Thinking about Blogging

There have been two entries at two different blogs in the last few days that have had me feeling "pensive."

One was a piece that lenora put up about an unknown, and now probably unknowable writer, who came and stayed in the world of blogging about "what it is that we do" -- and then (apparently feeling discouraged) left again. It has that lingering sense of I was here but no one really noticed me feel to it. Makes me want to go, "but wait..." And of course, there isn't anyone to say, "but wait..." to. Part of me knows that it is extremely unlikely that the invisible explorer who leaves that whisper behind will really vanish permanently. I know, as lenora puts it, that the toothpaste cannot be put back into the tube. Still, the days of trying to pull that trick off can be painful and lonely... I wonder WHY the blog was begun; what hopes imbued that reaching out -- and what hurting caused the drawing back. And part of me feels sad and sorry and a little bit ashamed. I never found this one I don't think. But if I did, I doubt I'd have invested much time or energy. Not the overly friendly sort. As I look around the circle, I know there are far more friendly ones than me; and I know that I annoy the heck out of even those who do put up with me... way too blunt and way too opinionated and not nearly interesting enough. It's far more likely that this one would have been drawn to the brighter lights of the BDSM blogging circle. I just wonder how that must be when you are new and scared and tentative and trying to figure it all out.

Then there's this bit of uncertainty from kaya about why she continues to write her own online journal at this point. Her life and mine couldn't be more different, and yet we sometimes find congruence in our thinking -- although I think I've stepped on her toes here recently without intending to. Still, I fully understand the dichotomy that comes with the business of writing what lies within while knowing it is read by those who are "outside." To stay open and honest while keeping your balance in the face of that is a difficult and delicate thing. She balances a much bigger and much more demanding fan club than I do -- with more grace.

So, why write? Why write this way? I think for each of us the answer is different.

For me, the first and enduring answer is because He told me to -- has not told me I can stop. What I write has never been defined or dictated, so I just write: my thinking, my feelings, our lives. There are surely more intense blogs. I know this. There are blogs that get far higher readership and many more comments. There are times when what I think annoys people, or baffles people, or simply bores people. There have been times when people have been angry with me, or angry with Him, or critical of us. I've just kept writing. There have been people, along the way, that I've come to feel close to. Some have stayed for the long haul -- some have vanished and are deeply missed. I don't think I've ever deleted a comment that wasn't one of ours (deleted comments are usually one of the ones that one of us puts up, finds a typo in, and then takes down and re-posts with corrections).

I also write because it helps me think, helps me sort, helps me settle. I talk to myself here. Sometimes it feels like talking in an empty room. Sometimes that feels frustrating. Sometimes not. I try to remember I'm not (primarily) writing for an audience, although my statistics tell me there is one. It isn't that kind of blog. Sometimes, what gets written here gets conversations going. That can be good.

I don't know. I still am not sure what THIS is. It really isn't a community in any real sense. Not a neighborhood. Not a gathering place. I wanted it to be that, but it really is an odd sort of empty sort of concert hall -- or collection of concert halls, where each of us comes to sing our particular song. I do wonder if all of us are well suited for concert halls...

swan

Passing

On Friday afternoon, we'll point our car (loaded to the gills with stuff that sustains us for the weekend) and head north for a drive of about 90 miles to attend Ohio Leather Fest. So, this morning I clicked on to the website to see what "last minute" information there might be about the weekend -- only to find the announcement that this will be the "Last Ever" OLF. No explanation. No details. No story. Just the bare words, and something that has been part of my life for many years now has a VERY limited bit of time left to BE.

I am not altogether surprised I guess, but I am feeling a deep saddness and sense of loss.

I understand that there are many within the life who do not participate in the public scene at all, and who do not find it of interest or understand what it is that some of us value. Still, for me, and for us, OLF has been there from the beginning almost, and there are many, many shared moments that will forever be tied up with the very existence of this regional Leather event.

I will always trace the beginnings of my real time life with Master and T to that wild, determined, anxiety-laden, 1200-mile drive across the country to meet them at my very first OLF.

I can still remember passing strangers in the hallway that afternoon and hearing a man I'd never seen (but had IM'd with a zillion times) say "kewl!" as He passed going the other direction, and knowing -- just knowing it had to be Him...

I will remember forever sitting on the side of the bathtub with my feet in hot water, trying to calm the jitters and stop the shivers before heading to the dungeon that very first time.

I'll always recall sitting with the two of them at dinner that first year at OLF, and saying, "so, I've heard you talk about this thing you call 'polyamory,' what is it?"

It will always be thanks to OLF that the skills that led to our knowing how to approach cutting and fisting were learned.

How many, many toys must there be around here that have come from our various OLF sojourns?

The collar that I wear was chosen by Master and T at OLF, and placed around my neck at OLF.

We survived the crisis OLF that nearly didn't happen -- that ended up in a miserable venue -- and where He and I played gloriously on a night when the stars aligned just for us.

We were stood up on a celebrity auction deal by Deborah Addington at OLF once -- a reminder that being a "star" or a "guru" doesn't necessarily make you a good or ethical person.

We've had marvelous chats with the likes of Jay Weismann and Bob Deegan and Laura Antoniou and Cristo of Cristo's knives at OLF -- proof that being a "star" can leave some folks being "folks."

And so many fine and wonderful and fun people "just like us" only different that we've had the pleasure of meeting in the halls and in the restaurants and in the classrooms and in the dungeons...

We've spent many a delightful hour immersed in the culture of our kink -- where we become the norm, and not the "other." Most often, for us who live our lives hidden, pretending to be something which we are not, the arrival at the site of the Ohio Leather Fest event becomes a transitional moment. From that point on we begin to transform into the reality of who we are, and for a few shining hours, we have the pleasure of relaxing, of letting the barriers fall. We get to sense what it would be like to live our lives in the open, to be honest and free. For a few days each year, we live as we truly are. And then it ends, and we put the costumes back on and step back out into the hostile world that is our day to day reality.

It is invariably a letdown and a sorrow.

I don't know what happened. I suspect volunteer/organizer burnout. Maybe the conservative "hell" that is Ohio finally just made it too impossible. Perhaps the backlash that is everywhere in our society has won out at last. I don't know. I only know that today I am marking the passing of something that has been real and constant and valued in my life.

We will be there this weekend. If you think of us, take a moment to celebrate with us just a bit, won't you?

swan

Lessons from a Coyote

It was a cold, rainy, February afternoon, and I was in a hurry. In those days I juggled the work of raising two young primary school age children, with a demanding career in the oil and gas industry, while I attended college 2-4 nights a week trying to finish a bachlor's degree in business administration and economics.

I had stopped into my local grocery to pick up something for the family to have for dinner while I was at class that evening (my husband would pick the children up from the daycare on his way home from work). My plan was to drop dinner off at home, grab my books and dart back out the door to class. As I came running back out of the store in the freezing rain, I almost tripped over a huddled ball of wet, shivering fur that was cowering in between my car and the one next to it in the lot. Looking closer, I found a terrified pup, only weeks old, too exhuasted and too frightened to run or hide. Thinking it had fallen out of a nearby car, I scooped it up and walked back to the entrance to the store and asked an employee to make an announcement in the store. I waited... but no one appeared to claim the precious baby that shivered in my arms -- and my time was running out. As the clock ticked down, I made a decision. I took the puppy, put it in my car, and drove it home. I gave it some water and a warm blanket, left a note for the family:

"THERE'S A PUPPY IN THE SHOWER.

DON'T GET ATTACHED.

WE'RE NOT KEEPING IT."

Oh sure. The puppy stayed with us for 17 years. We named her Smoky. It didn't take very long to figure out why no one ever came to claim Smoky -- she didn't fall out of a car... she likely was lost from or kicked out of her den. You see Smoky was mostly, if not entirely, coyote. However she came to be in that parking lot that day, she was the finest dog any family could have ever wanted.

So, what has any of that got to do with anything you are asking yourself...

Well, Smoky loved to go for walks. Loved it. All you had to do was say, "walk," and the coyote would be up and dragging you to the door to get the leash. You had better have your clothes and shoes on and be ready to go before you said the magic word. We got to the point where we would spell the word: W-A-L-K, but of course, that didn't save us for long, because coyotes are very smart. Smoky learned to spell 'walk' in very short order.

The problem was that, once you had her on the leash and out the door, she would tear your arm off. The coyote never learned "heel." She was smart enough to learn to spell, but not smart enough to learn anything at all about walking etiquette. She would pull and tug and drag you the entire time. It didn't matter if you walked 5 minutes or 5 miles. Walking with the coyote was done at coyote speed... unless you dropped the leash. Drop the leash, and the oddest thing happened. The instant that you let go of the leash, she would stop pulling and pick it up in her mouth and carry it and walk quietly and contentedly along at your side... Crazy animal!

I think there are times when that is the way it goes with us. I pull and yank and fuss and tug and carry on. Coyote crazy. Probably, there are D/s relationships where the response would be to take some kind of fairly high end, proactive approach to moving that into line. He can do that, and has done that, but too, sometimes He simply "drops the leash." We've been at this long enough that He knows that I know what the expectations are -- knows that I will figure it out eventually. Too, He loves me; wants what is best for me. The reality is that He could knock me into line without considering the "whys and wherefores" of what's going on around all the fussing and tugging. Could. That He doesn't speaks to who He is; who We are.

I've gotten weary, finally, of carrying the leash. I'm ready to hand it back. I'm glad to be to that place. It feels good. I don't know what drives the craziness when I get into it. I'm just glad to find myself on the other side of it. Even more, I am grateful for the One who walks with me even if I do tug and pull...

swan

Did You Ever Wonder Where This Place Was?

OK.

I got this from a VERY "vanilla" friend.

It is darn funny just because it is funny. But then it is even funnier because she has no idea WHY sending it to me is so funny...

Oh Dear!




swan

Team Heron

This was as real as it gets.

One Hundred thousand plus dollars in community funding on the line for the advocacy agency that Master directs. All of it depending on the proposal that HAD to be turned in by noon last Friday (during a week where there were at least 3 other major things going on simultaneously). The Request For Proposal (RFP) was a document running to more than 130 pages of very specific guidelines and requirements for the project funding.

We are talking lifeblood here. The money, is not the entirety of the agency's budget. Not by a long shot, but it funds a significant chunk of the education and advocacy efforts that make life better for the population that He works so hard to serve and support. If that funding source disappeared suddenly, the agency would disappear -- His work would disappear -- a lifetime of advocacy would screech to a halt -- and people would most likely die. That doesn't even begin to consider what would happen to our family...

The needed documents had to be assembled, written, wordsmithed, and drawn to the appropriate specifications -- and with enough flair and flash that the whole thing could compete in today's highly competitive charitable giving marketplace... and the clock was ticking.

Because you see, there were bits and pieces of that RFP that just had Him boggled. Master is a brilliant advocate with a staggering knowledge of the disability field. He is one of the most talented agency directors, and He has a phenomenally dedicated staff. But it is a small group, and they have REAL work to do keeping their folks alive and well and safe. The whole RFP was staggering, and there were some parts of it that were almost beyond the capacity of a small organization without a dedicated IT staff and/or graphics design team.

Nevermind. No allowances for resources available. Submit the required pieces on time or lose the funding. End of discussion.

He fussed. He stewed. He stayed awake at night worrying. For weeks.

He is the original ADHD child, grown up. He processes information so quickly it makes my head spin. He and I have completely different learning styles, and He runs circles around me with His thinking sometimes. I need to contemplate and draw pictures and diagrams. By the time I get things all drawn out, He's already off to something else most of the time. I work with these kind of learners in the classroom. I've learned to stand back and let Him fly along. I reflect. I listen. I keep things calm... I draw the pictures, and I make the connections (if I can get Him to slow down long enough to listen to me).

This time it paid off.

Last week, as things cranked up and the deadline approached, we became "Team Heron." Somewhere, about Tuesday, He finally hit the point of ultimate crisis. It got critical enough that He tipped over into deadline mode and things began to come together in frantic bits and pieces. Working at home, with His CFO on the phone and online almost continually, we began to cobble the largest document into shape. He had most of the text in about a dozen different files, scattered all over the place (ADHD remember).

It was about keeping things calm. It was about pointing out the starting places. It was about helping to problem solve. It was about T keeping us fed and hydrated and clothed and washed and halfway organized as the piles accumulated everywhere... Ultimately, there was one single, scary required form that just had Him frozen like a deer in the headlights. We managed, to sidle up to the darn thing, with all the other pieces hammered out and refined until it began to make sense and come together. In the end, the part of the proposal that had seemed so daunting, came together and slid into place simply and elegantly -- of course we all looked like we'd just survived finals week at the end of the most demanding University. He sighed and sat looking at the finished product -- all signed and packaged and ready to go. And He knew it was all good, consistent, and strong.

The proposal that will fund His agency for the next three years was turned in with 31 minutes to spare. We were good together. Really good.

It was as real as it gets. Team Heron.

swan

Standing on Their Shoulders -- Giving Some of it Back

I've been very lucky.

There were more than a few, who in my exploratory beginnings of the lifestyle, shared generously of their knowledge and their wisdom; who were willing to show me what they had learned and experienced as they traveled the path that lay still ahead of me. I benefitted in large and small ways because I had access to that depth of understanding at a time when I had far more enthusiasm and starry-eyed wonder than good sense...

There was a nurse who's name I do not remember anymore. She was a member of the club where my husband and I played frequently in our early days. She was the first to debunk the "myth" of that "Safe, Sane, and Consensual" mantra. She told me in no uncertain terms: "what we do is not safe. Decide what you will do, and what you will not do, but know that none of it is SAFE. There are risks to all of it." She scared me, but she made me look at the reality of the risks that I was taking.

There was an older and more experienced submissive, who, when I bemoaned the fact that my husband was not consistent enough, not Dominant enough, not this enough, and not that enough, simply looked at me, and told me -- "This is not about you, this is about learning to serve and anticipate his needs and meet his desires. Submissives submit."

There were experienced players in the dungeon where we played, who shared their skills; who shared their knowledge; who simply played and let me watch and learn.

There were older slaves, whose grace and skill and poise and calm gave me a model that I tried to comprehend and emulate.

There were so many guides, mentors, and teachers. Not all of them were gentle. Not all of them were kind. Not all of them were subtle. There were several along the line who yanked me up short, and (at least figuratively) smacked me silly. Those who thought I was being foolish, self-absorbed, or just plain stupid, didn't waste any time in letting me know about it. More than a few hurt my pride and pissed me off. But I survived and I grew and I learned. More importantly, I probably avoided a number of potentially really bad choices.

I know I never said the appropriate "thank you's." Didn't understand the gift at the time, and truth to tell, had I tried it, I'd have embarrased most of them -- it just doesn't work that way. I do think, however, that it probably does work this way: those of us who get given that sort of gift have some obligation to pass on what is given to us.

It is part of what drives me to want to reach out, sometimes, to those who are beginning the journey -- especially to those who seem terribly sincere and earnest.

One of the places that I tend to get most crazy is when I sense that we, who have been at this awhile, have not done a very good job of posting "DANGER AHEAD" signs... I think it is one of my particular pet peeves. It is much easier now than it was when I found my way to all of this, to simply sit down at your computer, and find a whole raft of sort of "normal" seeming people all writing and talking about doing BDSM at all kinds of different levels. You don't have to hang around the blogosphere very long before you can get caught up in the whirl of D/s and M/s blogs where everyday "everyone" is reporting on how hot and steamy and intense their BDSM life is...

It makes me anxious. It makes me nervous. It makes me crazy. I worry that there just almost certainly HAVE to be sincere and earnest relatively new explorers out there, without much in the way of real life experience; without anyone to sit down with them face to face; without a real place to go and watch and learn -- who are trying to keep up and compete. I think that is dangerous and wrong.

I got myself into "trouble" recently commenting (with undue terseness) over at Tea and Oranges, because of this exact sort of thing. They're one of the most amazingly intelligent and eloquent couples, I've found exploring their blossoming BDSM relationship together. I reacted somewhat intensely to language in a post on their blog referring to "The Beast." It is an expression I am seeing more and more often -- it pops up all over the place these days. Frankly it is a "fad" that I find disturbing because it is imagery that I find dangerous for players without much experience or knowledge. "The Beast" may have a place in serious SM power exchange, but it is turf that ought not to be trod lightly. I'm afraid I wasn't as gentle, or as subtle as I might have been, but I got a sudden visceral hit of two relatively new players caught up in a sort of trying to "keep up" with everyone else, rather than following the path and speed that makes the best sense for them. I may have diagnosed it incorrectly, but it scared the willies out of me. I think the "older ones" among us have an obligation to be careful and at least vigilant with what we say and how we say it -- we ought to at least acknowledge the liklihood that some who read what we write will take what we say and "try it at home."

Oh well. I annoyed those folks. I surely didn't mean to. So, I'll nod (metaphorically speaking in two directions) -- their way with apologies, and toward my own past guides and teachers with deep gratitude.

swan

Maybe I'm Just Different

It can be difficult to write in this medium and keep your "voice." There is undeniable pressure to conform, to compete, to capitulate to those who find things to be annoyed about in what is offered (or not offered) in the words I write.

I'm human. There are times that I look around and wonder what it is that I am doing here; wonder if I'm doing this "the right way;" wonder if I am "as good as __________________ (fill in the blank," or good enough; wonder why people come and read -- only to criticize, judge, castigate, snipe...

As long as I've been participating in the online world, it has often felt like junior high, all over again. Early on, when I first found my way to listserves, talking about Domestic Discipline, and chat rooms talking about Submission, there were clear "in groups" and clear "out groups." Crossing the line from one to another was tricky if not downright impossible. I got myself thrown out of more than one place because I simply did not "fit;" would not bow to what seemed to me to be arbitrary norms of status and prestige.

I tend to write what I experience. I tend to write what I know. I usually write my life. I don't prescribe for others, and I usually don't judge. I don't do fluff pieces. I read a few places, where what is written seems somehow useful, interesting, or stimulating. I am not one to fish for comments, and I and not a "me too" commenter elsewhere. My time and energy is so awfully limited, so what I read and what I read is necessarily limited...

I've come to sense that maybe, my path is quieter than some. Maybe it is similar to something that happened to my spiritual walk a few years back:

For years, I'd seen myself as a "spiritual seeker." Then one day, I came to understand that I'd gotten hooked on the SEEKING. I started to notice that it no longer mattered what I was looking for, it was the act of seeking that was driving me... I began to wonder if there would come a point in the spiritual questing when I might FIND whatever IT was, and if, at that point, it would be appropriate to QUIT seeking. That realization seemed to quiet my heart, spiritually, and settle me into a place that ended much of the frantic looking for truth that had preceeded it.

In some ways, I am sensing that I may have come to a similar point in my growth with this lifestyle. From the beginning, I have felt as if it was somehow important to continually escalate everything all the time -- that I was somehow obliged to constantly LOOK for MORE. There's a "performance" mentality to all of that, and it keeps me feeling like I'm continually at risk of falling behind the "rock stars" of the lifestyle. Well, I'm not a rock star. I'm not in the local dungeon every weekend (there isn't such a place for starters). I'm not going to keep up with the biggest pain sluts in the cyber universe. I'm not at home chained in the basement -- I'm earning a salary and working in the community, and that's the way it is going to be until they drag my dead carcass out of the classroom by my feet. I'm not a photo/porn model, or a writer of great fiction. I don't long for Master to unleash "The Beast" -- I know just how scary that can be, and I've no deep desire to see it on a regular basis. I know we don't play as often as we used to... and I know that neither of us particularly like that circumstance, but then neither of us are as young as we used to be either. When we do play nowadays, I think we're finding our way to some places that feel fine to us both.

I am here, and here is mostly good. I am coming to understand what my place is and what my life is and how my choices have evolved. I've come through the transitions that brought me here and I'm feeling like I've come to a place where I can QUIT seeking because I'm THERE. I am happy with my life, and looking forward. We've made it through some really tough stuff, and it feels amazing to be standing in this place together.

That is probably not interesting reading. Probably not "hot." Probably not much fun for those who got excited about our various "train wrecks" and near misses. Oh well. For those who read because there is something about the simple truth of our lives together that draws you -- bless you.

swan