The Joy of Text

I don't like texting all that much.  I find the little snippets to be not all that helpful.  The conversations I've had while texting have never been that enlightening.  It is great for a grocery list, however. But so is a sheet of paper. 

So yesterday I get a text out of the blue from a guy I'd been chatting with - he'd been sort of mentoring me further out of the closet until he moved with his partner out of state.  To be fair I knew this was likely too happen.  He wanted to know how I was.  We texted a bit - he gave me a recommendation for a couples therapist that I've already called.  That alone shows great progress - I no longer feel caught in the middle of a quagmire - the edges perhaps, but not the middle.

Then I got into an briefer texting context with another gay guy I know.  He was reaching out for himself, but then checked up on me.

It felt wonderfully hopeful to be the object of care and concern.  

Then it dawned on me.  Here I am carrying on two simultaneous conversations via text.  Perhaps my problem isn't the medium for the conversation, but the conversation.  Or rather that this was an out conversation.  Both men know I am gay.  I was not hiding; I was not letting someone assume I'm straight. 

I just was.

I just was happy.

Or as Geoffrey wrote yesterday - I gave myself permission - to be happy, to just be.