I am reading this book called Proving Manhood, so far I really like it and I am on chapter 5.
It is an analytical look at masculinity from a feminist perspective, that actually looks at men as human beings. Which is sadly something that is often overlooked, instead, we look at masculinity and see the masculine norm and treat men as if they are or are not it. We complain and argue and attack and dismiss based on how well we are or are not performing masculinity and often forget that underneath, regardless of the performance there is some reason (education) and some cause (incentive) behind it. I don't just mean a desire for power and dominance, but rather a reason for that desire, a psychological need, a socialized need, perhaps even a biological drive. But he isn't trying to dismiss the harmful affect, nor dismiss responsibility just to understand it and process it, so that we could perhaps deal with it some day.
Its the first time so far where I haven't felt defensive reading a feminist book, because perhaps I am old enough now, or perhaps because the author does a good of making it human.
Anyway, it brought some objectivity to my ordinarily ridiculously self-centered and biased perspective of myself. Which I really appreciate.
But underneath I find the topic to be hitting home dramatically right now. Because in essence I feel like whether I want to be or not, I am proving manhood right now by denying or not breaking down from the emotional stressers I am facing, I am remaining calm and sure footed in a world that feels completely turned upside down.
I do my duty, I don't rely too much, I keep shit together... but none of this really.
I am avoiding work, and emotions, and hard conversations, and hard thoughts. I am processing on one level what I am avoiding on another.
I feel like I relate to this author, who describes being rewarded and pushed ahead and seen as an expert like a good man while simultaneously saying and doing things he is unsure of, feels like he hasn't thought through, doesn't understand, doesn't feel like an expert on.
He gives a really poignant description of his life, in a reflection on his deceased mother
Mother:
Since your death thirty years ago, your presence is a film covering my experience, darkening it and making the world, the world of my life, seem farther away. If i could pop you open, a thousand memories would appear and move me, breaking and healing my heart, and making the world real again. Your unreality places the world so far away. Your unreality makes my life unreal. But I can't, don't know how to pop you open, and as I move deeper into middle age, I wonder whether the attention I give you is worth the effort, But still, I sense, Until you are real, I will not be real.
For some reason this resonated with me tonight, as I think about all the unreal situations I am facing and wonder who I am. How can I be real if I can't process all these things I should be processing... I go on, its rather easy actually, further in my delusions, pretending things are fine, crying at odd moments, unable to really touch this thing that is outside my reach, because if I did, I'd be a mess... maybe, maybe too needy, too unresponsive or irresponsible. I'd be too much of a child reaching for his mommy, and even my Mommy would be turned off like "who is this emotional wreck of a child, this is not what I raised, I raised a sensitive but strong man."
I gave my first sperm donation tonight. I was not ready, I didn't know what I was doing. I hadn't really prepared, I hadn't waited long enough. I hadn't figured out how to produce enough... you know... I'm sitting around questioning my masculinity, my male-ness. I am embarrassed, I am worried that if things don't work out it will be my fault.
But all of this is what it is.
One of the conclusions that has weighed on my mind for a while is that i have been spoiled by good friends. But I wonder if I were any less spoiled just how neurotic I would be at this point. Its been hard for me lately to get deep with the people I want to, like I can't really really be me... this damn film on my life or perhaps I am just too afraid to let my guard down. Anyway all of this is making me realized how strange my performance of masculinity truly is. My hair is in pigtails but I am stoic, I am dancing to the music but I can't be perceived as needing anything.
I am forgetful of my friends and family, and neglectful, and perhaps even hurtful, because I am not centered, because I am not focused, because I am caught up in the act of being purposeful.
I don't know. I thought I would be able to write and have things make sense, but not that I have written it seems even more jumbled.
It is
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