Lilianna (Part One)

Today I feel like paying some homage to a very important friend of mine.

As with many things I just “feel like” doing, there's a lot of back story to what's motivating me to act on my instinct. The simple version, in this case, goes something like this:

After I wrote the post on jealousy, about a week ago, I was thinking I should follow up my theoretical discussion with a bit of documentary, some actual footage (in the form of journal entries) of my own experiences of acute jealousy. I've been completely incapacitated by jealousy twice in my life: the first time was when my boyfriend Scott began dating Chani, and the second was when my husband Parker fell in love with Lilianna.

Before I could follow up on my plan to re-visit past jealousies, I happened to get a call from Lilianna, who was having kind of a hard day. We had a great conversation, which is pretty much the norm with us, and I hung up the phone feeling very grateful for our friendship – and in truth, a little awed by how lucky we are to love each other so much. I was reminded of a conversation she and I had several years ago, in which we came to the conclusion that there are real advantages to working though jealousy.

Probably my greatest reward for working through my own jealousy about Lilianna has been Lilianna herself. She's had a huge influence on my life, so much so that I can't imagine what my life would be like if I'd never met her, how different I would be.

So, although I was completely at a loss about how to do her justice, I decided I would write my next entry on Lilianna. A few evenings ago, Parker and I had our “date night” together, which often means that we go for a walk, fix a drink, then sit outside and talk. I had my notebook and pen all ready: I wanted him to help me brainstorm a list of all the things we appreciate about Lilianna. (There's actually a precedent for such an activity: a few years ago, when I happened to be in a huge funk for some reason, Lilianna and her husband Rick wrote down all the things they appreciated about me. Lilianna called me up and read me the whole generous list. I've since forgotten most of the details, but I still remember how loved, cared for, known I felt when she finished reading. “Wow,” I said, all choked up, “And I didn't even have to die!” Too often, we save our appreciation for funerals.)

However, the brainstorming session was not to be. First, I wanted to plan the weekend, and that discussion, brief as it was, annoyed Parker. “Can we be done with the planning yet?” he asked in the petulant tone that's most likely to annoy me. We were off to a great start. Then, one of our neighbors walked by, and ended up telling us a long story about how he's not liking the art class he's taking. Then, given that the subject of education was on our minds, Parker and I spent the rest of our evening strategizing about how to get Denali into a more challenging math class.

Yesterday morning, I got a text from Lilianna that said, “Morning golden bird, want to go out and be sexy rulers of the universe?” I laughed, and read it out loud to Parker. He suggested that I text back, “A Sith lord can have only one apprentice, and the position is taken – your offer is the classic trap.” So I did, and then Parker also texted her himself: “Actually, Gandalf says there is only ONE dark lord, and he does not share power.” Much later in the day, Lilianna replied, “I guess that's a no.” It was only then that I realized the invitation might have been more than metaphorical, but she didn't respond to any further texts from me or Parker.

So this morning, I have been thinking about Lilianna, and wondering whether she might be miffed at me. Our friendship has been an immense source of joy, yes, but it hasn't always been easy. There was even a period of several months, from December of 2008 to April or May of 2009, in which we weren't speaking to each other. Every relationship has a dark side, and ours, at its worst, looked like this:

Lilianna: I refuse to be a victim of your need to feel “better than”.

Viny: I refuse to play lackey to the power freakazoid.

You see, those jests about the impossibility of sharing power have their roots in the past, and inside each glossy fruit on the great spreading tree of our friendship is a small pit. That pit, if you will, carries in it the pattern of the whole, which means it's stamped with the bitter truth about our natures, hers and mine.  Still, there's nothing of greater value, no better cause for celebration, than what we humans can create when we grow together -- roots, trunk, branches, leaves, fruits, pits and all. 

Slice of Life

If you've ever wondered what a typical day in a Poly household is like, I can't help you out.  I have no idea what's typical.  But here, for your perusal, are two vignettes illustrating what this somewhat-atypical-for-us weekend has been like so far.

Friday, 8:00 p.m.

Travis texts me to see if I need anything from Trader Joe's, so I call him and suggest that he get something for breakfast. Sienna (age 2) marches in and announces, “I'm ready for bed – Daddy already put my sleeper on.” So I take her upstairs, tuck her in, and attempt to turn out her light, to loud protestations: “Read me a story first!” I remind her that her daddy just read her a LONG story, so if she wants another, it has to be a SHORT story. Finally, after a story and a song and two drinks of water, she's ready to say goodnight.

Then I head back downstairs to take care of a minor domestic disaster scene: earlier in the evening, while I was in the shower – loudly singing “On Top of Spaghetti,” which is Sienna's favorite shower tune – Sienna was running in and out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor. What I didn't realize until too late is that she was also amusing herself by ripping off squares of toilet paper, basically turning the whole roll into soggy papier mache in the process.

So, I'm intent on my little clean-up task, Parker is upstairs taking a shower, and Travis lets himself into the house. This is the sight that greets him in the doorway of the downstairs bathroom: me, on hands and knees, clad in a short leopard-print silk nightie, black fish-net stockings held up by garter straps, and leopard-print heels with big bows at the ankles. Viny, the would-be sex kitten, surrounded by toilet paper carnage, as if I'd clawed the roll to bits myself in a fit of feline caprice.

Parker, Travis, and I convene in the kitchen to discuss what to do about Denali (age 14), who is at a friend's house and will need a ride home. I send Denali a text, letting him know that Travis will be picking him up at 11. Parker, meanwhile, is headed off to a Halloween party with some Burner friends, and says he probably won't be back until morning. “You're welcome to come back tonight – but if you get back much later than midnight, your bed will already be full,” I remind him.

Saturday, 8:00 a.m.

The five of us – Parker (who got home around 1 or 2 in the morning, and slept in his sleeping bag on the living room floor), Travis, Denali, Sienna, and I – are all gathered around the dining room table, eating breakfast. There's orange juice, tea, bacon, eggs (I tried for over-easy, but ended up with what Parker dubbed “white trash” eggs: eggs with no style at all), sliced avocados, and toast. Everyone is in a pretty good mood, although, as usual, Denali grouses about the food: “You didn't tell me the toast was going to be made with inedible bread.” (Inedible, in this case, meaning apricot-pecan bread from the French bakery.)

The conversation ranges all over the map, with Parker and Denali filling us in on their respective parties, and Sienna interrupting everyone periodically: "Hey guys, I need honey too!" or, “Twavis, can I have a piece of YOUR bacon?”

Our convivial little meal concludes thus:

Parker: “You know, I wonder if the Mormon church is going to come to the conclusion that gay people chose their sexual orientation in the pre-existence. That would be consistent with their stance, you know, because the compassion that attends 'didn't have a choice' is not conducive to their ---”

Sienna (interrupting): “Guys, guys! I gotta tell you somepin!”

Me: “What is it?”

Sienna: “In The Three Little Pigs, the little pig jumped into the butter churn to hide, and he rolled down the hill!”

Me (laughing): “Yes, you always think that page is funny.”

Sienna: “No! It's NOT funny! It's hilarious!”

From the Vault: A Letter to My Parents

January 20, 2007

Dear Mom and Dad,

I have been thinking a lot about the long email I received from Mom about a month ago, and the letter I received from Dad last week.  I’ve been wanting to respond to some of the questions you have posed.  I realize that both of you are probably still processing your own feelings of initial shock and sadness and confusion.  I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that would help you feel better, more comfortable, more hopeful; it may be that this letter will strike you as something I’ve written for myself rather than for you, and I guess that’s at least partly true.  Yes, I’m writing because I feel the need to tell you something about me, about my thoughts and feelings, but ultimately this desire to communicate with you has its roots in my love for both of you.  Thank you for reaching out to me and telling me about your feelings.  It wasn’t easy to read either of your letters, but I understand that you wrote because you care about me.  I really appreciate your willingness to keep the lines of communication open despite how distraught you are, and I hope that what I have to say here will help facilitate further dialogue -- so please accept in advance my apology for anything I may say badly, or too stridently, okay?  Let me know what you need from me, and I will do my best to help in whatever way I can, provided that you don’t ask me to become a different person for you.

There are some recurring themes I see threaded throughout our conversations and letters that I’d like to explore.  I’ve grouped these into four questions that both of you seem to keep asking, either implicitly or explicitly.

Q1) Why on earth would you choose this kind of a life for yourself?

There are two answers to Q1 -- one’s short (“Why not?”) and the other is really long (I intend to write a book addressing this very question).   Lest you think I am being flip with the short answer, I want to clarify:  it’s not that I can’t think of any reasons why not, merely that I can’t think of any reasons why not that I haven’t yet considered and rejected, or considered and addressed to my own satisfaction.

I get the distinct impression that you don’t really want to hear the answer to this question, that you ask it rhetorically, because you are already convinced that I couldn’t possibly have good reasons for certain objectionable features of the life I’ve chosen (and let me throw out there that you seem to have a very skewed impression of what my life is actually like).  If you really want to know the answers, then you have to be willing to listen to what I have to say -- and I’m not at all sure you have any desire to listen to me.  So for right now, I’ll limit my response & just assure you that I feel good about the person I am, and I feel good about the life I am leading.  You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.  However, I can’t imagine that you will trust me -- it seems more likely that you’ll conclude that I’m crazy or brainwashed or terribly deluded.  And I can’t stop you.  You’re free to believe what you like.  But while I can’t speak for others, I know the truth about myself, and can rest secure in this self-knowledge.

I do feel compelled to address, at greater length, some assumptions that seem to be lurking behind your rhetorical question, so bear with me while I catalogue these:
1. Nothing good can come of this.  Well, from my point of view, no statement could be more patently untrue.  The gifts, benefits, and opportunities for growth have been amazing; I find myself feeling overwhelmed with gratitude on a regular basis.  I would really enjoy talking more about these gifts with you, if you are interested.
2. My marriage is doomed.  [Parker] and I have the strongest and most mutually fulfilling relationship of anyone I know who has been together as long as we have; we are that very rare “happy couple.”  And I don’t have to worry that his meeting someone else fantastic, or my meeting someone else fantastic, is going to negatively disrupt what we have together.  I feel completely secure and comfortable in our marriage.  My sense is that we get closer to each other with every passing year, and that only I appreciate him more as time goes on.  I know that I married the right person.  I have no regrets about marrying him -- not a single one.  I never worry that if something doesn’t change, I won’t be happy with him, because I can accept him exactly as he is.  On the other hand, I have no fear that if he changes, our relationship will change for the worse, because I trust that he, like me, is committed to self-improvement -- both by increasing self-knowledge & by developing greater understanding of and compassion for others.  How many people can say this of their marriage?  And of those who do say it, how many will find in ten, twenty, thirty years that their confidence was unfounded -- that they didn’t really know the person they married?  [Parker] and I know each other, really and truly, and we still love each other.  If you want to think our marriage is doomed in spite of my passionate belief that it isn’t, and in spite of all the evidence on my side (most notably all the years we’ve already been happy together), go for it.  I guess I can only hope for some kind of opportunity to say, when he and I have made it to the very end of life (if there is an end) without having split up, “I told you so.”
3.  An “open” marriage is clearly inferior to a monogamous one. Whoa, show me the evidence!  This certainly doesn’t jive with my experience.  And you have no idea how many people I have talked to about their frustrations with their significant other(s) and/or the dynamics of their relationship(s).  Sooner or later, it seems, everyone tells me some kind of story -- about their illicit affair, about the fact that they are always obsessing over someone other than their spouse, or about the agreements they have made to “don’t ask, don’t tell.”  (If you haven’t heard such stories from people you know, perhaps it is because they worry about you passing judgment on them if they told you, not because it isn’t happening.)  How come so many couples seem to be either miserable and monogamous, or miserable and only pretending to be monogamous?  Again, I could go into a long list of all the “pros” to the kind of arrangement [Parker] and I have, but it’s kind of pointless -- after all, I’m not trying to convince you that monogamy is bad.  I’m merely pointing out that the assumption that monogamy is superior is nonsense as far as I’m concerned.  Let’s leave it at this, then: monogamy is neither intrinsically good nor intrinsically bad.  By extension, I believe, non-monogamy is neither intrinsically good nor intrinsically bad.
4. This is bad for [Denali] (and for kids in general). Do you have any evidence for this claim?  Or are you just assuming that anything generally of concern that you might have noticed about [Denali] and his behavior is obviously a result of his parents’ open marriage because it is obviously the case that atypical familial structures are terrible for the children involved?  Back when you had no reason to question our marriage, you didn’t seem unduly concerned about [Denali's] well-being; you weren’t cataloguing symptoms that distressed you, or noting signs that something was terribly wrong, were you?  No doubt you are retroactively going back and assigning great significance to any misgivings you might have entertained over the years, but is this really fair? I know that it might be difficult to grow up in a situation that defies a cultural norm, to have a sense that one is “different” from one’s peers, or that one’s parents are not like other people’s parents, but this is hardly sufficient reason us to fall in line with the lowest common denominator: no one would suggest that “fitting in” should dictate all our decisions about how to live our lives.  I know you both have stood by your religious beliefs even when you’ve found yourself among people who considered them exceedingly strange.  Anyway, if you are really worried that [Denali] is suffering on account of his parents’ atypical marriage, I’d suggest that you talk to [Denali] about it.  Also, if you have specific concerns about [Denali], I would like to know what they are so that I can try to address them.
5. This is bad for me (and people in general).  I am the world’s foremost authority on myself, and I am telling you that this isn’t bad for me.  It’s good for me.  If you want to insist that you know me better than I know myself (while at the same time shaking your head and saying you just don’t understand me at all!), then go for it.  We’re at an impasse.  As for “people in general”: I’ve seen all kinds of ways in which open marriage/non-monogamy/non-traditional family structures can be “bad” for people; I’ve also seen all kinds of ways in which people have benefited enormously from choosing  the type of relationship structure that works for them, rather than putting up with the discomfort of a socially-constructed one-size-fits-all container just because they couldn’t be bothered to think about alternatives, or just because they didn’t have the guts to live they way they felt was right, or just because society’s approval was more important to them than their own happiness.
6.  A lifestyle on the “fringe” is bad/scary/wrong/not acceptable; a more “mainstream” life is good/right/acceptable.  This particular assumption cracks me up, because it flies in the face of your own beliefs in so many ways.  If being on the “fringe” was an admirable thing for our pioneer ancestors, how has going along with the crowd suddenly become what you want for your daughter?  I think we can agree that there is nothing intrinsically bad about “fringe” or good about “mainstream.”  I’ll go further & say that I think it’s a terrible mistake to judge something as good or bad based on how common it is, how familiar it seems to us.  Much-needed social change can only come about because people are willing, occasionally, to challenge the accepted way of doing things.

Q2) How did you get to be the way you are?  Did we go wrong as parents?  Did we teach you “something that makes you feel your behavior is justified or even necessary”?  Alternatively, did [Parker] (and/or other influences in your life) brainwash you/take over your personality?

The related assumption here might go something like this: Because we don’t recognize you, you are either not the person we raised you to be (in which case someone else is responsible for the person you’ve become) or you are the person we raised you to be (in which case we made some kind of grievous error, because the result is so far from what we intended).

Ultimately, I am responsible for myself -- you can’t blame anyone else.  Were you hoping that I would provide confirmation that your mistakes, whatever you think these may be, have caused me to become someone you don’t approve of -- as if I am your punishment?  I hate to break it to you, but this is not all about you.  (By the way, let me just say that it makes me angry to hear this crap about how you must have failed as parents, because I look at the result and see success [because of your parental successes and despite your parental failings] -- and I find it ironic that any complaint of mine adds fuel to the fire, whereas every reassurance I can offer you will be rejected on account of the fact that I’m not to be trusted.  So which is it?  Can my complaints be credible if my compliments are going to be dismissed?)

There are probably things I learned from you that pushed me in this direction.  On the positive side, you taught me to value intelligence, to ask questions, to want to be unique and interesting -- that it was good to “be my own person,” to be introspective, to communicate, to value other people and their perspectives, to strive for compassion and empathy even when others had different beliefs, to recognize and fight against injustice and unfairness.  You taught me that it is okay to be different.  You taught me that women are just as important and capable as men.  You instilled in me a confidence about and a respect for my own body & concern for my physical health -- unlike many of my peers, for example, I never dealt with an eating disorder.  You loved me and accepted me and were often proud of me; the self-esteem you helped nourish in my early childhood sustained me through the harder times we had when I entered adolescence.  I think you were both, in many ways, wonderful parents, and I want to thank you for all you taught me.  I’m sorry if my gratitude for the gifts you gave me devalues them in your eyes.  On the negative side, your own lives were not always inspiring examples of the benefits of “toeing the line.”  You didn’t seem happy, either of you.  You didn’t have many adult friends, and this made me feel that there was something wrong with the traditional nuclear family -- that it was stifling, isolating.  You exacerbated my need for others’ approval -- I always felt I had to prove something, and once it was clear I couldn’t win your approval anymore (because you fought me all through adolescence), I looked elsewhere for it.  Your discomfort around the whole subject of sexuality wasn’t healthy. I spent my teenage years wrapped in fascination and repression, and I didn’t feel that I could talk to either of you about any of the desires that I was experiencing.  You also gave me contradictory messages about whether I should think for myself or do what I was told without question -- and this may have been because you didn’t know how to reconcile some of your own private beliefs with your religion’s “official” position.  The problems you both encountered while internalizing this kind of conflict in your own lives no doubt made a subconscious impression on me.

Just to give you one relevant example of something one of you struggled with:  I was so upset by the whole polygamy thing -- partly because Mom was made so uncomfortable by that passage in Church history -- that I remember once telling [Jack, my high school boyfriend] that if polygamy were really the celestial order of things, then the church wasn’t true.  I said, “If monogamy isn’t practiced in heaven, it had better be because people have quit being proprietary, and everyone is free to love everyone else -- because I just can’t accept that something is okay for men but not for women.”  It never made sense to me how this practice, which was so upsetting to so many women, could possibly have been okay for people like Joseph Smith and Brigham Young (not to mention [my great-great grandmother's] husband) to have engaged in.  I never bought any of the rationalizations I heard, and the bottom line for me was always that I could see the positives of such an arrangement ONLY if women and men were equal. (The idea of having multiple husbands first occurred to me when I first heard about polygamy; and I’d be lying if I pretended not to be secretly pleased at the thought that in some way I’m making up for injustices my female Mormon ancestors endured because my life is testament to the fact that I, a woman, also have the right to multiple simultaneous partners -- but this is, I acknowledge, a childish kind of triumph, and nothing like a justification for my behavior; reaction is a poor substitute for mindful action.) In short, the patriarchal aspects of the religion you bequeathed to me just didn’t make sense alongside other messages you instilled -- messages about women’s inherent equality that the larger culture also echoed.  I guess you could have done a better job of teaching me not to mind injustice?

Anyway, after hearing from Mom that I just don’t seem to be the person you raised, I went looking through my old journals for evidence of myself.  The following excerpts might help elucidate a few things -- I’ll let my former self speak on her own behalf for a little while:

(Age 13 or 14) I think sometimes I shie away from doing what I should because of H.  I really admire her in some ways she’s so good & sweet etc, but she doesn’t seem creative at all, and I am reluctant to be like everyone else.  She has a “Molly Mormon” type of attitude -- and I hate being “typical”.  I like being my own person -- unique.  But I can still be good and stay unique.  I don’t have to be just like anyone.  But I have to try harder.  I think I’ve shunned asking God about some of my problems -- like boys -- because I don’t want to hear the answer.  H keeps telling me not to go boy-crazy and she seems to be the epitome of spirituality, so I assumed you couldn’t like boys and be spiritual at the same time.  I have kinda had a conceptualized image of a “good girl”.  Well, I can be my own kind of good.

(Age 15) Things it would be “nice” to do are namely BE PERFECT.  You know.  Clean room, gorgeous hair & body while still being humble, 4.0’s, stop listening to Rock ‘n’ Roll (maybe. that’s not really “wrong”) get better in Gymnastics, be as good as a concert pianist & take up violin as well, use my artistic talent (take lessons) -- also take up ballet and keep winning in Drama.  Memorize scriptures, get 800’s on SAT’s, be a peacemaker, visit the sick and afflicted, never say anything bad about anyone, and still remain an interesting person.  Stop acting like what your parents think is an airhead.

(Age 15) Actually, I think I must be boy-crazy.  It kind of scares me, but I don’t want to give them up because I like them so much.  Maybe Blanche (Streetcar Nmd. Desire) has wormed her way into my personality and I’ve turned into a nymphomaniac.  But nymphomaniacs are at least interesting.  I mean, wouldn’t it just be an enriching experience for all the people who know me?  To say they’d known a sex maniac?  Or maybe someone whose brain had turned to Jello from too much sugar?  Actually, I’m just very confused.  I don’t know what I believe in or what I want.  If I knew for instance, that death was IT, then I would be a totally different person.

(Age 16) Well.  [Jack] wants to see some 14 yr. old named _____.  Fine.  But he thinks it would be two-timing to go out with both of us.  I guess it’s basically off.

(Age 17) The other thing I don’t buy is what my mother has been complaining about -- the “you just seem like you’re only going to do what you WANT, [Viny].  And that’s not reality.”  Well, why can’t it be reality?  And why can’t I do as much of what I want as possible?  The thing is, once I’ve distinguished between what I want at the moment & what I’ll want later, how the two affect each other & interact, then I can see no reason not to do what I want.  I pity my parents.  They don’t have fun.  I don’t want to live like they do.  There is something to be said for security, but not at the expense of losing opportunities and stagnating.  I refuse to resign myself to that kind of a life, because it isn’t living’s full potential.  I want to suck every ounce of life out of everything I can get hold of.  And why not?  I’ll have so much more to share that way.

(Age 17) I guess I’ve asked “Why does it have to be this way” so much that the “it doesn’t’s” have affected more than I intended.  This isn’t a free-write.  I’m following a logical train of thought.  Probably because I figured out the problem in the first few sentences.  So now what?  What does it mean that now I know I’m scared?  That I’m beginning to want to view things from the “highest good” perspective and I don’t know what that is?  I have this tendency to think that we have a zillion rules because God knows with greater freedom comes greater responsibility and so many people aren’t capable of being held accountable for themselves.  Well, responsibility frightens me.  I’d almost just rather follow all the rules -- even the ones that aren’t rules -- unquestioningly so someone else is responsible for my life.  But I’m not sure I can do that now or even that I’d wish to.  Because how could I be dead after I’ve experienced life?  Just willingly hand over my awareness to the encompassing bureaucracy of rules and logical but ridiculous procedures and orders?  Things that work for the masses but not the individual?  But, I don’t DISBELIEVE things just because people follow them unquestioningly.  So, I have to question but remain teachable -- Oh, it’s so difficult and I’m so afraid I’ll completely screw it all up somehow.  I’m only a human being, but I cannot be less now, either.  If I were to regress now I couldn’t forgive myself.  I’ve gotten myself into a place where I must keep going forward even though it is so frightening.

Q3) [Omitted, as it gets into personal stuff about my parents that is not my business to share without their permission]

Q4) Why did you tell us?  Why did you tell us NOW?  Why didn’t you spare us? What good could possibly come from telling us something we don’t want to know?

I have to admit that it’s utterly incomprehensible to me how you could both be asking this question when I thought I had made it SO CLEAR what my motivations in telling you were.  I can only conclude that I failed in my attempts to communicate, or you refused to believe what I said, or the shock of the revelation caused you to forget everything I said leading up to it.

So, I’ll repeat myself.  For a very long time, I wondered if I was making the right decision in keeping you in the dark about really important things going on in my life.  We are NOT talking here about my private sexual life.  We are talking about my life.  When people start dating someone, fall in love, and end up moving to be in the vicinity of that person, or make the decision not to move on account of that person, it’s almost always the case that their family, friends, and even acquaintances are at least aware of the relationship that is exerting such an influence on every decision being made.  I felt I was always having to hide from you, to omit, to change the topic, and this went against my very strong commitment to complete honesty.  It especially pained me to have to worry about [Denali] innocently disclosing something to you.  One example I gave Mom was the time you guys called him in Denmark to wish him a happy birthday, and [Parker] happened to be off on a architectural tour of Germany and Holland, and [Scott] happened to be visiting, and I knew you knew that [Parker] was away, and so if, in the course of relating the day’s events, [Denali] had mentioned [Scott], you would probably have wondered what he was doing there without [Parker] present.  It wasn’t just my own discomfort that was the problem, either.  [Parker] was never very comfortable with the fact that you guys didn’t know, and worried about what to say if ever you called while I was away for the weekend.  Then, after [Helen, Parker's mother] knew the whole story, she had to feel uncomfortable about keeping something from you, too.  To make matters worse, it’s not just other people in the family who’ve been unwittingly drawn into this intrigue: I’ve actually had to warn my neighbors not to say anything to you.  The whole ruse was getting truly ridiculous.  When [Denali] started saying things that made me think his relationship with you two was being compromised, because he didn’t feel he could “really talk to you” since you “wouldn’t approve of our lives,” I began to think it was high time to stop lying to you -- that my desire to spare you grief was not really an excuse for my own cowardice.

Several months ago, I was editing a manuscript for a therapist, and came across some mental exercise in which readers were admonished to reflect upon what they’d do if they knew that they had only one more week to live (or something along those lines).  I realized that I didn’t want to die without my own parents knowing who I really am.  You may think that it’s selfish to want to be remembered accurately after my death; you may not even sympathize with that desire at all.  But I place great value on authenticity and truth, in all its splendor and all its ugliness.  I was horrified when I learned that Mom was thinking of getting rid of her journals because they were too “negative,” just pulling out the edifying bits for posterity before she chucked them.  I know I wouldn’t want some whitewashed or gilded version of myself surviving and supplanting the real me.  Anyway, I realized that if I would want to tell you the truth before I died, I should be telling you the truth now.

I was in a bit of a bind, though, because I had ascertained that you two were going through some kind of a difficult time in your marriage, and I really didn’t want to add any pain to your lives.  [....] It had to happen at some point, though, and for myself I am relieved to have the truth out in the open at last.  I’m sorry that my feeling of relief seems to you to come at your expense.  [....]

As for what good could possibly come from having told you something you didn’t want to hear, only time will tell, I guess.  Both of you have lamented that there is more distance between us now, as though my having revealed the truth has actually widened the rift.  As I said to Mom, I have known just how wide the rift is for a long time now.  It was only an eventuality for you; it was an actuality for me.  All I’ve done is cleared the fog away, shown you what was at your feet all along.  I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe that ignorance is bliss.  Fake bliss doesn’t count.  Bliss that can be shattered by the truth doesn’t count.  So, here we are: this is reality.  It may look bleak to you, but I see a lot of hope here.  Any gain we make now, any advance in our understanding and acceptance of each other, will be a real gain.  We have a solid foundation now for re-building our relationship, if we choose to do so.  And I know that I want to have a meaningful relationship with both of you, and am committed to  working to make that happen.  I love and care about you both.  Sometimes I wish I could make you happy, but that’s something you will have to do for yourselves.

I wrote a poem in response to the email Mom sent me originally, but it’s just as applicable a response to Dad’s letter, so I will enclose it.  That’s the thought I’d like to leave you with.


                    Much love, as always,
                     [Viny]




*****

Singularity

Before our common ground
gets whittled down
to we both like cinnamon,
I want to oust the mote
in my right I
long enough to see
your soul at home
waving to me
across the canyon.

Then, I want to send
a carrier pigeon
(actually, anything
that flies would do)
with the following note
tied tightly to its foot:
What if I am only
wrong on the face of it?

Consider this an invitation
into my pitted cave,
my rosy subcellular vault,
where, if you find yourself spent,
you may fall asleep
comforted in layers
of my mitochondrial warmth.

Further in, you and I
are like entangled particles
in a metaphysicist’s dream:
woven, even worlds apart,
into the same universe
when judgment is forever coming
and every love is innocent.

Poly FAQ #2: What Makes You Think You Can Have Your Cake and Eat It Too?

Back when my sociologist friends were teaching at the local university, they would occasionally invite me to give a guest lecture on polyamory. I always devoted the last half hour or so to a Q & A session. Almost invariably, one of the students would ask me something like this:

If you knew you were poly/wanted to “play the field”/couldn't commit to just one person, why did you get married?

This question continues to puzzle me, because the answer seems so obvious.

It's kind of like asking, If you knew you wanted to travel/be a professional athlete/have a wildly successful career, why did you have children?

On one level, such a question makes sense. It's kind of hard to float down the Amazon with a toddler who seems intent on pitching headfirst out of the boat to get a closer look at the pretty piranhas; it's a real bitch to get up and train at 5 a.m. every morning when your twins aren't yet sleeping through the night; and it's almost impossible to climb the corporate ladder while your preschooler is pulling on your expensive suit jacket with jammy hands, whining, “Mommymommymommy! ”

However, there are a lot of travel junkies, professional athletes, and CEOs who choose to become parents. Most of them, if asked WHY they made this choice, would probably respond, “Because I wanted children.”

So, for anyone who wonders: I got married because I wanted to.

Why did I want to be married? For many of the same reasons anyone else wants to be married, I imagine: because I liked the idea of building a life together with someone whose company I enjoyed, because I wanted to have a family of my own, because I wanted to secure the long-term support of a dedicated partner. Oh, and the tax breaks are nice.

Why did I want to marry Parker? Again, I could list some reasons that others might also give: because I was in love with him, because I couldn't – or didn't want to – imagine my life without him, because it seemed like the logical “next step” in our relationship, because I thought we'd make good parents together, because I was pretty sure we'd get along on a daily basis. I can also list some reasons that are more specifically about Parker: because he was the most interesting person I'd ever met, because he was able to drag me out of the prison of my comfort zone...and because I knew he wasn't going to hold me to that “forsaking all others” clause.

People who ask me, “Why did you get married?” aren't really wondering about my reasons, though. What they are really saying is this: “Dammit, this isn't FAIR. You have to choose just ONE: freedom OR security; just playing around OR really working at a relationship.” They've had monogamy drilled into their heads: “Pick ONE: person A OR person B. Every choice entails a sacrifice. You can't have your cake and eat it too.”

Some polyamorous people choose not to marry. Those of us who are married, though, incite the ire of everyone who believes that the benefits of marriage are bought at a steep price.

Yes, we all have to make choices, and opening one door often means shutting others, at least temporarily. At the moment, for example, I am choosing to sit at my computer and type, and this means there are a whole host of other activities I'm foregoing – mopping the kitchen floor, painting my fingernails, reading Fanny Hill, getting a massage, earning money, making a cake to replace the one that got eaten earlier this evening (man, was it yummy!).

But in the grand scheme of things, there's plenty of cake – and pie, and peaches, and whipped cream too – to go around. And no, it won't make you fat.

It's a Small World (Redux)

For someone who is not a big believer in fate, my life has sure been crammed with coincidences.

Here's the latest coincident incident, illustrating two banal truisms: 1) it's a small world, and 2) in such a small world, even the most seemingly innocuous white lies can circumnavigate the globe and come back to bite you in the butt.

Scene One (five or six months ago): My boyfriend Travis and I join the Schlessingers, a charming couple of octogenarian academics, for dinner at their house. When he originally asked me to accompany him, Travis said he wasn't sure he wanted to explain to these lovely folks the unconventional nature of our relationship, so I agreed to keep my married status on the down-low. This basically means that I am posing as a single person – which is not actually all that easy, since in the course of the dinner conversation, I get asked an awful lot of questions about myself. I somehow manage to evade those few queries I can't answer truthfully (e.g., “So, are you two going to get married, or what?”). The dinner safely over, and the shoals of social awkwardness successfully navigated, Travis and I high-five each other and breathe a sigh of relief.

Scene Two (five or six hours ago, right before leaving for the airport to return home after a big family hoopla in honor of Parker's grandma's 95^th birthday): I'm standing in my mother-in-law's kitchen with Parker's Great Aunt Mattie. She's informing us that she hopes to visit us when she makes a trip to the southwest next month. “I'll be staying with some old friends of mine who live there. The Schlessingers – he's a physicist,” she adds – and, like an idiot, I blurt out, “The Schlessingers?!” Aunt Mattie: “You know them?” Me, backtracking: “Um, not all that well.” Aunt Mattie: “But you've met them?” Me: “Just briefly.” Aunt Mattie: “But that's remarkable! I've known them for sixty years, since before they were even married! Wonderful people, the Schlessingers! When I come, we simply must get together, all of us....now, how did you meet them?”

Faced with a question I couldn't gracefully avoid, not nohow, I coughed up a minimal explanation. “A friend of mine house-sits for them sometimes,” I said, wisely electing not to flesh out the story with further details, such as, “Yeah, actually I'm on intimate terms with their place: while they were away this summer, I cooked in their kitchen...slept in their bed...swam naked in their pool...it's too bad you won't enjoy your stay there half as much as I enjoyed mine!”

Oh dear.  I can only imagine how Scene Three will unfold.

Poly FAQ #1: What about Jealousy?

In poly support groups everywhere, online and off, the topic of jealousy is hashed and rehashed. There is therefore nothing I can say about it that hasn't already been said.

However, today I am feeling in the mood to discuss jealousy.  

Yesterday, Parker's sister got an email from their father.  This was like a thunderbolt from the blue: the first communication from him in over twenty years.  So, I've never met my father-in-law, and he's never met any of his grandchildren. In the letter, which was about three lines long, he explains that the reason he's been so remote (ha! understatement of the decade) is because he needs to be completely disengaged from his ex-wife, "100%, not 99.9%."   

And why is that?  Because my evil stepmother-in-law is too jealous to allow him to maintain a relationship with anyone from his former life.  Apparently, he pretty much doesn't interact with anyone except her.  The whole situation is pathetic.

That's what happens when the dyad is elevated above all else, when monogamy becomes pathology.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, here's an updated version of something I wrote on the topic of jealousy a few years ago:

In talking to people who are new to poly, or who are poly-curious, the topic of jealousy comes up so frequently because the feeling of jealousy is so pervasive. Unless you are one of those rare boddisatva types (and I have yet to meet one), then you have an ego, and you will experience jealousy. If you haven't experienced it yet, you will – and it will probably feel more crippling than you could have imagined.

While some people do seem less inclined to jealousy (my husband Parker fits into this category), I am very suspicious of people who claim not to experience jealousy at all.  In my estimation, people who've never felt jealous have either never been genuinely attached to anyone, or they have yet to experience a real threat to their feeling of attachment.   

That said, it is possible to get past jealousy in a particular relationship.  I have experienced this first hand. But it's not possible to get past it in a global sense without letting go of the ego entirely. Barring complete transcendence of ego, then, the lack of jealousy in a new relationship either doesn't mean much (i.e., it will crop up sooner or later) or it means lack of attachment. 

There are some people in the poly world who pride themselves on being "over all that jealousy bullshit" when really they're just jaded, not able to invest in their relationships very much any more.  I personally would rather be involved with people who understand that they are human, who allow themselves to feel what they feel.

However, I have known a lot of people who use the equation of jealousy = caring as an excuse for holding on to jealousy, even though it's causing all sorts of problems: "If I were to stop being jealous," they say, "I'd have to stop caring."

Jealousy is surmountable, even if it can't be entirely avoided. It just takes work. Deciding not to care is certainly the ego's way of protecting itself, but it isn't the only way to get over negative emotions. There is a better way. Experiencing jealousy, and caring enough to get over it, is the real proof that you've got a healthy relationship -- both to your own emotions and to your partner(s). Emotions, even powerful ones like jealousy, are transient. Acknowledge them and then move on.

I think of jealousy as being akin to the thirst reflex.  It's there for a reason. Yes, some people's thirst reflex kicks in the second they walk out into the sunshine without their water bottle.  Other people can travel all day through the Sahara, sucking on a pebble to moisten their mouths.  But just as we all need water, we all need to feel some degree of security in our relationships with others.  Jealousy is an emotional reflex, warning us that we're feeling insecure.  

There are lots of factors that contribute to how much jealousy a given person will experience. Here are a few possibilities:

1. Genetic predisposition toward jealousy, or to lack thereof.
2. Early childhood experiences – secure/insecure attachment to parent figure(s), etc.
3. Previous important relationships, both sexual and platonic: did you have any experiences that would lead you to mistrust others? How have you overcome jealousy in the past?
4. Cultural milieu. Each of us is aware of, and affected by, multiple cultures and subcultures. In some cultures, violence in the name of jealousy is expected and excused. In the poly subculture, the less jealous you are, the more highly "evolved" you've proven yourself to be – and this sets up a scenario in which some people are at pains to convince themselves and others that they are really more okay than they are, simply because they want respect from their peers. What they will get, instead, is drama. Jealousy is the perpetual unwanted guest at the polyamorous dinner party. If you want to show him to the door, you first have to acknowledge the fact that yes, he's sitting there, flinging mashed potatoes around, shooting peas at the host, just generally behaving like an ass.

There are also factors that are specific to specific relationships:

5. How new is the relationship? The jealousy experienced in long-standing relationships has a different quality to it. In general, people are most likely to feel most jealous in the “obsessive” phase of a new relationship. But it's also true that having a long-standing partner become obsessive about someone new can be very difficult, because there's a lot at stake.
6. Precedents set in previous situations with the partner in question. Do you trust your partner to stick around, to communicate with you, etc.? If so, it will be easier to work through jealousy. If there is no precedent – if this is the first time this partner has been interested in someone else – the experience of jealousy will be more acute, partly because you don't know what to expect.
7. How dispensable do you feel? If there's good reason to think that your partner's interest in someone else means he or she will leave you, then jealousy is nigh impossible to resolve. This is why, in the general culture, where infidelity frequently leads to divorce, jealousy is this monstrous awful thing, far worse than the annoying dinner guest at the poly table.
8. The strength of the relationship(s) between all people involved. The stronger these are, the better the chances of resolving jealousy. And in my experience, strong relationships rely on honesty and effective communication.

So, let's say your emotional "thirst reflex" has kicked in.  You realize you're feeling insecure.  Are you justified in feeling insecure?  Maybe yes, and maybe no, but jealousy is your cue to pay attention to what is happening -- in your relationship and inside yourself.  The real question is this: knowing what you know -- about yourself, your partner(s), the history of the relationship(s) -- how are you going to regain a sense of security?  In short, what are you going to DO with your jealousy?

A piece of advice: when you find yourself in a chaotic sea of emotion, storm-tossed, clinging to what feels like the wreckage of your ego, please don't drink the seawater.  

Judgment vs. Radical Inclusion

My boyfriend Travis has two housemates: Beth (in her thirties, very attractive, something of a bohemian) and Pat (in her eighties, still very active, socially and politically progressive). Neither of these women approves of me. They know I'm married, and they can't figure out why Travis is wasting his time with me.

On Monday morning, I had a conversation with Beth. She was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, all decked out in her Lycra biking gear, inquiring about our weekend.  She wanted to know what we'd thought of Decompression, a regional Burning Man event held every fall. Travis had joined me, my husband, and our two children for this event, which means he'd gotten to drive five hours, then interact with a bunch of strangers, then try to hula hoop while getting sunburned, then wait around for the effigy to burn, then sleep alone (in a tent that didn't zip up properly, right near a sound stage with loud music going all night), then go through the trauma of having to use a port-a-potty that was literally overflowing, and then drive five hours back home. I don't think the fact that he and I managed, at one point, to have sex in the back seat of his car nearly made up for what he went through this past weekend. But Travis is a good sport.

“It was really interesting,” he said, telling Beth about the fire, the fireworks, the dancing and the dressing up.

Beth heard his recap without really listening to it, and then delivered her verdict, which was directed at me rather than Travis:

“I just don't understand what people get out of big 'creative' gatherings like that,” she said, with the subtlest of sneers. “I have no interest in going, myself. I mean, sure, there's stuff to see, but how enjoyable is it when everyone there is just showing off, putting all this effort into their project, their self-expression, trying to look good?”

Now, I'm not a major Burning Man devotee. I've been to a few regional events in the past couple of years, mainly because my husband has become a major Burning Man devotee, and I want to support his interests.

Nevertheless, I felt compelled to set Beth straight, so I launched into a fairly impassioned speech on what I get out of Burning Man events. I told her about the nexus of the sacred and the profane, the authenticity and spontaneity of the proceedings, the sheer likeability of most of the people there. I got a bit preachy about the Burner principle of Radical Inclusion.

I felt a little funny delivering this manifesto, given that I myself had been bitten, pretty severely, by the judgment bug at Decompression.

Exhibit A: Man eats unheated ravioli straight out of the can, using his fingers. Food snob that I am, I repress a shudder. Travis notices my reaction, and ribs me a little: “What wine would pair best with that meal, do you think?”

Exhibit B: I offer a plate of bacon to a group of guys who've been up all night, all of whom are very, very stoned and/or inebriated. Some of them have trouble locating the piece of bacon with their fingers. One of them holds up the plastic inner liner of a boxed wine, which still has a little bit of red liquid sloshing around in it, and gestures in my direction. I politely decline to drink from the communal spigot. Understand: it's 9 a.m. In my book, red wine is simply not breakfast fare.

I looked at those people and, in my mind, said the same thing Beth was saying: “I just don't understand what you're getting out of this.” I looked at them and thought, “You are uncool, unclassy, and – worst of all – unhealthy.” I looked at them and thought, “I'm better than you.”

So why was I jumping to the defense of Decompression, Burners as a group, the whole Burning Man code of ethics? Simple: because Beth wasn't really attacking the notion of “big 'creative' gatherings” – she was attacking me. There was a subtext to her dismissive comments, and it was this: “I'm better than you.”

Listening to Beth's critique, I discovered something I genuinely like about the Burning Man events I've attended, something I find truly valuable: the almost complete absence of judgment there, the near-freedom from one-upsmanship. I say “almost complete absence” and “near-freedom” because, after all, I was there, along with my holier-than-thou snobbery.

Does that make me a hypocrite? Yes.

When it comes right down to it, we're all hypocrites – at least until we realize that Radical Inclusion means seeing OURSELVES as whole beings. It means accepting that the parts of ourselves we like and approve of are intimately entangled with parts of ourselves we dislike and wish to disavow. Radical Inclusion could just as well be called Shadow Integration.

And this brings me to another observation: it has always seemed to me that the people who are most judgmental of me and my polyamorous “lifestyle” are people who are struggling with desires they can't accept, fantasy scripts they can't bear to see actually acted out by someone else. 

Maybe Beth's real issue with me is that I remind her too much of herself.  Just a guess. 

Questions from My Mother-in-law

We came out to Parker's mother because we were ratted out. This is how it happened: purely by coincidence, Scott and I were spotted at the Getty museum in L.A. by a family friend, who then reported her “sighting” to Parker's mother.

I arrived home from L.A. to an email exchange with my mother-in-law that went something like this:

Helen: What a small world. Catherine was at the Getty at the same time you were on Saturday.

Me: No way! Why didn't she say hi?

Helen: I guess she didn't say hi because she was unsure of the exact nature of your relationship with Scott. Not that I understand it myself.

Me: Yeah, I can see how Catherine would have felt awkward. So, are you saying you don't understand my relationship with Scott because you wish you did? If you want to know more about anything, I'd be happy to tell you – or have Parker tell you.

Helen: Now that you mention it, I guess I do want to know. I'm imagining the worst, a chaotic spiral leading nowhere good.

So Parker wrote his mother a letter, explaining the situation. She responded with a lot of concerns and a lot of questions. The most important question, which she actually voiced, was rhetorical: Do you honestly think a marriage like this can survive?

Her other questions, followed by my actual responses, written in May of 2003, appear below.

1) What are you getting out of this arrangement? The adoration of two men instead of just one? The excitement of something taboo?

Obviously I get a lot out of this arrangement, yes. Adoration and excitement are certainly part of it. You seem to imply that it's greedy to want or need adoration from more than just one person, and maybe it is. As for violating a taboo -- the implication is that I'm trying to be cooler than the other kids on the block, putting myself above the rest of the world, convincing myself that I'm not subject to the same rules and limitations as the rest of humankind. But it's scarcely a universal taboo; not every culture insists on the sanctity and inviolability of the nuclear family as we understand in this culture. But it isn't all fun and games, [Helen]. You know as well as I do that people are mercurial, that what comes from them isn't always adoration. I get a lot, and I also have to give a lot. I am not the only person benefiting from this arrangement.

2) Are you still 12 years old, unsure if you're pretty enough?

Well, that was a low blow, [Helen]. I know that my adolescent insecurities have played their part in my adult life, but no, I'm not 12 anymore. And I'm not plagued by worries that I'm not attractive enough, though it's probable that [Scott] has had a lot to do with my adult confidence. It's tough to spend your teenage years as a nerd, sure there must be something wrong with you, then get married at nineteen, having had no sexual experience, and not still feel insecure. So I guess the answer to that one is, yeah, maybe when I met [Scott] I was still partly that awkward 12-year-old looking for reassurance, which I got, and am immensely grateful for. This new confidence, this ability to be at peace with myself, no longer haunted by the rejection I experienced as a child, is in many ways a gift from [Scott], a gift not just to me but to [Parker] and [Denali] as well. Maybe I could have found confidence in some other way, but I didn't. However, it would be a huge mistake to think this was my only motive, to chalk everything up to that particular immaturity.

3) Would you be willing to let [Parker] run off with another woman?

It depends on what you mean by "run off." If you mean, would I be willing to let him have another intimate relationship, sexual or not, then the answer is yes. In fact, I think this is something that would be good for him. Would it be difficult for me? Yes, of course. But I have a lot of faith in our ability to overcome the difficulties the way we have always been able to deal with other problems in our life together. We're not perfect and our marriage is not perfect, but we are both committed to working on these things together. If he were to "run off," that would be cheating. I am not "running off." I'm still here, taking my responsibilities seriously, despite what you may think.

4) Is your affair with [Scott] recreational? Love?

Do you really think [Scott] and I could weather everything that has happened in the last 4 1/2 years if we didn't love each other? It's been too difficult; the rewards of recreational sex aren't enough to compensate us for all the work we've done maintaining our relationship. I'm glad that you don't think it's impossible to love more than one person at once; otherwise, we'd be poverty-stricken indeed, and no couple would even be able to add children to their family without somehow taking something away from each other. As for your question, isn't this hurtful to [Parker], I think he can answer that question better than I. When I first asked [Parker] what he thought about my beginning a sexual relationship with [Scott] (which was definitely before anything ever happened), he responded simply: [Viny], if you were happy about it, why would I be unhappy? Perhaps I invested too much in his response; I discovered later, when it ceased to be an theoretical question, that he was hurt and made insecure by my decision to take him at his word. That's human nature for you. But I also think that [Parker] no longer feels threatened by my feelings for someone else, that he's learned to understand his own jealousy, and I hope that I will be able to learn as much as he has when he falls in love with someone else. [Parker] knows that I love him, that I'm not just playing around, and that I'm trying my best to be vigilant, to watch out for any sign from him that he's having trouble. For what it's worth, I have had to go through feeling jealous when [Scott] started dating another woman (who knows about me) about a year & a half ago. It wasn't easy. But I don't believe that jealousy equals love.

5) Are you proud of the fact that you broke up a marriage?

Why in god's name would I be proud of such a thing? That's assuming that I DID break up a marriage. While I'm certainly culpable -- and have had to wrestle with a lot of guilt -- I don't think I did it single-handedly. [Scott] wasn't entirely happy with [Monique], or so he has many times said, or he wouldn't have begun a relationship with me. I'm not necessarily pleased by the implication that I must not have been happy in my marriage, then, but I do think there are significant differences. The whole story of how this began and who thought what is too long to recount here, but I have often wondered if [Scott] and [Monique] would have gotten married in the first place if I hadn't been around. So that's a hard one. And I think that [Scott] and I both made a mistake there, one I don't plan on repeating -- [Monique] was certainly very hurt, and it's our fault more than her own, that's sure.

All the other questions, about other men in my life, other women in [Parker]'s, and the "real victim" -- [Denali] -- are the questions we think about most often, every day in fact. There has been a "next man," actually, once, several months ago, a very very dear friend of mine whom I've known for almost ten years, and while [Scott] had initially agreed, he has had a horrible time since then. There's a lot to think about. Is [Denali] a victim, really? That's the real question, perhaps the most important one. Obviously, I don't think this is bad for [Denali], or I couldn't be okay having made the decisions I have. I'd like to hear more about why you think he's the real victim, and I'd like to spend a much longer time telling you what I think about the way [Denali] (and maybe another child, someday) fit into our lives. I hope you know that I adore my child, that I take being a mother seriously, that I want him to be happy and am doing what I can to ensure that he grows up into a good person. I also know that you disapprove of us as parents, that there's always this implicit comparison between us and parents you think are more devoted. This has really hurt my feelings. I hope [Parker] addresses this whole issue in his email (I don't know what he's saying yet, and he doesn't know what I've said -- we thought separate responses might give you a better sense of where we're each coming from. Contradictions or elisions will be instructive for all of us, I hope). But now I have to go teach my class.

Coming Out -- A Timeline

If you're one of us – that is, you're poly, involved with someone who is poly, or your relationships generally don't fit into the one-size-fits-all container available at Couples-R-Us – there's a good chance you're still “in the closet” about it.

Why come out? Especially when we all know that normal people don't take kindly to having freaks in their midst?

This was one of the (rhetorical) questions I got from my parents when I finally came out to them. Okay, they didn't actually call me a freak, but it was certainly implied by the horrified tone in which they talked about my fringe lifestyle.

My reasons for coming out (to most people I know) and for staying in the closet (when it comes to a more public forum, such as facebook) may not be the same as other people's reasons for choosing whether to disclose or keep it close; but for what it's worth, I thought I'd share a timeline of my own experiences, both in and out of the closet.

1993-1998: The fact that my marriage was theoretically open was something I didn't discuss with anyone except my husband – with three exceptions. My motive for spilling the secret, in each of those three cases, was the same: I was attracted to someone, and I wanted him to know that I wasn't as out-of-bounds as I might appear to be. (These confessions were extremely effective, by the way.)

1999-2000: During the first year of my affair with Scott, I told almost no one about it. There were many reasons for secrecy, not the least of which was that Scott was cheating on his significant other, and we didn't want her to find out. I was also still shell-shocked from the reaction Parker had gotten from the one friend he told: after writing his closest male friend a long email about the fact that his wife was sleeping with another guy, Parker got an immediate and impassioned response, in which this normally gentle soul wrote, “If it were me, I'd feel like killing someone. In fact, I'm considering homicide on your behalf.” Whoa.

      Still, I made a few confessions. I spilled the whole story to my brother, because it was starting to weigh on me that my family wasn't seeing “the real me,” and I knew that my brother, as a fellow black sheep (partying, body-piercing), would go easy on the judgment.

      In the summer of 1999, I attended a Writers at Work conference. In my nonfiction workshop, Lucy Grealy (whose highly-charged erotic essay I'd just read in Nerve magazine) said something about a woman she knew who had a tattoo on each cheek, “One for her husband, and one for her lover.” Unable to resist this opportunity to be the provocateur, I piped up, “I have a husband and a lover. And I highly recommend it.” It was like a little bomb had gone off, destroying the flow of the conversation and sending sparks of curiosity and animosity zinging around the room. The subject was immediately changed.

      At that same conference, I had a more in-depth conversation with Mark Doty, a former professor of mine (whose very moving memoir about his partner's death from AIDS I had also recently read), about the fact that I was currently in two romantic relationships, and about how my partners knew about and accepted each other. He seemed to think this was a novel concept: “In my world, no one really expects sexual exclusivity,” he mused, “but being in love with more than one person at a time is a totally different thing....aren't your partners jealous of each other?”

2000-2003: After Scott and Monique got divorced, there was no longer any pressing need to keep my relationship with him a secret. Still, we were initially cautious, fearing some kind of bad reaction. As time went on, however, it became increasingly awkward to keep our friends in the dark. Parker might take our son Denali on an outing with friends of ours on a weekend when I was staying with Scott, for example, and, naturally, someone would invariably ask, “Where's Viny?” At first, Parker would just say, “Oh, it's one of her wandering days.” No one pressed him for details, but we could tell they were beginning to wonder. So eventually, we came out to all of our close friends. Social events were a lot easier to navigate after that – Scott even came to parties with us on occasion, and our friends simply accepted him as one of us.

      There was one other new motivation for going semi-public with our open marriage: in 2001, Parker became obsessed with a friend of ours. I found myself in the position of confessing something in order to inform this woman that he was more available than it might seem. (This confession was not so effective – more on this “poly women have it easier than poly men” topic in a future post.)

May 2003: We came out to Parker's mother – not entirely by choice. I'll tell that story separately.

2004-2006: After Parker and I moved to a different state, my relationship with Scott became a much more occasional thing. It wasn't actually necessary to “explain” anything to new friends and neighbors. Nevertheless, I found myself opening up to them anyway. My open marriage, my poly identity – I wanted to share these facts about myself with the people I was getting to know. By that point, I figured that if knowing the truth about me made someone decide not to like me, then it was better to lose his or her friendship sooner rather than later.

2006-2007: In January of 2006, our whole relationship landscape changed. We had recently met Lilianna and Rick, another couple in an open marriage. They were new to poly, and were still dealing with a lot of raw emotions. We were quickly entangled in each others' lives in all sorts of ways. Lilianna and Parker began a relationship, then Rick and I began our own relationship – and in the midst of our mutual jealousy (partly despite it, and no doubt partly because of it) Lilianna and I became the best of friends. Everyone in our social circle soon knew the scoop.

      Around this time, I began appearing occasionally as a guest lecturer at the local University. Two of our friends taught in the Sociology Department, and they'd ask me to appear whenever they were teaching a unit on a topic such as “alternative family structures.” Several times, someone from the class came up to me afterward and thanked me for being brave enough to share my story. Some of these students confessed to being in non-traditional relationships themselves, and they expressed gratitude for the chance to participate in a real, thought-provoking discussion on a topic they were used to keeping to themselves.

January 2007: I came out to the remainder of my immediate family – my parents and my sister. That was a pretty harrowing experience, and will be discussed in its own entry.

2008-present: I rarely have a reason for lounging around in the poly closet these days. I'm pretty much out, and the fresh air is a joy. Still, as I've indicated, I do exercise some discretion about whom I choose to tell my not-so-secret secrets. Or, in the case of this blog, I am choosing to share personal details with you, no matter who you are, but I'm keeping my real name hidden. It's about having some measure of control over my information, or some way to protect myself, given that I can't control people's reactions to what they find out about me. In some cases, being discreet is also my way of supporting and protecting friends or lovers who don't wish to come out of the closet, for whatever reason.

Coming Out

According to the facebook status of one of my poly acquaintances, yesterday was National Coming Out Day. She's always been very “out” there. At present, there's no “polyamorous” relationship status on facebook, but if there were, she'd be the type to advertise it. As it is, hers reads “It's complicated.” I keep my own relationship status blank.

There are a lot of poly people in the closet.

Luckily, it's a spacious closet: all kinds of room to cavort in the dark with whomever, amidst various crazy costumes and the plainer-looking garments we put on whenever we have to pretend to be “normal” people.

Yes, right-wing pundits and Christian conservatives, you heard me right. It's your worst nightmare, a MONSTER ORGY in your nice, neat closet! And we're partying so hard in here, we're eventually going to bring down the whole house.

So hey, come on in and join the fun!

Reflections on Impermanence

Vermeer's "The Milkmaid"

This was the picture on the front of a postcard I recently sent Scott.  I've actually had it in my possession for the past seven years, because I bought it in Amsterdam in the fall of 2003, after Scott and I had just viewed the original painting in person.  "So, I guess some things last," I wrote on the back, thinking of the painting, still vibrant after almost 400 years, and the postcard, none the worse for its seven years of be-bopping around.  He called me this morning, mock-indignant:  "'Some things last?' What's that supposed to mean?"  And suddenly, I felt as if I were two selves: the present self, awash in nostalgia and a vague sadness; and a former self, simply delighted to hear his voice.  Emotional vertigo, followed almost immediately by a flash of anxiety, a very specific anxiety I feel almost every time I talk to him.  It's particularly acute whenever I have something to say that I'm not sure he'll want to hear. "I've started writing my tell-all memoir," I told him, "although it's only a blog."  He laughed. "Well, I hope you've changed the names to protect the innocent," he said.  "Don't worry," I assured him, "Your name is Scott."  He didn't ask for the link, and I wasn't surprised: he's made it very clear that he wants to hear as little about what he calls my "dating life" as possible, short of requiring me to manufacture outright falsehoods in an attempt to spare his feelings.  Scott and I have always walked a shaky line between Too Much Information and Not Enough, and we frequently find ourselves veering off course.  Some things never change. Still, I'm glad he called, and I'm glad I 'fessed up.

A Short History of Dishonesty (Part II)

It's easy not to worry overmuch about the unsuspecting spouse of someone you're secretly fucking.

Especially if, as in my case, you hardly know the person you're helping to betray. I had interacted with Monique only a couple of times, briefly, before Scott and I became lovers.

Oh, I experienced little twinges of conscience, but they were easily silenced. I told myself that Monique must know what we were up to, at least on some level, because she was aware of how much time Scott and I spent together (the fact that we were best friends was never a secret). On one occasion, in fact, she had even encouraged him to go on a camping trip with me, alone, just the two of us, telling him that school was stressing us both out and we ought to get away together and just relax.

Or at least, that's the story Scott told me. And it was on that “camping trip” that I first had sex with him.

By the time Scott and Monique got married, though, it was finally clear to me 1) that Monique didn't know the truth about the nature of Scott's relationship with me, and 2) that if she ever found out, it wouldn't be pretty. By then, however, it was too late: I could not extricate myself.

Parker and I attended the wedding. Some months later, Scott showed me the wedding video, and I'll never forget how strange it felt to watch everyone go through the motions, as if it were an ordinary marriage, two people with eyes only for each other, plighting their simple troth.

During the exchange of vows, the videographer had been standing behind the wedding party. What I saw on the television screen, then, was this tableau: the black-robed back of the judge, slightly off to one side; Scott and Monique, facing each other; and one member of the audience, directly behind the couple – literally coming between the two of them. It's a woman wearing sunglasses and a slinky black dress, the requisite costume of the Evil Other Woman. Me. I was the only member of the audience whose face the camera fully captured, and my expression was unreadable.

The wedding took place in July of 1999. That November, Parker, Denali and I shared Thanksgiving dinner with Scott and Monique. Some time between then and Christmas, Monique discovered a suspicious motel room charge on a credit card statement, and I backed up Scott's implausible cover-up story, although I had previously sworn to myself that I would never outright lie to Monique about anything, were she to ask me point-blank. We saw them again at Christmastime, and Monique was cool toward me – as she had every right to be. For some reason, I ended up straightening her hair during that visit. So there I was, running my fingers through her loose curls, marveling at the texture: she had baby-fine hair, but it looked so full that I'd never realized, until I touched it, how soft it was. Something in that intimacy of touch both relieved and unnerved me: I was coming into contact with her essential humanity, which made me feel simultaneously better about her and worse about myself.

Then, in February, I took Scott out to dinner for his birthday, with Monique's express permission. Two days later, she announced that she wanted a divorce. That time, they managed to work through it, deciding to seek marriage counseling. In April or May, I spent several days at their house because I was attending a conference in San Francisco, near where they lived. One evening, the three of us decided to have dinner together in the city. Monique and I arrived at the restaurant at about the same time, only to learn that Scott had been delayed in rush-hour traffic. She and I ordered martinis and sat down at the bar to wait. As I remember it, the conversation between us was relaxed and friendly. One particular interchange, however, stands out in my memory: I said something offhand like, “Oh, well, you know how things have been for Scott this week at work, what with yada yada and blah blah blah going on,” and Monique fixed me with a stare. “No,” she said deliberately, “I don't know.” Then she added, in an almost wistful tone, “Scott doesn't talk to me the way he talks to you.” She might as well have slapped me across the face. I think, in fact, I would have preferred that superficial sensation of pain to having to feel, if only for a moment, how she felt inside.

That was the last time I had any real interaction with Monique. She and Scott were pretty much on the rocks all summer, and the breakup was for real, the divorce pending, by August of 2000. He moved out, and I helped him find a new apartment.