You don’t look like Ken!

These were among the first words spoken to me by TheAnimatedWoman, J.C. Little. For months the AimingLow staff has been referring to me as Ken (of Barbie’s harem), probably because I took the only hunky photo of me and plastered it everywhere online. Just Google one of my stories and you’ll see it next to the search result. In person I’m quite normal looking. I have virtually no muscle definition and my skin is ghostly pale. I’m not a monster, but nobody’s plucking me out of obscurity to dance with Thunder From Down Under.

One of the reasons I get ribbed a lot by AimingLow writers is that they’re simply not a lot of dudes over there. Plus, I do silly things like show up to BlogHer where it’s five thousand women and twenty guys. The other reason I get my balls busted is that these women are ball-busters. They do it to everyone, not just me. Tonight I heard several inappropriate jokes and social references. And, nobody seemed to be offended. If they did, screw ’em. This is AimingLow, for chrissakes.

I’m amazed at my forgetfulness about how important physical interaction is to my well-being. I chat with many bloggers online and I really enjoy our virtual friendships. In person, however, relationship and connection deepens. I’ve written about this several times, but the idea of finding a tribe and then being with the tribe is so self-nourishing.

I planned our last high school reunion. Most likely I will plan the next one. It’s actually not that much work, and, while I’m not an organizer, I really like the process. I don’t enjoy making to-do lists or assigning tasks with deadlines. What fuels my drive is the vision that being together with my old classmates will feel good. I want to spend time with them. Maybe I’m more  desperate  for human interaction than others. Either way, I know what I want (people hanging out having fun), and it’s worth putting in the time.

I’m assuming this was Anissa’s plan as well. She’s the fearless leader of AimingLow and this is her baby. If you’re not familiar with her, you should read and follow her blog. Her story is inspirational and a great lesson for what can be accomplished through will. She’s also one of the coolest and lewdest woman I know who rocks a wheelchair. (I only know one woman who rocks a wheelchair, to be frank. But still!)

Okay, I have to go and prepare for my talk tomorrow morning. Will be live tweeting over the weekend and sending lots of photos. My girlfriend is joining us tomorrow morning (with her chihuahua, not mine) and everyone is excited to meet her.

Sitting in a conference room with pals is my idea of a vacation. So glad to be here.

I arrived at the office prepared to talk (read: complain) about what’s going on in my life.  I do this every Tuesday at 10:15am.  I started in about something, probably how I’m too amazing even for myself, and how hard it is to just be me.  You know, my problems.

All of a sudden I got this tightness in my chest.  A pressure that started pushing from the inside.  There’s a feeling attached to it, but I couldn’t quite place it.

Happy?  Sad?  Angry?  Afraid?  Shamed?

I had no idea.

So, I stopped whatever I was talking about (probably my hair), and told her about the feeling.  For the record, traditionally I’m not one of these people that thinks everything means something.  I don’t wear crystals, I’m not interested in the color of my aura (which is mauve by the way), and I have never felt “at one” with the universe.

Actually, one time I did feel at one with the universe, but it turned out to be a mushroom trip and those trees weren’t actually breathing.  I was 19 and stupid.

As I start to explain what I thought was going on, she immediately commanded me to shut up.

I’m super-verbose.  I’ll talk about anything for as long as I can.  When I’m at home I constantly speak to my pets, or am on the phone with someone who will listen.  Basically, I’m a spaz.

She knows that when I start to intellectualize or wax philosophic or try to explain things in any way, it moves me away from my feelings.  Apparently feelings are where it’s at.

But I’m a dude.  I’ve never felt much of anything in my life, and when I do I distract myself with things like television, internet, food, etc.

At her direction, I dove into the feeling and sat with it.  With basically no talking for the rest of the session.

Maybe three sentences were uttered.  Other than that, we just stared at each other.

Occasionally I would touch my chest to see if I could actually “feel” the sensation.  I couldn’t.  But it was there.  It’s here now as I write.

What is it?  No idea.  After sitting in silence for forty minutes staring at my counselor, I was no closer to deciphering this message.  It, however, felt totally normal and natural.  It was an uncomfortable feeling, but I didn’t have any judgment about it.

One thought that did occur to me was, “I can’t believe I just shelled $120 to sit in silence.”

Since many of you are ladies (I love that word – so much better than “birds”), you probably sit with weird crap like this all the time.  So, I’m one of you!  With better hair.

Special bonus – this photo was taken of me this weekend while I slept.  Note how it looks like I have lady parts in the middle of my chest.