STRONG GRIP
October 17, 2001

Almost every Wednesday I join a group of gay men at a local coffee shop for a hot cup of java, the occasional muffin, and the camaraderie gained by spending time with people with whom I have a lot in common. Tonight was no exception. The cold fall air nipped my cheeks and turned my small ears red. I needed a hot drink, even if it was hot tasteless water. As I entered the coffee shop after bearing cold, I noticed that is was full to the brim (coffee cliché) with people. I waved to a few folks and hugged a few others. Then I made my way to the counter to order from my regular server whom I call the Coffee Man (only because I still don’t know his real name). I ordered my large de-caf coffee (it was already late and I didn’t need to stay up later) and a blue-berry muffin and made my way to sit down with my friends.

When I got over to their table, all the surrounding chairs were taken. I stood for about five minutes as we exchanged stories of our long day. However, my skinny little legs began to tire (I think my bladder was getting full, too). I looked around and saw a nearby stool unoccupied, but it was at a table where a lady was feverishly reading what appeared to be a Master’s thesis. I stepped over to her in all my shyness and whispered if I could use her empty stool. At first, she didn’t hear me so I had to repeat the question. “Excuse me miss. Is anyone using this stool?”  She looked up from her deep reading, startled, and answered “Um... no.” I immediately took this as a sign that it would be ok to take the stool from her table.

Maybe I was hard of hearing or maybe she was the one with the disability. I clearly saw her gesture that it would be all right with her if I removed the stool. But as I went to move the stool, I noticed it was caught on something. I tried a little more, but it did not budge. I looked down at the stool and there, tightly gripping the legs, were this lady’s feet. I was taken aback. How could this be?! Maybe she DID misunderstand me. I glanced back up at her and she focused on her paper once again. And here I was, standing once again, and confused.

I have noticed that my grip onto things is sometimes strong, and at other times, very weak. My grandmother has always been a pack-rat, and somehow I ended up with that gene. I my closet, I have boxes and boxes of stuff that I no longer need. I kept college notes for an average of four years (even for classes I knew I would never refer to again). I have also kept cards from ex-boyfriends, out-of-focus pictures that I took as a
child, and shirts that even Goodwill would not accept. Once I even bought a set of National Geographic magazines that ranged from 1975 to 1990. That’s a lot of nude aborigines let me tell you. Anyway, the set FINALLY dwindled down to four collector magazines after moving them so many times (they were really heavy). Their laminated covers allowed my grip to slip, and I learned a lesson.

However, my grip on some things tightens over the course of time. I own a red hat that I bought when I was a senior in high school. In light silver, the letters of the University of New Mexico (UNM) were sewn. I didn’t begin wearing the hat until I was in college, so it didn’t mean much until that point. Once I did begin to wear it, it became a part of my identity. Brandon was not seen without his red hat on many days. Even now, almost ten years after I bought it, I still wear it. It is simply a piece of who I am, and I don’t plan on tossing it any time soon. Unfortunately, there are also things I hold on to that should have been trashed years ago.

A few years ago I made a trek all the way from my home state of New Mexico to sunny Florida. I did it all for “love” (as I so convinced myself). In the short six months that I had known Jay as he lived in Florida, I began to relinquish all ideas and dreams I had that involved remaining in my home state. I gave up going to UNM grad school for Urban Planning. I gave up the idea of one day working for the city of Albuquerque in their planning department. I gave up beautiful sunsets, mountains, and family who lived nearby. I also thought I had given up the single life, only to gain a happier one in someone I cared for.  I was sadly mistaken. Not two months into my relationship with him, I was longing for a time when I could go out on my own and meet new people without having to explain to my boyfriend where I was and who I was with at the time. I moved over 1800 miles only to realize that I couldn’t let go of something that began elsewhere. Ultimately, my grip on wanting to be single helped to end my relationship with him.

I admit I hold on to many things that I sometimes hide from others, and even myself. I don’t think we would be human without some sort of secrets to keep from others. Once I thought I was able to convince another boyfriend of mine that I was not going onto the computer anymore and chatting online. He trusted me. I flat out lied to him and told him that it was “all under control.” Soon, he noticed changes in me that I thought were not so apparent. Again, my secrets and my grip onto things ended another relationship that could have flourished into something great.

Have you ever given the illusion that you have given up something, only for someone to later find out that you are still gripping it in the shadows under the table? Anyone who has said “I do” at the alter and then turned around and cheated on their spouse is still holding on to what they thought they used to have in “freedom.”  Anyone who has defeated an addiction, yet hides their proverbial bottle in the deepest cupboard hidden from sight will never let go until all is brought out into the open. And anyone who holds to the idea that true happiness will “just happen” without work on their own part will be rudely interrupted by the slamming door and he leaves you.

What are you holding on to? Take a moment and look under the table. It may not be pretty under there. Pieces of gum stick to the underside and mud is scrapped along the legs, but we must peer into areas that are unsightly at times in order to assess what we have, and to determine what we no longer need. Remove your feet from the stool and get back to reading. Life is waiting for you. And just think, by removing our grip, you may be helping someone else.