Thoughts in other places

I have a couple posts in the draft stage, but for some reason I can't get around to finishing them. One is about David Lynch's newest film and the other is about my favorite tracks from 2006. Yes, both are long overdue. Then there's a whole 'nother post about my date with that sweet, romantic guy on Friday. I haven't even started that one.

But I wanted to take this time to talk about how blogging has affected my life and how relating stories pulls us closer together in our modern age. To paraphrase my good friend Joseph Campbell, religion is literally a link(ing) to the past. Of course, the way we link to the past is through our stories and our mythologies. I'm not a religious man, but the more I write, the more I relate to and merely relate stories and, as a result, the more pious I become.

Some of my closest friends keep on-line journals. I have met people I otherwise never would have known if it weren't for the stories they told. I will continue to because of their willingness to share their stories.

I don't remember how I was introduced to Aaron. I knew almost instantaneously, however, that he was someone to whom I could relate. He felt the desire to expand the dialectic of the gay experience, and his voice belied a sensitivity that so few people possess. He told me about his softball team and his volleyball team--how he began to fell less isolated through his interaction with other gay men. He told me how he cooked bacon outside to prevent the smell from permeating the house (to which I replied, "Why would anyone want to conceal the smell of bacon?"). Once, he told me about a co-worker of his who hugged him on a regular basis just so she could feel some sort of connection. It made him question the human conditions of solitude and lonelines. I told him one of my favorite quotes--"We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness"--and hoped that those words would provide some solace.

Recently, his boyfriend began telling his story. I know Casey even less than I know Aaron, but if I lived in Minneapolis, I would be their annoying friend. The one who calls everyday. The one who asks if they need anything. The one who tries to distract them. The one who pretends that nothing is awful. Luckily, it seems that they have many people in their support system who can tell them stories and make them feel connected.