Time Difference: I Don't Have the Time to Be Gay

I’ve known I was different since the fifth grade.

I always wanted to hang out with the other boys, not just because of mutual, youthful bonding, but because of some other inexplicable attraction that I did not consciously understand. In my innocence, I didn't know exactly what I was feeling or why it would be wrong. I just accepted it as who I was and was happy.

In middle school, I was in the throes of a building full to the brim with the pangs of young love fueled by puberty, and I thought I was turning out all wrong. I found myself looking at the other boys changing for gym and was embarrassed at what my body was doing so I changed in the bathroom stall where no one could see me. Something was wrong, but I hadn't chosen to do something wrong. I was a good person. I did everything right. But I still felt befuddled at what my body was screaming at me. I was confused and held it all in, not daring to talk to anyone about it.

I tried with all my might not to feel the way I did and convinced myself that I was interested in girls, even though I was always subconsciously on the lookout to catch a glimpse of certain boys walking through the hallways. This continued throughout high school, except this time I learned that there was a word associated with how I felt: gay. And it terrified me.

Determined not to entertain that word, I dated girls, went to dances and did everything I could to run away from that word. I tried to not let myself even think and consider the actual possibility that I was. I tried to fill up every second of my day with an activity, school, church, scouts, clubs, band, anything to keep myself so busy that I wouldn't even have a moment to consider my difference. Everyone just thought I was an overachiever, but I knew the truth.

I reveled in the fact that I had found a way to prevent myself from engaging or patronizing my difference. I would just be so busy doing things that I wouldn’t have to even think about the constant agony.

My eyes were the only problem because I couldn't control them or what life threw in their direction. If anyone really wanted to know the truth about me, all they had to do was follow my eye line. I was tortured by what I knew I was and what I wanted to become. I felt dirty and outcast on the inside even though I had never done anything wrong and seemed perfect on the outside.

On my mission, I threw myself into the work. I devoted every ounce of my strength and being to serve with all of my might. I knew that the scriptures said that bringing souls into the gospel would bring me great joy and, even more importantly, forgiveness of my own sins and salvation to my soul. Even though I had done no outward wrong, I felt that my mission was the chance I had to redeem myself from my difference. I worked so hard, had a broken heart and a contrite spirit. I was not free from my wandering eyes or temptation, but I brought as many people into the church as I could, secretly praying it would be enough to cover my past mental lustings and cure me heading into the future.

During college I followed the same pattern I had learned to avoid my feelings which were consistently present. I filled my schedule taking too many classes, was in the marching band, got involved in student organizations, had a part-time job and was a pillar of dedication in my ward. But at BYU, it is impossible to not see some sort of eye candy every moment of the day.

I was a desirable candidate to date in the ward because the girls saw me as a returned missionary, go-getter and an active priesthood holder who was accomplishing so much. I was always pursued rather than being the pursuer and would go on dates to give the appearance that I was doing my part. But the struggle increased with every month, to the point where I thought I would have to get married to cure myself of the word that had haunted me my entire life. I went through the steps, but my heart wasn’t in it and I couldn’t do it.

As I moved out on my own and into the beginning of my professional life, I continued to avoid my feelings by working too hard at my job and dedicating every free moment of my life to my singles ward. I still do. I volunteer for everything, be it cleaning the church or temple, working at the bishop’s storehouse, going to every meeting, fireside and family home evening. I have a hand in every activity so I can be so busy enough to not remember that one word.

Even now when I decided to blog about this struggle, I have either subconsciously or consciously increased the amount of my other activities and responsibilities to prevent myself from having the time to simply write a post.

My whole life, I have tried to not feel the feelings I've felt. But since that hasn’t worked, I fill my life with so many other commitments that I falsely convince myself that I simply don’t have the time to be gay.

To My 18-Year-Old Self

Dear 18-Year-Old Horizon,

You can grow by opening up, and yes, you will be exposed and feel more hurt, but you can’t hold out forever.

Go on your mission. It will be exotic and amazing.

When you get back, stay in shape. Hiding behind your body to prevent temptation doesn’t work.

Live more. Love more. Don’t be so afraid.

Don’t buy the ring to will yourself into “the normal” path. It is humiliating to take it back.

The path of least resistance isn’t always the best path. You are not an electron.

Hang in there!

- Future Horizon

P.S.

Buy stock in Google. Lots of it. Now.

The Mormon Case for South Park’s Book of Mormon Broadway Musical

The creators of “South Park,” the composer from “Avenue Q” and the director of “Shrek: The Musical” are teaming up to write and produce a musical comedy about Mormons which will debut on Broadway early next year.

Cheyenne Jackson is attached to the project to star as a Mormon missionary serving in a third-world country as the stories of the early church and background of “The Book of Mormon” are told simultaneously.

I am not sure what to think of this quite yet. The combination of those four creative forces is bound to come up with a result that will drive people to go see it, politically correct or not. The marketing machine will be unstoppable.

I am sure there will be an uproar about this endeavor, especially in LDS communities. There will be testimonies born on how the world cannot make fun of what a religious group holds sacred, Facebook groups pledging against it and attempts to boycott or stop the production.

But the production is moving forward regardless, which is why I have chosen to hope for the best. Actually, now that I think about it, I may even be excited about it.

Let me explain my reasoning.

“South Park” and its showrunners, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, have actually been quite generous to Mormons over the course of the show. They have said to the press that they grew up around Mormons and admire the faith. Compared to other religions and organizations, Mormonism has gotten an easy ride on the oft-controversial show.

One episode had Satan’s doorman deadpanning that “Mormon is the correct answer” to a group of protesting religious devotees in hell, another depicted Joseph Smith as a superhero, and the one dedicated episode about the religion, “All About the Mormons,” essentially had a positive depiction of good people of the Mormon faith and was nowhere near as crass and offensive as it could have been. It was a story that had heart.

The writer and composer of “Avenue Q,” Robert Lopez, knows how to write a solid show with catchy music. Remember, “Avenue Q” beat “Wicked” for best musical that year. And he wrote another fantastic and fun musical, “Finding Nemo,” that plays in Disney theme parks.

“Shrek: The Musical” director, Jason Moore, translated the beloved and farcical animated movie beautifully to stage with powerhouse songs and staging, attracting top talent and putting on a show with heart. It was a fun show that had good messages and was an uplifting story, though crude at times.

Cheyenne Jackson can really sing and has a dedicated audience thanks to his previous theatrical work and his role on “30 Rock” (not to mention Cheyenne Jackson as a Mormon missionary would have me buy a ticket in an instant).

Simply put, I think that as potentially edgy as the show might be (though for Broadway, shows are fairly family friendly), “The Book Of Mormon” musical comedy will be a well-written, composed, directed and performed production with a decent message.

Trey Parker even said to the media, “I’ve never met a Mormon I didn’t like. They’re really nice people. They’re so Disney. They’re so Rodgers and Hammerstein.”

So for now, I remain cautiously optimistic and hope for the best, knowing that what they create will have some bite, quality music and a whole lot of heart. To the rest of Mormondom, let’s not rail against this like it the spawn of pure evil ushering in Armageddon. I may be wrong, but this might actually be good.

Plus, it is bound to be better than “The Book of Mormon Movie.” I mean, that was bad.

P.S.

What if it wins a Tony?

Eye Problems During My Mission

I was reading some of my journal entries from my mission the other day. I didn’t keep too consistent of a journal and the entries are sporadic. I mostly wrote everything that was happening in long letters home to my family which I have compiled into a big three-ring binder at home.

If you were to peruse my personal mission journal, though, you would think I had suffered severe eyesight problems. Either that or I was going blind. Why? Because very frequently I would write that I was having problems with my eyes.

Here is an example:

“Still having problems with my eyes. I can’t quite see straight. Not sure if I should go to the doctor or just carry on. Seems to get better with time but it comes back in waves. My companion isn’t aware of the issue or that he might be contributing to it, but for now I think I will just persevere.”

And one more:

“Eyes are still sore and it is giving me a headache. Don’t know what I should do. Washing them out seems to help, but the problem keeps coming back.”

I smile to myself reading these entries. I developed code words for things in my journal and in letters home so everyone could read them but only I knew what they really meant. By sharing these specific excerpts on this particular platform, I am quite confident you can deduce what my eye problems truly signified.