I turned 37 this month in my hometown. And while August continues to merge into seemingly one exceptionally and unexpectedly long trip to Gotham to interview and apartment hunt, it was turning 37 that I found most informative. Purely for narcissistic reasons. Essentially I was smoked.
So I’m GLYNYing again. This past spring, I chronicled the sudden and miraculous Internet reunion of my 1980s cohort of Gay and Lesbian Youth of New York (GLYNY, pronounced ‘GLIH-nee’). The nation’s first-ever gay youth peer support group, GLYNY was founded in New York City in 1969 as a splinter cell of the historic Gay Liberation Front. Back in the day, the group and I were inseparable.
Catching up with my GLYNY AGAIN reunion friends at Astoria’s Bohemian Beer Garden, the world became smaller than usual. No one expects to learn their long-ago, two-timing, perv boyfriend is the current family physician for an NYC Council candidate. At least he didn’t tell the pol to call him Piglet.
The fact that I missed the two-year anniversary of Chicago Carless is a lot more important than the fall of my two-year relationship. So in celebration of the belated anniversary of my life being an open blog, I give you a look at the past 12 months of Chicago Carless.
For weeks now I’ve wanted to go there, against the better counsel of friends not the least of whom is Damned-to-the-Suburbs hip chick Val (‘Really, Michael, it’s not really necessary.’) What to do, then, when you’re still angry over your break-up, and you’re an opinionated native New Yorker with a blog? Hmm…
A few weeks ago, I sat down with my Korean foodie friend, (dammit I don’t look like Margaret Cho) Rozella, on the breakwater at Montrose Harbor and ticked off my personal pros and cons surrounding my impending move back home to New York City. After four-and-a-half years in Hogtown, it wasn’t an easy cost-benefit analysis to do, even for a former urban planner like me.
I’m often asked what I do for a living, primarily by friends tired of their day jobs who yearn for something more from their careers but don’t quite know how to get there. I was in the same boat until a friend helped me focus my energies last year. Do what you love and the money will follow–it’s a tired saying, but in my case it’s true. All it takes is patience, consistency, and a healthy leap of faith.
I get by with a little help from my friends. Wednesday night, sitting with my fellow GLYNY alums, Peter and Barbara, at the bar at Philip Marie in the West Village, I felt the truth of that. The restaurant is catering our GLYNY 20-year reunion event in November. We had come to check out the rumored-legendary fried green tomatoes. It was the first meal I enjoyed from beginning to end since the breakup.
Over a plate of drunken noodles is a very strange place to have an epiphany. But yesterday was no ordinary day, so I didn’t argue. In Washington, D.C., tucked in the back of a Thai restaurant in Adams-Morgan, I called my friend, Tom. As we talked through my noodles, I realized how much I’ve never gotten over my pretty turbulent childhood. Oh, hell.
With great sadness, I find myself in a position to edit my previous post. While my move to New York City may continue, my relationship with Devyn will not. After two years of effort forged in the face of what, in the end, turned out to be my insurmountable obstacles, Devyn and I have called an end to our partnership.