Longing

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  patterns of behavior we cannot begin to fathom. This distance can turn into hostility among some. Although we can see this in both men and women, the hostility is stronger among men. Perhaps this is related to the latent hostility many men feel toward the mother figure, and the feeling of dependency and weakness she unconsciously triggers. The male sense of masculinity often has a defensive edge that reveals underlying insecurities. Such insecurity has only become more acute with shifting gender roles, and it increases the suspiciousness and hostility between men and women. This outer conflict between the genders, however, is merely a reflection of an unresolved inner conflict. As long as the inner feminine or masculine is denied, the outer distance will only grow. When we bridge this distance from within, our attitude toward the opposite sex changes as well. We feel a deeper connection. We can talk and relate to them as if relating to parts of ourselves. The polarity between the sexes still exists and still causes us to be attracted and fall in love, but now it includes the desire to get closer to the feminine or the masculine. This is much different from the polarization between the genders, in which distance and hostility eventually come to the fore in the relationship and push people further away. The inner connection will vastly improve the outer connection and should be the ideal we aim for. Gender Projection—Types Although there are infinite variations, below you will find six of the more common types of gender projections. You must use this knowledge in three ways: First, you must recognize in yourself any tendency toward one of these forms of projection. This will help you understand something profound about your earliest years and make it much easier for you to withdraw your projections on other people. Second, you must use this as an invaluable tool for gaining access to the unconscious of other people, to seeing their anima and animus in action. And finally, you must be attentive to how others will project onto you their needs and fantasies. Keep in mind that when you are the target of other people’s projections, the temptation is to want to live up to their idealization of you, to be their fantasy. You get caught up in their excitement and you want to believe you are as great, strong, or empathetic as they imagine. Without realizing it, you begin to play the role they want you to play. You become the mother or father figure they crave. Inevitably, however, you will come to resent this— you cannot be yourself; you are not appreciated for your true qualities. Better to be aware of this dynamic before it entraps you. The Devilish Romantic: For the woman in this scenario, the man who fascinates her—often older and successful—might seem like a rake, the type who cannot help but chase after young women. But he is also romantic. When he’s in love, he showers the woman with

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  The school was in a small town, and as she explored it she quickly discovered a new passion to pursue, the theater. She loved everything about it—the costumes, the sets, the performers in makeup. It was a world of transformation, where somebody could become anybody. Now all she wanted was to be an actress and make her name in the theater. She took the stage name Coco and she tried everything—acting, singing, and dancing. She had a lot of energy and charisma, but she realized quickly enough that she lacked the talent for the kind of success she desired. Coming to terms with this, she soon hit upon a new dream. Many of the actresses who could not make a living from their work had become courtesans who were supported by wealthy lovers. Such women had enormous wardrobes, could go where they pleased, and, although they were shunned by good society, they were not shackled with some despotic husband. As luck would have it, one of the young men who enjoyed her on the stage, Etienne Balsan, invited her to stay in his nearby château. He had inherited a family fortune and lived a life of total leisure. Gabrielle, now known as Coco to one and all, accepted the offer. The château was filled with courtesans who floated in and out from all over Europe. Some of them were famous. They were all beautiful and worldly. It was a relatively simple life that centered on riding horses in the country, then lavish parties in the evening. The class differences were noticeable. Whenever aristocrats or important people came to the château, women like Coco were to eat with the servants and make themselves scarce. With nothing to do and feeling restless yet again, she began to analyze herself and the future ahead of her. Her ambitions were great, but she was always searching for something beyond her grasp, continually dreaming about a future that was just not possible. At first it was the palaces in the romance novels, then it was a grand life on the stage, becoming another Sarah Bernhardt. Now her latest dream was just as absurd. The great courtesans were all voluptuous, beautiful women. Coco looked more like a boy. She had no curves and was not a classic beauty. It was more her presence and energy that charmed men, but that would not last. She always wanted what other people had, imagining it contained some hidden treasure. Even when it came to other women and their boyfriends or husbands, her greatest desire was to steal the man away, which she had done on several occasions.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Edna took a bite of food. I wished she’d hurry up chewing and continue. “I love all the different ways butches can be. I love butches’ hearts. But the ones I worry most about are the ones who aren’t tough inside.” I frowned and dropped my eyes. Edna leaned forward. “You see, I hurt you. ’m sorry. You and Rocco both had beautiful hearts that were so easily hurt, and I loved you for it. But I didn’t know how long you could survive.” “T think about her a lot,’ I told Edna. She stared at her plate and nodded. “Me too.” “Td give anything to talk to Rocco,” I said, wishing Edna knew how to reach her. Edna nodded. “T’ll bet.” Stone Butch Blues 231 I sat back in my chair and scuffed the rug with my shoe. “I wish I could ask her a million questions.” Edna leaned forward. “What don’t you know?” I shrugged and played with my fork. “I’m not sute. How to survive this, I guess.” Edna smiled gently. “What makes you think Rocco knows?” Her answer surprised me. “T’m not like Rocco,” I said. “She’s like a legend or something. She’s so strong, so sure of herself. I don’t feel that way at all. If I could just get to know her.” Edna gently took the fork from my hand and put it down on the tablecloth. She rested her fingertips on my forearm. “People get buried under legends. Rocco doesn’t have all the answers. She’s got questions, just like you do. She’s trying to get through it the best way she can, just the way you ate. That’s what makes you both so strong, There’s only one thing Rocco had that you don’t have,” Edna told me. I leaned forward. “What?” “Tl show you later.” Was she always going to make me wait? “Edna, where have you been all these years?” I asked her. She picked at her lasagna. “After the bar scene changed I stopped going. The butches I loved weren’t 232 Leslie Feinberg there anymore. It was mostly university women. I started to feel embarrassed about showing up in a dress, with makeup on. It seemed like everyone in the bar was wearing flannel shirts, jeans, and boots. That’s not me. But there was no other place to go. A few of us went to a dance on campus,” she said. “But we wete dressed different, we danced different.’ She clenched her fist in anger. “One of the women at the dance made fun of the butch I was with because she helped me off with my coat. I was so upset that we left right away.” I nodded. “My ex-lover Theresa worked up at UB. I remember getting mad and telling her how much I hated those women for rejecting us. She used to say: “They’re right about needing a revolution, but they’re wrong to think they can do it without all of us.”

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  I was like, Yep, just gonna take my time. Because that’s what happens in the movies, right? I’d seen my American high school movies. You hang around long enough as the friendly good guy and the girl dates a bunch of handsome jerks, and then one day she turns around and goes, “Oh, it’s you. It was always you. You’re the guy I was supposed to be with all along.” That was my plan. It was foolproof. I hung out with Zaheera every chance I got. We’d talk about boys, which ones she liked and which ones liked her. I’d give her advice. At one point she got set up with this guy Gary. They started dating. Gary was in the popular group but kind of shy and Zaheera was in the popular group but kind of shy, so his friends and her friends set them up together, like an arranged marriage. But Zaheera didn’t like Gary at all. She told me. We talked about everything. One day, I don’t know how, but I plucked up the courage to ask Zaheera for her phone number, which was a big deal back then because it wasn’t like cellphone numbers where everybody has everyone’s number for texting and everything. This was the landline. To her house. Where her parents might answer. We were talking one afternoon at school and I asked, “Can I get your phone number? Maybe I can call you and we can talk at home sometime.” She said yes, and my mind exploded. What???!!!! A girl is giving me her phone number???!!! This is insane!!! What do I do??!! I was so nervous. I’ll never forget her telling me the digits one by one as I wrote them down, trying to keep my hand from shaking. We said goodbye and went our separate ways to class, and I was like, Okay, Trevor. Play it cool. Don’t call her right away. I called her that night. At seven. She’d given me her number at two. That was me being cool. Dude, don’t call her at five. That’s too obvious. Call her at seven. I phoned her house that night. Her mom answered. I said, “May I speak to Zaheera, please?” Her mom called her, and she came to the phone and we talked. For like an hour. After that we started talking more, at school, on the phone. I never told her how I felt. Never made a move. Nothing. I was always too scared. Zaheera and Gary broke up. Then they got back together. Then they broke up. Then they got back together. They kissed once, but she didn’t like it, so they never kissed again. Then they broke up for real. I bided my time through it all. I watched Popular Gary go down in flames, and I was still the good friend. Yep, the plan is working. Matric dance, here we come.

• From On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (2019)

  To be or not to be. That is the question. A question, yes, but not a choice. — “I remember one time, while visiting you all in Hartford—this must be a year or two after you landed from Vietnam—” Paul rests his chin on his palm and stares out the window, where a hummingbird hovers at the plastic feeder. “I walked into the apartment and found you crying under the table. No one was home—or maybe your mom was—but she must have been in the bathroom or something.” He stops, letting the memory fill in. “I bent down and asked you what was wrong, and you know what you said?” He grins. “You said that the other kids lived more than you. What a hoot.” He shakes his head. “What a thing to say! I’ll never forget that.” His gold-capped molar caught the light. “‘They live more, they live more!’ you shouted. Who the hell gave you that idea? You were only five, for Christ sakes.” Outside, the hummingbird’s whirring sounds almost like human breath. Its beak jabs into the pool of sugared water at the feeder’s base. What a terrible life, I think now, to have to move so fast just to stay in one place. After, we go for a walk, Paul’s brown-spotted beagle clinking between us. It’s just after sunset and the air’s thick with sweetgrass and late lilacs frothing white and magenta along the manicured lawns. We veer toward the last bend when a plain-looking lady, middle-aged, hair in a blond ponytail, approaches. She says, looking only at Paul, “I see you finally got a dog boy. Good for you, Paul!” Paul stops, pushes his glasses up his nose only to have them slide back down. She turns to me, articulates, “Welcome. To. The. Neighbor. Hood.” Her head bobs out each syllable. I hold tight the dog’s leash and step back, offering a smile. “No,” Paul says, his hand raised awkwardly, as if waving away cobwebs. “This is my grandson.” He lets the word hover between us all, until it feels solid, an instrument, then repeats it, nodding, to himself or the woman I can’t say. “My grandson.” Without a beat the woman smiles. Too widely. “Please remember that.” She laughs, makes a dismissive gesture before extending her hand to me, my body now legible. I let her shake my hand. “Well, I’m Carol. Welcome to the neighborhood. I mean that.” She walks on. We head home. We don’t speak. Behind the row of white town houses, a column of spruces stands motionless against a reddish sky. The beagle’s paws scrape the concrete, its chain clinking as the animal pulls us home. But all I can hear is Paul’s voice in my head. My grandson. This is my grandson.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I laughed. “T don’t know why, but I have this image of you sleeping with a different femme every week.” Frankie nodded without smiling. “I thought that was what I was supposed to do. Inside my head I was Stone Butch Blues 299 asking each one: Could you love me? Do you love me? Am I loveable? Of course, the minute they did care about me I knew I couldn’t respect their judgment so I moved on to the next. God, I was a shit to femmes.” Frankie looked out over the water. “It was only when I finally admitted it was butch hands I wanted on my body that everything changed for me. The mote I saw what I loved about other butches, the more I began to accept myself. You know who gets it for me, Jess?” I smiled and shook my head. “An old bull with graying hair, a cocky smile, and sad eyes. You know the kind of butch with arms as big as your thigh? Those are the arms I want to hold me.” I ran my fingertips over the dark wood near my thigh. “I love them so much, too. But what gets it for me is high femme. It’s funny—it doesn’t matter whether it’s women or men—it’s always high femme that pulls me by the waist and makes me sweat.” Frankie rested her hand on my arm. “You and I have to hammer out a definition of butch that doesn’t leave me out. I’m sick of hearing butch used to mean sexual aggression or courage. If that’s what butch means, what does it mean in reverse for femmes?” I shook my head. “T never thought about it like that. But I have to admit that when you told me about you and Johnny, the first thing I wondered was, who’s the femme in bed?” 300 Leslie keinberg Frankie leaned forward. “Neither of us were. What you meant was who does the fucking and who gets fucked? Who ran the fuck? That’s not the same as being butch or femme, Jess.” Frankie moved closer to me and touched my shoulder. I tensed. “Relax,” she whispered, “I’m not coming on to you, Jess.” “T’m sorry. ’m not so used to getting touched.” Prankie’s hands kneaded the soreness from my shoulders. ““You know, I have a confession to make. I used to have a crush on you in the old days.” I laughed nervously. “Oh shit. I was just starting to relax with you.” She patted me on the back. “You'll get over it.” Frankie rubbed my neck. “You were like a fucking legend when you started to pass. What's it like, Jess?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just trying to survive has pulled me through, but it hasn’t left much leisure to think about it.” “Am I so different from you?” She whispered her thought out loud. “You have to decide that. To me we're still kin.”

• From Another Bullshit Night in Suck City: A Memoir (2004)

  ulysses Many fathers are gone. Some leave, some are left. Some return, unknown and hungry. Only the dog remembers. Even if around, most disappear all day, to jobs their children only slightly understand. Gone to office, gone to shop, men in suits hiding behind closed doors, yelling into phones, men in coveralls, reading pornography in pickup trucks. The carpenter. The electrician. They drive to strangers’ houses, a woman in a robe answers the door, they sit at the table with her, she offers coffee and cake, they talk about the day ahead. By nightfall you won’t recognize the bathroom, he promises. Monday we start in on the roof. Many end up sitting around the house all day, sneaking sips in the woodshed. Many drive to other towns, make love to a woman they’ve been making love to for years. Some continue to yell at their sons from the grave, some are less than a tattered photograph. Some sons need to exhume the body, some need to see a name written in a ledger. Some drive past a house the father once lived in as a child, park across from it, some swear that if they could gaze into his face just once their hearts would settle. One friend inherited some money and hired a private investigator to track down his lost father, paid a thousand dollars to find out his father was dead. All my life my father had been manifest as an absence, a nonpresence, a name without a body. The three of us sat around the table, my mother, brother and I, all carrying his name. Flynn ? Some part of me knew he would show up, that if I stood in one place long enough he would find me, like you’re taught to do when you’re lost. But they never taught us what to do if both of you are lost, and you both end up in the same place, waiting. winter (1989) My father wraps himself in newspaper some nights, stuffs his coat with newspaper, the headlines finally about him, though he isn’t named. Just more heartstring pieces about “the homeless.” Get it straight, I’ve never flung a knife or shot a bullet at anyone. I’ve only been locked up for two of my fifty-nine years. I’m no jailbird . The nights drop below freezing and still he sleeps outside. “My toes,” he writes me, “are being cut off.” On wet nights he wraps himself in plastic, a Hefty trashbag sealed with duct tape, he weaves himself a cocoon, lies on the ground, puts his feet into the bag and pushes until they reach the bottom. Leaning forward, he tightens the plastic around his ankles and tapes them, and then he tapes the bag around his waist. This way, in the night, the bag won’t slide down his body.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Justine lifted her glass in the air to salute me. “T wouldn’t have said you were wrong, but in my book you did the right thing.” W2 = Leslie Feinberg I slumped on the bar. “Jan’s mad at me anyway,” I told them. “She saw us dancing together.” Justine stroked my hair. “She’s still your friend.” “Tm afraid I’ve lost them both,” I sighed. Justine shook her head. “Jan will be back. And Edna was crying and smiling when she walked out of here. You must have done something right.” I shook my head. “T don’t know, it doesn’t feel like ’m doing anything right.” Peaches laughed, “You wait and see. The right girl is coming down the road, headed in your direction.” If that was true, I sure wished she’d hurry. IF IT WASN’T FOR EDWIN I might never have met Milli. Ed was on her way to have breakfast with Darlene one morning, “Come with” she asked. When Ed and I walked into that sleazy diner I was glad ’'d come. The restaurant was filled with working girls—male and female. We were welcomed with a boisterous roar. I got kissed and teased. Darlene pulled Edwin down on her knee and feigned threats to all the other femmes to leave her butch alone. It was fun when we all played like that. Darlene told me about the last television episode of “The Fugitive”: the real killer is caught and David Janssen gets vindicated and can stop running. Ed was arguing with a woman sitting across from us about the riots in Newark and Detroit. “Violence is as American as cherry pie. That’s what Rap Brown says.” Ed pounded her fist on the tabletop. ““They’re a dress rehearsal for revolution.” The woman raised both her hands in surrender. “OK, alright. Don’t blow your cool.” Everyone was trying to shout over the jukebox, which was turned up real loud. The Beatles were singing “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” I tapped Darlene on the shoulder. “What’s that song mean, anyhow?” She laughed. “How the hell should I know?” My eyes burned from exhaustion. I asked Edwin to come outside with me and listen while I kick- started my Norton. It wouldn’t kick over whenever it was chilly and damp. I didn’t know why. It was over Ed’s shoulder that I really saw Milli for the first time. She was standing there just looking at me. Ed glanced at Milli and then, like a good friend, Ed walked away. I have a few photographs I can see in my mind’s eye. One of them is Milli, hands on her hips, looking me up and down as if the bike and I were one lean machine. Her body language, the gleam in her eyes, the tease in her smile, all combined into an erotic femme challenge. Milli set the action into irresistible motion by lifting one eyebrow.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  ideas that have no relation to your daily life, that are full of empty speculations about things that only half exist. And none of this turmoil and ceaseless desire for what is most distant ever leads to anything fulfilling—it only stirs up more chimeras to pursue. In the end you cannot escape from yourself. On the other hand, reality beckons you. To absorb your mind in what is nearest, instead of most distant, brings a much different feeling. With the people in your circle, you can always connect on a deeper level. There is much you will never know about the people you deal with, and this can be a source of endless fascination. You can connect more deeply to your environment. The place where you live has a deep history that you can immerse yourself in. Knowing your environment better will present many opportunities for power. As for yourself, you have mysterious corners you can never fully understand. In trying to know yourself better, you can take charge of your own nature instead of being a slave to it. And your work has endless possibilities for improvement and innovation, endless challenges for the imagination. These are the things that are closest to you and compose your real, not virtual world. In the end what you really must covet is a deeper relationship to reality, which will bring you calmness, focus, and practical powers to alter what it is possible to alter. It is advisable to let everyone of your acquaintance—whether man or woman—feel now and then that you could very wel dispense with their company. This wil consolidate friendship. Nay, with most people there wil be no harm in occasional y mixing a grain of disdain with your treatment of them; that wil make them value your friendship al the more. . . . But if we real y think very highly of a person, we should conceal it from him like a crime. This is not a very gratifying thing to do, but it is right. Why, a dog wil not bear being treated too kindly, let alone a man! —Arthur Schopenhauer 6 Elevate Your Perspective The Law of Shortsightedness It is in the animal part of your nature to be most impressed by what you can see and hear in the present—the latest news reports and trends, the opinions and actions of the people around you, whatever seems the most dramatic. This is what makes you fall for alluring schemes that promise quick results and easy money. This is also what makes you overreact to present circumstances—becoming overly exhilarated or panicky as events turn one direction or the other. Learn to measure people by the narrowness or breadth of their vision; avoid entangling yourself with those who cannot see the consequences of their actions, who are in a continual reactive mode. They will infect you with this energy. Your eyes must be on the larger trends that govern events, on that which is not immediately visible.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  All day long I sat in my apartment rehearsing how I would introduce myself to her. I stood outside her door and listened to the Motown music blaring on her stereo before I finally got up the courage to knock. Someone turned the music down as she cracked open the door. I lifted my hand to silence her before she could speak. “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but I didn’t make a very good impression before. I know you think I’m a man, but I’m not. ?m a woman.” She sighed and unhooked the chain. “Listen,” she opened her door a little wider, “I don’t need a gender identity crisis on my doorstep. This is my home and I’m with friends. Please understand, I really don’t want to be bothered.” I heard a drag queen’s voice from inside her apartment. “Who’s that, Ruth? Ooh, he’s cute! Let him in.” “Tanya, please.” Ruth silenced the drag queen with a glare. I could see someone else peering at me from the living room. Ruth was visibly annoyed at the curious way her friends and I were checking each other out. “Pm not trying to be rude, “she told me, “but let me make myself clear: This is my home. I do not want to be annoyed.” I rested my hand on her doorframe. “But I need to talk to you.” She glared at my hand. I removed it. “But I don’t need to talk to you. Excuse me.” She closed her door. I had no choice but to give Ruth the wide berth she demanded. I shivered in a blanket on my fire escape, unwilling to let go of the day. The temperature had risen to seventy-five degrees, unusual in late October. The chilly evening breeze still smelled fresh by Manhattan standards. Ruth poked her head out of her living room window. “Oh,” she sounded startled. “I didn’t know you were out here. ’m going to close my window because it’s cold.” I sighed and looked up at the sky. She spoke more softly. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” The shades of gender in her voice were intricate, like mine. I smiled. “That’s a harvest moon up there tonight.” Ruth laughed. “What’s a city slicker like you know about harvests?” Her words and tone angered me. I was sick of being everybody’s “other.” But part of me still needed Ruth’s friendship so damn much. So I took a moment before I answered and spoke without anger. “T know how it feels to stand in a field in the pitch dark under a billion stars, with no sound except the music of crickets and cicadas.” Ruth nodded as she stared at the moon. I leaned my head back against the brick. “And I know how a white-capped rivet looks when it’s racing toward the falls—how it’s translucent and green at the place where it bends over the edge, like bottle glass when it washes up in the surf.”

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  It is best to not get too entangled with such types later on in their careers, as they have a tendency to bring about much collateral damage. The Integrated Human In the course of our lives we inevitably meet people who appear to be especially comfortable with themselves. They display certain traits that help give this impression: they are able to laugh at themselves; they can admit to certain shortcomings in their character, as well as to mistakes they have made; they have a playful, sometimes impish edge to them, as if they have retained more of the child within; they can play their role in life with a little bit of distance (see the last section of chapter 3). At times they can be charmingly spontaneous. What such people signal to us is a greater authenticity. If most of us have lost a lot of our natural traits in becoming socialized adults, the authentic types have somehow managed to keep them alive and active. We can contrast them easily with the opposite type: people who are touchy, who are hypersensitive to any perceived slight, and who give the impression of being somewhat uncomfortable with themselves and having something to hide. We humans are masters at smelling the difference. We can almost feel it with people in their nonverbal behavior—the relaxed or tense body language, the flowing or halting tone of voice; the way the eyes gaze and let you in; the genuine smile or lack of it. One thing is for certain: we are completely drawn to the authentic types and unconsciously repulsed by their opposite. The reason for this is simple: we all secretly mourn for the child part of our character we have lost—the wildness, the spontaneity, the intensity of experience, the open mind. Our overall energy is diminished by the loss. Those who emit that air of authenticity signal to us another possibility—that of being an adult who has managed to integrate the child and the adult, the dark and the light, the unconscious and the conscious mind. We yearn to be around them. Perhaps some of their energy will rub off on us. If Richard Nixon in many ways epitomizes the inauthentic type, we find many examples of the opposite to inspire us—in politics, men like Winston Churchill and Abraham Lincoln; in the arts, people like Charlie Chaplin and Josephine Baker; in science, someone like Albert Einstein; in social life in general, someone like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. And these types indicate for us the path to follow, which largely centers on self-awareness. Conscious of our Shadow, we can control, channel, and integrate it. Aware of what we have lost, we can reconnect to that part of ourselves that has sunk into the Shadow. The following are four clear and practical steps for achieving this.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I kept my mouth shut. Jan slumped. “Tf I tell you why she broke up with me, you promise me you'll never tell another soul?” I thought about it before I answered her. “You can trust me,” I said. “You took long enough to answer,” she said, warily. “First I had to make sure I meant it.” Jan’s voice grew hoarse. “I just couldn’t let her touch me. We never talked about it. I don’t even know 100 = Leslie Feinberg how to talk about it. At first it was OK with her, she understood. But later she told me she prided herself on always having been able to seduce her stone lovers. That scared the shit out of me, you know?” I was thinking how nice that would be to have a femme lover who cared enough to try. “Anyway,” Jan said, “I couldn’t, and she finally left me. After all these years. Can you believe that?” She laughed ironically. “The only woman I ever loved so goddamn much it makes my teeth ache and she left me.” Jan gripped my arm. “I'd do anything to get her back.” She had tears in her eyes as she spoke. “Td get down on my goddamn knees in front of the whole bar. I’d do anything, I just can’t change the way I am. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t, you know?” I did. I leaned forward and put my arm around her. She leaned her head against my shoulder. If Jan hadn’t been drunk she might have been embarrassed. Deep down, my insides seethed. I knew I was stone, too. It was a home alarm system that didn’t seem to have an on-off switch. Once installed, the sirens went off and the gates shut, even if the intruder was loving. Would I finally find a woman who loved me and lose her because of that? If that was true, life seemed too hard to bear. I obsessed about one thing Jan had told me: Edna prided herself on being able to seduce her stone butch lovers. I wondered how she did it. I wondered how it would feel to be touched and not be afraid. I thought about Edna a lot. I hung out at Abba’s almost every evening while I recuperated on compensation. Jan stopped going to the bar, afraid to run into Edna. Edna came to the bar on Saturdays. I looked forward to that night all week long. When she walked through the door that Saturday night, she was all I could see. Everyone else was in black and white; only Edna was in full, living color. She headed right toward me. I got off the bar stool as she approached. Edna reached down for my injured hand. She lightly supported the metal contraption and looked up at my face.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Dear Reader: I want to let you know that Stone Butch Blues is an anti-oppression/s novel. As a result, it contains scenes of rape and other violence. None of this violence is gratuitous or salacious. Leslie Stone Butch BLUES a novel by Leshe Feinberg DEAR THERESA, I'm lying on my bed tonight missing you, my eyes all swollen, hot tears running down my face. Theres a fierce summer lightning storm raging outside. Tonight I walked down streets looking for you in every woman’ face, as I have each night of this lonely exile. I'm afraid IM never see your laughing, teasing eyes again. I had coffee in Greennich Village earlier with a woman. A\ mutual friend fixed us up, sure wed have a lot in common since were both “into politics.” Well, we sat in a coffee shop and she talked about Democratic politics and seminars and photography and problems with her co-op and how she’ so opposed to rent control. Small wonder—Daddy is a real estate developer. I was looking at her while she was talking, thinking to myself that I'm a stranger in this woman’s eyes. She’s looking at me but she doesnt see me. Then she finally said how she hates this society for what it’s done to “women like me” who hate themselves so much they have to look and act like men. I felt myself getting flushed and my face twitched a little and I started telling her, all cool and calm, about how women like me existed since the dawn of time, before there was oppression, and how those societies respected them, and she got her very interested expression on—and besides it was time to leave. So we walked by a corner where these cops were laying into a homeless man and I stopped and mouthed off to the cops and they started coming at me with their clubs raised and she tugged my belt to pull me back. I just looked at her, and suddenly I felt things well up in me I thought 1 had buried. I stood there remembering you like I didnt see cops about to hit me, like I was falling back into another world, a place I wanted to go again. And suddenly my heart hurt so bad and I realized how long its been since my heart felt—anything. I need to go home to you tonight, Theresa. I cant. So lm writing you this letter.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  He was able to anticipate a theory of evolution decades before Darwin. He foresaw many of the great political trends of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, including the eventual unification of Europe after World War II. He imagined many of the advances of technology and the effects these would have on our spirit. He was someone who actively attempted to live outside his time, and his prophetic powers were legendary among his friends. Finally, sometimes we may feel like we are born into the wrong period in history, out of harmony with the times. And yet we are locked into this moment and must live through it. If such is the case, this strategy of immortality can bring us some relief. We are aware of the cycles of history and how the pendulum will swing and the times will change, perhaps after we are gone. In this way, we can look to the future and feel some connection to those who are living well beyond this terrible moment. We can reach out to them, make them part of our audience. Some day they will read about us or read our words, and the connection will go in both directions, indicating this supreme human ability to surmount one’s time and the finality of death itself. A man’s shortcomings are taken from his epoch; his virtues and greatness belong to himself. —Johann Wolfgang von Goethe M 18 Meditate on Our Common Mortality The Law of Death Denial ost of us spend our lives avoiding the thought of death. Instead, the inevitability of death should be continually on our minds. Understanding the shortness of life fills us with a sense of purpose and urgency to realize our goals. Training ourselves to confront and accept this reality makes it easier to manage the inevitable setbacks, separations, and crises in life. It gives us a sense of proportion, of what really matters in this brief existence of ours. Most people continually look for ways to separate themselves from others and feel superior. Instead, we must see the mortality in everyone, how it equalizes and connects us all. By becoming deeply aware of our mortality, we intensify our experience of every aspect of life. The Bullet in the Side As a child growing up in Savannah, Georgia, Mary Flannery O’Connor (1925–1964) felt a strange and powerful connection to her father, Edward. Some of this naturally stemmed from their striking physical resemblance—the same large, piercing eyes, the same facial expressions. But more important to Mary, their whole way of thinking and feeling seemed completely in sync. She could sense this when her father participated in the games she invented—he slipped so naturally into the spirit of it all, and his imagination moved in such a similar direction to her own. They had ways of communicating without ever saying a word.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  He cannot exactly verbalize what he wants or what he missed, hence the vagueness of his fantasy. He will spend his life searching for this elusive figure and never settle on a flesh-and-blood female. It’s always the next one who will be perfect. If he falls for the narcissistic type, he will repeat the problem he experienced with his mother, falling for a woman who cannot give him what he wants. His own anima is a bit dreamy, introspective, and moody, which is the behavior he will tend to exhibit when in love. Men of this type must recognize the nature of their pattern. What they really need is to find and interact with a real woman, accept her inevitable flaws, and give more of themselves. They often prefer to chase their fantasy, because in such a scenario they are in control and have the freedom to leave when reality sets in. To break the pattern, such men will have to give up some of this control. When it comes to their need for a muse, they must learn to find such inspiration from within, to bring out more of the anima within themselves. They are too alienated from their own feminine spirit and need to loosen up their own thought processes. Not needing this wildness from their fantasy woman, they will better relate to the actual women in their life. The Lovable Rebel: For the woman who is drawn to this type, the man who intrigues her has a noticeable disdain for authority. He is a nonconformist. Unlike the Devilish Romantic, this man will often be young and not so successful. He will also tend to be outside her usual circle of acquaintances. To have a relationship with him would be ever so slightly taboo—certainly her father would not approve, and perhaps not her friends or colleagues. If a relationship does ensue, however, she will see a totally different side to him. He can’t hold down a good job, not because he’s a rebel but because he’s lazy and ineffectual. Despite the tattoos and shaved head, he’s quite conventional, controlling, and domineering. The relationship will break apart, but the fantasy will remain. The woman with this projection often had a strong, patriarchal father who was distant and strict. The father represents order, rules, and conventions. He was often quite critical of his daughter—she was never good or pretty or smart enough. She internalized this critical voice and hears it in her head all the time. As a girl she dreamed of rebelling and asserting herself against the father’s control, but too often she was reduced to obeying and playing the deferential daughter. Her desire to rebel was repressed and went into her animus, which is quite angry and resentful. Instead of developing the rebelliousness herself, she looks to externalize it in the form of the rebellious male.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  We were not the innocent angels people imagine children to be. At the same time, we were completely vulnerable and dependent on our parents for survival. This dependence lasted for many years. We watched our parents with eagle eyes, noting every signal of approval and disapproval on their faces. They would chastise us for having too much energy and wish we could sit still. They sometimes found us too willful and selfish. They felt that other people were judging them by the behavior of their children, so they wanted us to be nice, to put on a show for others, to act like the sweet angel. They urged us to be cooperative and play fairly, even though at times we wished to behave differently. They encouraged us to tone down our needs, to be more of what they needed in their stressful lives. They actively discouraged our tantrums and any form of acting out. As we got older, these pressures to present a particular front came from other directions—peers and teachers. It was fine to show some ambition, but not too much of it or we might seem antisocial. We could exude confidence, but not too much or we would seem to be asserting our superiority. The need to fit into the group became a primary motivation, and so we learned to tamp down and restrain the dark side of our personality. We internalized all of the ideals of our culture—being nice, having prosocial values. Much of this is essential for the smooth functioning of social life, but in the process a large part of our nature moved underground, into the Shadow. (Of course, there are some who never learned to control these darker impulses and end up acting them out in real life—the criminals in our midst. But even criminals struggle to appear nice a great deal of the time and justify their behavior.) Most of us succeed in becoming a positive social animal, but at a price. We end up missing the intensity that we experienced in childhood, the full gamut of emotions, and even the creativity that came with this wilder energy. We secretly yearn to recapture it in some way. We are drawn toward what is outwardly forbidden— sexually or socially. We may resort to alcohol or drugs or any stimulant, because we feel our senses dulled, our minds too restrained by convention. If we accumulate a lot of hurts and resentments along the way, which we strive to conceal from others, the Shadow grows thicker. If we experience success in our lives, we become addicted to positive attention, and in the inevitable down moments when the drug of such attention wears off, the Shadow will be disturbed and activated.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Angie glanced over at an older pro who was paying her check at the register. “You know,” she told me, “When I was a little girl I remember being in a restaurant with my mother and stepfather and I saw a woman who looked something like her.” “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I said. Angie looked at me and cocked her head. “You like tough women, don’t you, butch?” I smiled and stabbed my eggs with my fork. “T remember,” Angie continued, “my stepfather said, ‘Dirty, filthy whore,’ right out loud as the woman paid her bill. Everyone in the restaurant heard him say it. But that woman just paid her bill and took a toothpick and walked out real slow, like she never heard him at all. Thats gonna be me when I grow up, I thought.” I nodded. “That’s like the time I was about fourteen and I saw this he-she.” Angie rested her chin on the heel of her hand as she listened. “Id forgotten about this. My parents dragged me along while they shopped. You know how crowded and loud the stores are before Christmas? All of a sudden, everything got real quiet. The cash registers stopped ringing and nobody moved. Everybody was staring at the jewelry department. There’s this couple—a he-she and a femme. All they were doing was looking at rings, you know?” Angie sat back and exhaled slowly. “Everyone was glaring at them. The pressure just popped those two women out the door like corks. I wanted to run out after them and beg them to take me with them. And all the while I was thinking, O/ shit, thats gonna be me.” Angie shook her head. “It’s tough when you see it coming, ain’t it?” “Yeah,” I said, “it’s like driving on a single-lane highway and seeing an eighteen-wheeler heading right for you.” She winced. “C’mon,” she told me, “I got to get some sleep.” Angie’s apartment was mote like a home than mine had been. “T like that kind of material you got for curtains in the kitchen.” I asked her, “What do you call that?” Stone Butch Blues 1 “Muslin,” she said. She got two bottles out of the refrigerator. “Listen, if you need a place, this apartment might be available—very, very soon, if you know what I mean.” I cocked my head. “Like tomorrow?” She laughed. “Maybe sooner, who knows?” I drank my beer and lit a cigarette. I threw the pack on the kitchen table. Angie took one and sat down across from me. “I’m gonna be in a little trouble soon, you know?” I nodded. “So, if you want this place, it’s cheap.” “You know,” I told her, “I don’t even know how to pay bills, or how any of that works. I never lived any place except for Toni and Betty’s.”

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  There is nobody perfect. Instead, it is better to come to terms with the flaws of the other person and accept them or even find some charm in their weaknesses. Calming down our covetous desires, we can then learn the arts of compromise and how to make a relationship work, which never come easily or naturally. Instead of constantly chasing after the latest trends and modeling our desires on what others find exciting, we should spend our time getting to know our own tastes and desires better, so that we can distinguish what is something we truly need or want from that which has been manufactured by advertisers or viral effects. Life is short and we have only so much energy. Led by our covetous desires, we can waste so much time in futile searches and changes. In general, do not constantly wait and hope for something better, but rather make the most of what you have. Consider it this way: You are embedded in an environment that consists of the people you know and the places you frequent. This is your reality. Your mind is being continually drawn far away from this reality, because of human nature. You dream of traveling to exotic places, but if you go there, you merely drag with you your own discontented frame of mind. You search for entertainment that will bring you new fantasies to feed upon. You read books filled with ideas that have no relation to your daily life, that are full of empty speculations about things that only half exist. And none of this turmoil and ceaseless desire for what is most distant ever leads to anything fulfilling—it only stirs up more chimeras to pursue. In the end you cannot escape from yourself. On the other hand, reality beckons you. To absorb your mind in what is nearest, instead of most distant, brings a much different feeling. With the people in your circle, you can always connect on a deeper level. There is much you will never know about the people you deal with, and this can be a source of endless fascination. You can connect more deeply to your environment. The place where you live has a deep history that you can immerse yourself in. Knowing your environment better will present many opportunities for power. As for yourself, you have mysterious corners you can never fully understand. In trying to know yourself better, you can take charge of your own nature instead of being a slave to it.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  It is the path taken by the greatest achievers and contributors to the advancement of human culture, and we only have to see the path to take it. Here’s how it works. Each human individual is radically unique. This uniqueness is inscribed in us in three ways—the one-of-a-kind configuration of our DNA, the particular way our brains are wired, and our experiences as we go through life, experiences that are unlike any other’s. Consider this uniqueness as a seed that is planted at birth, with potential growth. And this uniqueness has a purpose. In nature, in a thriving ecosystem we can observe a high level of diversity among species. With these diverse species operating in a balance, the system is rich and feeds off itself, creating newer species and more interrelationships. Ecosystems with little diversity are rather barren, and their health is much more tenuous. We humans operate in our own cultural ecosystem. Throughout history we can see that the healthiest and most celebrated cultures have been the ones that encouraged and exploited the greatest internal diversity among individuals—ancient Athens, the Chinese Sung Dynasty, the Italian Renaissance, the 1920s in the Western world, to name a few. These were periods of tremendous creativity, high points in history. We can contrast this with the conformity and cultural sterility in dictatorships. By bringing our uniqueness to flower in the course of our life, through our particular skills and the specific nature of our work, we contribute our share to this needed diversity. This uniqueness actually transcends our individual existence. It is stamped upon us by nature itself. How can we explain why we are drawn to music, or to helping other people, or to particular forms of knowledge? We have inherited it, and it is there for a purpose. Striving to connect to and cultivate this uniqueness provides us a path to follow, an internal guidance system through life. But connecting to this system does not come easily. Normally the signs of our uniqueness are clearer to us in early childhood. We found ourselves naturally drawn to particular subjects or activities, despite the influence of our parents. We can call these primal inclinations . They speak to us, like a voice. But as we get older, that voice becomes drowned out by parents, peers, teachers, the culture at large. We are told what to like, what is cool, what is not cool. We start to lose a sense of who we are, what makes us different. We choose career paths unsuited to our nature. To tap into the guidance system, we must make the connection to our uniqueness as strong as possible, and learn to trust that voice. (For more on this, see “Discover your calling in life” in the next section.) To the degree we manage to do so, we are richly rewarded. We have a sense of direction, in the form of an overall career path that meshes with our particular inclinations. We have a calling.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  wives waiting to join them in these camps. These women and their daughters would resort to prostitution to stay alive. Everything was designed to degrade people’s spirits and drain them of every ounce of dignity. It reminded him of his family dynamic, on a much larger scale. This was certainly the lowest rung of hell he could have visited, and it affected him deeply. He now longed to return to Moscow and write about what he had seen. His sense of proportion had been restored. He had finally freed himself of the petty thoughts and concerns that had weighed him down. Now he could get outside of himself and feel generous again. The book he wrote, Sakhalin Island , caught the attention of the public and led to substantial reforms of conditions on the island. By 1897 his health had deteriorated, and he began to cough blood rather regularly. He could no longer disguise his tuberculosis from the world at large. The doctor who treated him advised that he retire from all work and leave Moscow for good. He needed rest. Perhaps by living in a sanatorium he could extend his life a few years. Anton would have none of this. He would live as if nothing had changed. A cult had begun to form around Chekhov, comprising younger artists and adoring fans of his plays, all of which had made him one of Russia’s most famous writers. They came to visit him in large numbers, and although he was clearly ailing, he radiated a calmness that astonished almost everyone. Where did it come from? Was he born this way? He seemed to absorb himself completely in their stories and problems. No one ever heard him talk about his illness. In the winter of 1904, as his condition worsened, he suddenly had the desire to take an open-sleigh ride into the country. Hearing the bells of the sleigh and breathing the cold air had always been one of his greatest pleasures, and he needed to feel this one more time. It put him in such high spirits that he did not care anymore about the consequences, which were dire. He died a few months later. • • • Interpretation: The moment his mother left him to be alone in Taganrog, young Anton Chekhov felt trapped, as if he had been thrown into prison. He would be forced to work as much as he could outside his studies. He was now stuck in this hopelessly dull backwater with no support system, living in the corner of a small room. Bitter thoughts about his fate and about the childhood he had never had gnawed at him in his few free moments. But as the weeks went by, he noticed something very strange—he actually liked the work he did as a tutor, even though the pay was meager and he was continually running around town. His father had kept telling him he