Easier to Live

Two weeks ago, I was trying to pull myself up off of a snowy, ice-laden street in Canada following my execution of a perfect full-body crash in the middle of a busy intersection. My daughter-in-law was pushing my granddaughter in her stroller and had cautioned me only a few seconds earlier that the road was very slick. And before I could speak the words that were on the tip of my tongue, "It's fine ... I'm being really careful," my feet went out from under me and I went down like a brick tossed into the ocean. I fell so quickly and landed so hard on the what felt like steel surface beneath me that it took a couple of minutes for me to figure out what had happened. Becca asked if I was okay as I rolled over and worked my way onto my knees, trying to decide how best to get up. "I'm fine," I replied, noticing the look of concern on her face. "I'm fine ... just let me grab the handle on the stroller so I can get back on my feet." Though it took me a while, I managed to gain a secure enough footing to stand up and get out of the street so the cars that were waiting could travel on through the intersection. Becca asked again if I was okay, and I assured her I was fine and that the only injury I had suffered was the one to my pride. Turns out it was a little more than my pride that got smacked that day ... I'm still sporting a large nasty bruise and golfball-sized knot on my upper thigh, along with achy shoulder and arm muscles. But ... but ... but ... I know my fast and hard fall that day could have had far worse consequences ... I could have broken my hip or my neck or hit my head and been rendered unconscious. While I'm still feeling the effects of losing my footing and slamming onto the ice and probably will for a while to come, I'm so very grateful I was able to pull myself up off the hard frozen road, stand on my own two feet and walk (albeit slowly and tentatively with a stabbing pain in my leg) the remainder of the journey.

Last year on this day, I spent a great deal of time pacing back and forth in my little house, worrying and fretting and panicking and freaking out about the blog entry I planned to post that evening. I knew that the minute I tapped the publish button, my life would never be the same again. My heart was so heavy that day ... the ache in my soul was so deep ... the fear that encompassed my mind was so overwhelming. And yet I knew, more than I had ever known anything, that I had to tell the truth once and for all ... I knew I had to be honest about who I am ... completely and totally honest once and for all. I had written the post several weeks prior ... I had known for a long while that the day would come when I could no longer bear the burden of the lie I was living, the day when hiding even one more minute would have surely sucked the very life from me. I made the decision to post "Easier to Die" on the first day of 2013 for many reasons, most of them deeply personal ones I've deliberately chosen not to share. Posting the words "I am gay" and knowing they would be read by scores of people ... knowing my life was about to change in ways I couldn't begin to foresee ... was the hardest thing I've ever done, times about a gazillion. And yet I knew ... more than I had ever known anything ... that I had to tell the truth once and for all.

Almost every day, I receive messages from people I will never meet ... messages sharing stories of despair, grief, pain, guilt, rejection and sadness that break my heart as I read them. I receive messages sharing stories of overcoming, triumph, honesty, loyalty, freedom and unconditional love that encourage me to stay the course and follow the calling to help others that I believe God has placed before me. I receive messages from young people and old people and middle-aged people. I receive messages from straight people and gay people. I receive messages from Christian people and atheist people. I receive messages from single people and married people. I received messages from sick people and healthy people. I receive messages from high school dropout people and Ph.D. people. I receive messages from tall people and short people. I receive messages from people ... people like me and people like you ... who are looking for someone to care ... that's all ... just someone to care whether or not they will choose to live another day.

I thought a long time about what to title tonight's entry, and I kept coming back to "Easier to Live." It seemed right to me to begin my first post for the new year with words that express how much my life has changed since this day one year ago. I've slipped on the ice and fallen hard on the unforgiving surface of life more times than I can count over the last year, and I know there will be days ahead when I'll slip and fall again. But ... each time I fell last year, I managed to pull myself up, get back on my feet again and walk, even though each step may have been ever so slow, ever so tentative and ever so painful to take. I've learned a ton of things since this day one year ago, not the least of which is to fully appreciate the journey and to deeply treasure the people who have chosen to stay on the road with me. For a long, long time, I believed it would be easier to die than to tell the truth ... I believed it would be easier to die than to face what might happen if I revealed who I truly am ... I believed it would be easier to die than to risk hurting the people I love so dearly. I believed it would be easier to die than it would be to live ... I was so wrong ... I was so very wrong.

Perhaps the secret to wanting to live instead of wanting to die is in the living itself ... maybe the secret is to be who you are instead of who you think everyone wants you to be. Maybe the secret is to trust the hand of kindness and compassion that's extended to you. Maybe the secret is to open your heart and believe in the power of unconditional love and fathomless grace. Maybe the secret to wanting to live instead of wanting to die is in the living itself ... the journey ... the beautiful, wonder-filled, living journey of life itself. Easier to live? You bet it is, friends ... you bet it is indeed.

"As the Little House settled down on her new foundation, she smiled happily. Once again she could watch the sun and moon and stars. Once again she could watch Spring and Summer and Fall and Winter come and go. Once again she was lived in and taken care of." --- Virginia Lee Burton