I have some great friends from elementary and high school that I’ve known and kept in touch with for years, and years, and years.  I am so thankful for them; I hope they know that.  I am totally myself when I am with them, and yet they still choose to hang out with me.

As stated in a previous post, I am nine years younger than my sister, so in many ways I was an only child growing up.  By the time I was five, my brother was in college. Three years later my sister was in college. I didn’t have many neighborhood friends, most of my friends were elementary school classmates or high school chums.

I was raised, as I’m pretty sure my brother and sister were as well, to be independent and solve my own problems.  Sounds great right?  Let’s make sure that the kids can stand on their own two feet, solve their own problems and make their way in the world.  It can be a really good thing, and most of the time, I’m thankful for it.

Other times, when you need help and don’t know how to ask for it, it can bite you in the ass. Or when you’re at the beginning of a relationship with the guy who will become your husband and you don’t know how to argue.  That’s a problem.  When you have to go off and “process” for a while before you talk about an issue, you can’t just talk it out. Doesn’t always work so well.

When I got into my thirties, my mother complained about the fact that all of us were very independent, living our own lives and doing our thing.  She complained about it more than once.  My response was always “You made us this way mom. You can’t change your mind now.”

I don’t have kids, at least not that I have raised since infancy.  Just an 18-year old foster son who’s been with us for almost 2 years. You’ll hear more about him at another time, I’m sure. So I sure as hell don’t want to give advice on how to raise children.  But I will say this: be careful in raising strong, independent kids. They need to be strong enough to know when to ask for help, and how to do it.  They need to be strong enough to know how to work on a relationship, because sometimes it takes work, and sometimes you have to do the work together, out loud.  They need to understand the need for friends and neighbors and colleagues and family and siblings.

I hate to disagree with our dearly departed Prince when he said, “in this life, you’re on your own.”

You’re not.

Maybe it’s my age or the fact that I’m crazy-busy, or the fact that life has changed so much in the past few years, but recently I’ve spent some time assessing my friends and their role in my life.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I (we) have two distinct types of friends, acquaintances, colleagues…people in our lives.  They are either a catalyst or an inhibitor.

If you remember your high school science, a catalyst speeds-up reactions, while an inhibitor slows down reactions.  Please understand: I’m not making a judgment about which is better, a catalyst or an inhibitor, just stating that they exist in our lives and we have to make decisions about how we react to their presence.  See Mrs. Kaplan, I was paying attention in chemistry class.

Let’s take these in turn. You know the catalysts in your life, they like to stir the soup, cause problems, be provocative, change their minds at a whim, be obstinate just for the sake of it.  When they approach, you carefully consider your response to them before you speak.  You have a sense of uneasiness when you are around them, they can turn your world upside down in a moment’s notice.

Sounds like a person to avoid, right?  At times, I might agree with you.  Sometimes you just don’t want the drama; using the Yiddish term “mishegoss” fits here.  Hey, I didn’t live in NYC for almost 20 years without picking up some of the language, you kritker (go look it up).

But for all of their perceived faults, catalysts force us to look at ourselves critically, assess our strengths and weaknesses, do not accept mediocrity and cause us to take action.  If you’ve been through the Theory of Change process, these are the folks who always ask “so what?” and you’d better have a good answer, çuz they’ll probably ask you again. Catalysts are a necessary evil in our lives for they get us off of our proverbial asses.

Inhibitors on the other hand are calm lakes, unstressful, cool as a cucumber and uncomplicated. Your body changes when you enter their world. Your breathing slows down, your mind clears, you feel a little better about your world and your place in it. They embody peace, the status quo…. everything is fine. Ahh……..

Makes you want to run into their arms and stay there, doesn’t it? What a wonderful, warm, happy place it is. No decisions to be made and change is an unknown word.  But inhibitors want you to stay in the job you hate, in the relationship that doesn’t work, in the apartment that’s uncomfortable and in a place in which they know exactly where you are, and where you’re going.

I will admit that there are some unicorns out there. Yes, there are some people who have successfully balanced their catalyst and inhibitor sides, to create a unique creature.  In my experience, they are few and far between.  There are also those who can transit from one to the other, catalyst to inhibitor and back. It makes me tired just thinking about it.

So, what does all of this matter?  I mean, who cares?  In my opinion, it’s important for your health, wellbeing and happiness to recognize these people and their role in your life. Try not to have too many of each, but we all know that trying to balance your friends is an exercise in futility. You are with who you are with for a reason.  That reason doesn’t have to be the same all the time, in fact it certainly changes over time.

If you think you can control these people, try to control a 3-year-old, the physical embodiment of a catalyst-inhibitor.  As the famous quote says, “Don’t try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig.”

What do you do with this incredibly insightful information? Nothing. Something. Whatever you want.  Figure out the people in your life. Try to understand what they bring to the table. Don’t expect a catalyst to be an inhibitor, or vice versa.  Take advantage of their raw abilities and traits. But before you take them off the shelf, read the warning label. That surgeon general can be helpful at times.

I saw one of my inhibitors today, and it was wonderful, exactly what I needed.  Tomorrow, I’ll see one of my catalysts; I’ve got to gear up for the conversation, but I’ll be ready for it.

Go ahead, get out that Bunsen burner and graduated cylinder.  Let’s see if we can make something.

During my early years, when my mother would try to get something done around the house, she would put me down on the carpeting in front of the console stereo, load a stack of record albums and leave me to my own devices. No toys or books or anything; I didn’t need them.  I was lost in the sounds of Walter Wanderley, Astrud Gilberto, Percy Faith and Henry Mancini.

And I was lost in my active brain.

As I got older, like into my early 20’s, I found it easy to get lost in the memories of my active brain. Often I would land in the “Sea of Regret” or the “Why didn’t he love me desert” or the “Man I screwed that up swamp.”  While it sometimes lead me to good places, more often than not my active brain would take me to places that I didn’t need to visit. And I’d go again, and again, and again.

So what the hell does this have to do with anything? Even at my advanced age of 48, I still have an active brain. I have a challenging and thought-provoking job. I have relationships, especially with my dear husband that tests my mettle every day. I volunteer with a non-profit organization that requires, no demands, my attention on a frequent basis. And I’m in a grad program that, like a jealous lover, asks me to continually prioritize it over everything else.

And yet my brain travels beyond those demanding activities and still wants more, still wants to think and test and wonder and problem-solve and fantasize and audiate.

You, dear Alice who has fallen down the rabbit hole, has found yourself in the world of my active brain. Working out my issues and trying to figure out this self-imposed though relatively benign exile which is my life.

I make one promise to you, dear reader: I will always be honest. As a Flatlander in Exile, I have no choice.

Till we meet again, in the rabbit hole…

An empty space. No longer can we say an empty notebook or a blank sheet of paper.  In our modern world, we deal in empty spaces. Vast, white landscapes awaiting inspiration. Or not.

Why did I choose to start writing this blog at this point in my life? Why did I call it Flatlander in Exile? What the hell could I possibly have to say that anyone would want to read? What can you expect from me?

Let’s start with the easy one, or perhaps it’s the easy one: Flatlander in Exile. I grew up in the great state of Illinois, although these days it ain’t so great. Had a pretty idyllic childhood. Elmhurst was very white-bread and vanilla, as my brother Steve often says, and very protected.  I had very few friends that didn’t look or sound like me.  You were either Lutheran or Catholic and that was it; no members of the tribe to be found in my little suburb.  My dad, God love him, came home from work and told racist jokes that I laughed at, because who was I to know that they were racist. Family gatherings involved copious amounts of alcohol, at least from my worldview as a youngster. My mom and I were thick as thieves; being the youngest child by 9 years, I was essentially an only child in many ways.

But I digress. Upon my college graduation I took a teaching position in NYC. 1,000 miles and worlds away. When you’re a closeted gay man whose been living under the thumb of his parents, partially by choice, for 25 years, the best thing to do is completely change venue. So I spent almost 20 years in NYC, where I met my now husband Rick who took me from the wilds of NYC to the wilds of Seattle. It’s taken me a while to get used to Seattle, and I’m pretty close to adjusting. Thus, I am a Flatlander in Exile.

Those who have grown up in Maine and eventually leave the beautiful state are said to be “living in exile.” Part of my purpose in creating this blog is to explore that concept for myself, to understand my place and why parts of my existence seem so foreign, so alien.

I think that’s enough for now. More to come about why this blog, why now, what I’ll be writing about – in part 2.

Thanks for reading this far. If I’ve upset you or pissed you off, I’m sorry. Or not.