I’m way more secure than I was in my mid-20s, but like, I’m wouldn’t say I completely have it together. In junior high and high school I would literally have panic attacks because I thought everyone was laughing at me all the time.
“Well,” random stranger says, “they actually were. Did you see your 10th grade haircut?”
Accurate, random stranger. Accurate.
Most recently this came up because of my iPhone. There was an article written by a gay guy about what your iPhone 6 color says about you.
Gold – You’re a moderately manly gay man
Silver – You’re a totally manly gay man
Rose Gold – You’re, like, suppppeeerr gay
I want to preface this also by saying that “masculinity” in gay world is highly prized. If someone doesn’t think you’re gay right off the bat, it’s broadly recognized as a compliment.
This is highly problematic, obviously. Also, like, if you like sleeping with men and are a man… then you’ve lost the war. You’re a gaaaaay. You can wear all the flannel and watch all the sports, but secretly you probably enjoy Golden Girls and have a tendency to buy things in a lavender color palette.
I like to think I’m one of those gay guys who doesn’t put any weight on masculinity, but, nothing exposed my hypocrisy as much as a recent conversation with my parents.
I had removed my phone case because I can’t plug my iPhone into my 2003 Buick with the case on it. (See my previous blog post about how this phone case saved my life.) When I road trip home I leave my case in Chicago, because I want to listen to really masculine music on my super gold iPhone. (Read: JoJo and lots of Annie Lennox.)
Well, I had the phone on the coffee table and the back was facing up. Something had happened to the luster on my phone because the gold isn’t quite as shiny as it used to be.
“Oh,” my mom said, “You have the pink iPhone.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “it’s gold.”
“It looks pink.”
Stepdad enters conversation from left field. “Yeah, that’s a pink iPhone.”
“No, seriously,” I said, “I have a gold iPhone.”
Mom and Stepdad look at each other and turn away. Tedd starts to get really internally defensive. IT’S GOLD DAMMIT. LET’S TAKE IT OUTSIDE! IT’S THE LIGHTING! SEE HOW GOLD IT IS! GOOOOOLLLLDDD!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOFAnpb8I3E
“Yeah,” I said fighting back dramatic tears, “well, they said it was gold when I bought it.”
Whaaaatttt? WHY AM I SO UPSET ABOUT THIS?
Literally, my parents telling me I bought a pink iPhone translated into my head as something like:
“Yes, Tedd, we know you’re gay. You’d obviously have bought the most feminine iPhone product and paraded it through our house. We already told you we love you regardless, but you’re really, super gay and quite frankly a disappointment. #rosegold”
Also feed into this the image of me at a gay bar talking about how it’s so stupid when guys say they want no fats and no femmes.
“We’re all one gay community. It’s so dumb to put labels on things.”
Then I’m huddled in the corner weeping because my parents said my phone looked pink.
This all makes sense. I’m a healthy, normal 31-year-old man!
Driving home, blasting Taylor Swift (because she gets me) I unpacked this and got to no real conclusion but that I’m secretly homophobic and think my parents think I’m a disappointment. My therapist would most likely have important things to say on the subject. I’ll make an appointment as soon as the paint on my iPhone dries.
Quintessential Breakdown
Work has been stressful lately. My job has evolved into a position where I do no real work but shuffle information between people and answer questions and solve problems all day. It’s fine, but this also means that I have no real work pipeline. My work pipeline is like a dump site with 45 trucks driving up and dropping in random stuff throughout the day.
Most days I can manage, but some days I’ll have a meeting and come back to an email queue, a ticket queue, 22 pings, and someone standing at my desk waiting to ask a question.
On days like this, I go back in my history to my job at a summer camp. Externally, I try to keep in my tears (as long as no one brings up my pink iPhone), and internally feel just like Sally did one day at camp.
Sally was a great camp counselor; she was super patient and actually taught school during the normal school year.
But Sally also had a breaking point.
One day all the kids at camp decided not to follow any rules. The main rule being neglected was to play with the balls and sports toys in the main field. They took bats and balls to the front yard of the house we worked from. Obviously, a bunch of 8-14-year-olds playing with projectiles close to a house is cause for concern. Also, layer in the fact that the little kids usually played in the yard and stayed close to the house.
Well, Sally had told the kids to take the stuff back to the field, maybe 10 times. Then, two boys playing with a kickball, threw the ball and hit one of the little kids. Cue tears and, the best, most expressive meltdown I have ever seen.
Sally saw the whole thing take place. I was actually in the field with a group of kids, who were following directions.
Our attention was drawn when we heard Sally yelling at the top of her voice.
“I SAID TO GO TO THE FIELD! YOU SHOULD BE IN THE FIELD.” She then proceeded to start grabbing all the sports equipment from the older boys and hurling it across the street into the field. “IN THE FIELD. GO TO THE FIELD. PUT THIS IN THE FIELD!” Every time she said one of those phrases, she hurled another object through space and it would flop, dramatically across the street in the dead grass.
Literally, every person, counselor, kid, etc. stopped what they were doing and watched this take place. The children were terrified, but all the counselors, were internally like:
https://media.giphy.com/media/7rj2ZgttvgomY/giphy.gif
After every object had been tossed across the street, Sally stood panting. We all knew that she realized she had totally lost her mind and didn’t know what to do. Luckily, Jackie, another counselor, knew exactly what to do.
Very primly she grabbed one of the hands of the little boys and pulled him across the street. “Let’s head over to the field, boys!”
And it was over.
But, anytime I feel work pressure building and want to lose my mind, I go back to that scene with Sally. In some ways it was like a religious experience. She had taken on the meltdown so that none of us had to. Because she had shown us the highest form of meltdown, we all know the pure, perfect release of losing our minds without going to the dark space that she went to.
Thank you, Sally. Thank you for your breakdown catharsis.