it.

It was simple. It was straight forward. There was no light. There wasn't any trumpet or harps...no beautiful brunette Irish angel taking my hand. But I heard it. I know this will be hard to believe for those without faith in a relationship with God. I get that, and I understand why. But it is my truth and that is ok. So, the next day I still felt sad and looked like crap, but I started doing work, and making changes that I knew had to be made, and slowly the void filled, and new people were brought into my life, and a different motif started appearing on the  canvasses of my days.

So I guess I send this out to the backwards parkers, the women who go from boyfriend to boyfriend, the ones who hoard their money, the middle aged who eat too much, the gossips of the workroom, and those afraid to leave their house, in hopes of them knowing that I believe there is hope--that there is an answer to the question of what will stop the deep heavy sighs. He loves me--and he loves you too.